Number Nine moved.
His boots barely touched the floor as he pushed into the hallway, gun steady. The remaining three had fallen back, using corners and doorframes for cover. Trained. Disciplined. Not afraid yet.
That would come.
One of them leaned out to fire. Nine was already ahead of him. One shot to the chest. The man folded, rifle clattering against the floor.
The sound echoed down the corridor and then vanished.
No shouting.No doors opening.No panic.
Wrong.
The second dropped low and sprayed the hallway. Nine slipped into a doorway as rounds tore through the space he had just occupied. Plaster burst from the walls.
Too slow.
Nine stepped out and snapped his wrist. The knife left his hand clean and fast. It buried itself in the man's throat. The sound that followed was wet and brief. He collapsed, choking on blood.
One left.
The last man didn't hesitate. He turned and ran.
Nine followed.
The distance closed fast. He heard it before he saw it, the change in breathing, the sudden stillness. An ambush. Desperate, but competent.
Nine moved first.
He rolled through the doorway as the rifle barked. The shot went wide. Nine came up inside the man's reach. A knee drove into the gut. The man dropped. One shot ended it.
Silence.
Nine stood still, breathing even.
The building remained dead quiet.
Too quiet.
No civilians. No movement. No alarms. Not even the low background noise of a living place. He crossed to the window and pulled the blind aside.
A helicopter cut through the night, rotors chopping the air. Its side door slid open as it approached. A figure stood at the edge, watching.
This wasn't a cleanup crew.
This was escalation.
They hadn't just sent men. They had sealed the building. No witnesses. No chance of interference. Everything controlled.
Nine stepped away from the window.
They thought they had him contained.
He moved for the stairwell and took the steps two at a time. Below him, boots echoed upward. Organized. Not rushing.
On the roof, the wind hit hard. The city stretched out beneath him, cold and distant. He didn't slow.
The next building was too far to jump.
That didn't matter.
He ran and launched himself into the gap. Impact hit hard. He rolled, ribs flaring with pain, and came back up moving.
Gunfire chased him across the rooftop.
Nine didn't stop.
A construction site loomed ahead, skeletal steel and hanging cables cutting through the dark. He reached the edge, grabbed a dangling line, and swung across the gap. His boots hit steel and kept going.
The squad followed. Faster than expected.
They split up, moving to box him in.
Nine slid behind a beam as rounds sparked against metal. He leaned out and fired. One man went down, clutching his shoulder.
Another pressed in from the opposite side. Nine shifted, rose, and put a round through his chest.
Two left.
They moved carefully now. Coordinated. Confident.
Nine let them think they had him.
He burst from cover at full speed. The first man dropped with a shot through the throat. The second reached for his weapon. Nine grabbed his wrist, twisted, and snapped it. Bone gave way.
One final shot ended it.
Silence returned.
The city didn't react. No sirens. No distant shouts.
Nothing.
Nine stood alone among steel and shadow.
This wasn't over.But he was still alive.
And that mattered.