Chapter 6:
"So, fellas..."
Magnus raised his pistol and gave a crooked smile behind the mask.
"Are we gonna stand here... or are we gonna dance?"
BLAM!
He pulled the trigger once at the top roof, cutting off the lights in the parking lot, leaving only darkness.
And then... gunfire. Wild, panicked. The sound of 200 weapons unloading into empty space where Magnus had stood just a second ago. Muzzle flashes lit the night like a strobe light in a war zone. The noise was deafening, a wall of sound that pressed against the walls and bounced back, again and again.
But one man didn't shoot.
The driver. The same man who picked Magnus up at the airport stood perfectly still, arms crossed, eyes searching. Relaxed. He had seen enough battles to know when panic was useless. He had seen enough death to know when it was his turn.
Then...
A scream.
It came from the rear. One of the shooters was down. The rest turned and fired blindly, their muzzle flashes giving away their positions in the dark, painting targets on themselves.
Another scream.
This time, two at once, gurgled, desperate, the sound of lungs filling with blood.
Then silence.
They were no longer hunting.
They were prey.
From the shadows, Magnus moved like a phantom. Twin daggers gleamed briefly before they vanished into throats and ribs. Each strike was lethal. Surgical. With not even a single scratch on him. He felt the resistance of flesh parting, the warm spray across his gloves, the soft sigh of life leaving. He had done this so many times it felt like breathing. In. Out. Dead.
They fell like dominoes. Men and women alike. Trained killers turned into corpses in seconds. The parking garage echoed only with the sound of soft footfalls and choked breaths. Magnus did not hurry. He did not rush. He moved like water, finding the gaps, filling the spaces where life used to be.
Until only one remained.
The driver.
Magnus fired a single round into the ceiling again.
The lights came back.
The garage was a warzone of blood and death. Bodies lay in piles, some still twitching, some already cold. Blood pooled in the cracks of the concrete, finding its way to the drains. Magnus stood tall, breath calm, mask still on. Across from him, the driver. He didn't flinch. Not shaken by what he saw. A man who had seen worse. Or a man who had accepted his fate.
"Amazing..." the man said, smiling with something close to admiration. "Even I've never dropped 199 in ten minutes."
"You ready to die?" Magnus asked, sliding his gun back into its holster.
"Not quite yet." The man smirked. "Bet you got a question for me, don't you?"
Magnus stepped closer. "How many people know?"
The driver's smile widened. "All the mafias. They all know you're here now."
"Good." Magnus took off his gloves and tucked away his weapons. "Then let's end this the old school way, shall we?"
They both dropped into fighting stances.
No tricks.
No blades.
Just fists.
The man lunged first, a swift right hook.
Magnus ducked, delivered a jab to the ribs. The impact felt good, solid, the crunch of bone under knuckles.
The driver retaliated with a knee, crack, landing clean under Magnus's chin.
Magnus staggered, tasting copper. Then he grinned. Pain was old news. Pain was an old friend who had overstayed his welcome.
He returned fire, two sharp jabs to the face and an elbow across the jaw. The man stumbled, then caught Magnus in a grapple, slamming him into a car. The metal dented under Magnus's back, the breath knocked from his lungs. The driver followed with a flurry of punches, each one heavy, each one meant to end it.
Magnus blocked, countered with a vicious headbutt, stunning the man. Stars exploded behind his eyes, but he kept moving. He had learned long ago that stopping meant dying.
Blood now streamed down both of their faces. It dripped into Magnus's eyes, salty and hot. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and kept going.
Another flurry of strikes.
Magnus ducked, spun, and delivered a roundhouse kick to the man's chest, sending him flying backward. The driver's body hit a concrete pillar with a wet thud.
The driver hit the ground hard.
Tried to stand. Failed. His legs shook, then gave out. He coughed, and blood sprayed across the floor.
"Looks like I win," Magnus said, adjusting his sleeves and stepping forward slowly, taking out his gun.
The driver laughed, blood bubbling from his mouth. "Yeah... you win. Finish it."
Bang.
One clean shot between the eyes.
The driver's body went slack. Magnus stared at him for a moment, at the hole in his forehead, at the smile still frozen on his lips. He felt nothing. Not victory. Not pity. Just the quiet after a storm, the empty space where noise used to be.
Magnus crouched, rolled the man's body over, and retrieved both his burner phone and personal device.
He pocketed them. Pulled out his own encrypted line and dialed.
Six minutes later...
Jessica arrived.
The doors slid open, and she froze.
The entire garage was a mass grave.
Bodies piled high. Smoke still lingered in the air, thin and gray, curling around the lights. Blood ran like rivers, finding the lowest points, painting the floor in dark red. And in the center of it all...
Magnus.
No mask. Just his cold, sharp eyes. A cigarette between his lips. His face was bruised, split at the eyebrow, his knuckles raw and swollen. But he stood like a king on a throne of bones.
"You're late," he said, rolling his eyes to her. "Where's my bag?"
She handed it over, too stunned to speak. The man standing before her was... handsome. Terrifying. Elegant. Covered in blood, yet calm as a king. She could not look away. She could not breathe.
"How... how do we get out of here?" she whispered.
Magnus didn't even look at her.
"We?" he repeated with a smirk. "I saved you. You saved me. That makes us even."
He lit another cigarette, the flame casting shadows across his battered face.
She didn't move. "No... I want to work for you."
That made him pause. He turned, eyes unreadable. For a moment, something flickered there. Surprise? Pity? He wasn't sure himself.
"You know what you're saying?" he asked. "This isn't a job. It's a curse. Once you're in, there's no way out. You'll drown in blood. You'll become something else. Something you won't recognize in the mirror."
Jessica nodded. Her hands were steady now. The fear was gone, replaced by something hotter, something that burned. "Then drown me. I'll do whatever it takes."
Magnus stared at her a long moment. He saw something in her eyes, the same thing he had seen in his own reflection years ago. The hunger. The desperation. The willingness to burn everything down just to feel warm.
Then he offered his hand.
"Alright then... my maid," he said with a wry grin. "Ready for your new life?"
She took his hand without hesitation. Her heart pounded, but not with fear. Rather, thrill and excitement. The touch of his hand was warm, rough, real. It felt like grabbing a live wire.
"With you," she said, "I think I was born ready."
He pulled her close, holding her by the waist, and whispered,
"Good. Now let's take a little ride..."
His eyes flicked to the car that brought him here, the only one still untouched in the graveyard of steel and fire.
"...and begin payback."