INTRODUCTION
Hospital Corridor
The rhythmic beeping of monitors echoes through a dimly lit corridor. A young woman walks swiftly, her white coat fluttering behind her. Nurses part instinctively, whispering her name - Dr.Zaria.
Her eyes, which are calm, clear, and kind, scan the patient chart in her hand. There's no
hesitation, no trace of fear. At twenty-four, she's already the youngest surgeon to lead a critical operation in this hospital.
A flicker of fluorescent light catches on the silver stethoscope draped around her neck, a gift from her father, engraved with a crest no one here has ever seen.
Zaria's hands move efficiently with precision and grace. The surgical lights reflect off her eyes, revealing both innocence and brilliance.
As the light above the operating theatre door flickered off, showing the end of the procedure, a small and victorious smile adored her lips, beneath the hospital mask but reflected on her eyes.
She has won. Once again. Met death in its own domain and sent it away empty handed.
The door swung open. In an instant, the patient's family rushed forward, surrounding the team of doctors. A junior doctor stepped ahead, his face alight with relief, and said gently, "The surgery was a success. The patient is stable and under observation."
Tears of joy spilled freely as words of gratitude filled the corridor. The young doctor smiled and gestured toward the woman standing a little apart. "You should thank our senior, Dr. Zaria. She's the one who led the operation."
They turned to her, voices trembling with emotion as they thanked her over and over. Dr. Zaria returned their smiles with quiet grace, and assured, "It's my duty." she said softly, walking past them.
At the same time.
In a desolate dark alley, the air quaked with continuous rattles of gunfire. Then suddenly -
silence. A tall figure emerged, walking through the smoke and corpses scattered around him. His boots pressed against blood-soaked concrete, echoing like the only heartbeat left in that dead street. He moved toward the single beam of light, the headlights of a black jeep idling at the curb.
Another man stood there, trembling, a gun shaking in his hold. The figure stepped closer, his face coming into view - handsome yet terrifyingly cold, streaked with blood. A smirk plastered on his face.
"What now? Going to shoot me?"
The man's voice was calm, deep, almost amused. The trembling one took a step back, his fear visible in the way his fingers clung to the trigger and how he stepped backwards.
"Come on!" he taunted softly, raising his arms in mock surrender.
"Shoot me."
The gun wavered.
"I said shoot!!"
The gun slipped from the man's shaking hands, only to be caught in a blur. A single shot cracked through the air, and the trembling man collapsed instantly, a neat head shot.
The tall man smirked, lowering the gun.
"Perfect!"
A faint beep echoed from the jeep's intercom. He pressed the receiver to his lips, voice sharp and commanding.
"General Gonzales here. AB Town alley. Clear the corpses of the traitors before sunrise. Over!."
"Yes sir." Came a faint reply.
Without a glance back, he pushed aside the fallen body, slid into his jeep, and drove into the night.
The name alone was enough to make every traitor tremble.
Alexander Gonzalez!