They reached the Shinton Condo in record time.
Marina barely parked properly—the van half on the sidewalk, door left open—before both of them staggered out and rushed upstairs. The stairs were agony. Each step sent fresh fire through Marina's ribs, through Shupto's shoulder, but they didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
The apartment door was unlocked.
They burst inside, ready to fight, ready to kill.
Nikki sat tied to a chair in the middle of the living room. She was pale but quiet, her hands bound behind her back, her ankles tied to the chair legs. Her eyes were red—she'd been crying—but her face was calm, controlled. The lucky cat statue watched from the corner, its painted eyes gleaming.
Two well-dressed Indian men stood on either side of her, guns pressed calmly to her temples. Their suits were expensive, their shoes polished. They looked like businessmen who had wandered into the wrong part of town—except for the coldness in their eyes.
One of them smiled politely. He was the older one, with a thin mustache and the patient expression of a man who had seen everything and been surprised by none of it.
"I am Jamil," he said. "This is my brother Tamil. We work for the Espinoza brothers."
Tamil kept his gun steady on Nikki's temple, his face expressionless. He didn't smile. He didn't need to.
Jamil continued, his voice smooth, unhurried. "You've proven yourselves tonight. Defeating Kalumba and his entire inner circle in one night? Impressive. Very impressive. Our employers are looking for ghosts—people who can move through the southern strip without starting unnecessary wars. People who can get close to targets, gather information, soften the ground. People exactly like you two."
Tamil added quietly, "The Espinoza brothers are taking over VEX City. They need assets on the ground. People who can move in places they can't."
Jamil nodded. "Work for us. Infiltrate territories. Gather information. Soften the ground for the new regime. In return, we offer protection, resources, and money far beyond what the streets can give. Your friend here stays safe. Your new life stays intact."
Marina's voice was raw, scraped by smoke and screaming. "Get the guns off her head. Now."
The brothers exchanged a glance. Jamil gave a small nod. They lowered their weapons—slowly, deliberately—but didn't holster them.
"You have ten days," Jamil said. "Get yourselves ready. Heal your wounds. When the time comes, we will send a message. Your first job will be waiting."
Tamil looked at Marina, then at Shupto. "Welcome to the new VEX City."
They walked out without another word, disappearing down the hallway as quietly as they had appeared. Their footsteps faded. A door opened and closed somewhere in the building.
The apartment fell silent.
Shupto stood in the doorway, the blood-stained money bag heavy in his good hand. He looked at Marina. He looked at Nikki. He looked at the ropes still binding her to the chair.
He took a step forward, then stopped.
"I'll be at the Truman hotel nearby," he said quietly. "The one on the corner. Room 212. Call if you need me."
He left without waiting for a reply, limping slightly, the bag dragging against his leg. The door clicked shut behind him.
Marina crossed the room in three quick strides and knelt in front of Nikki. Her hands were shaking as she worked the ropes loose—her split knuckles bleeding again, the pain distant and unimportant.
Nikki's eyes were shining with guilt. "I'm sorry. I couldn't—they just appeared—I didn't hear them come in—"
Marina raised a hand, stopping her. The ropes fell away. Nikki's wrists were red and raw.
"I'm hungry," Marina said.
Nikki blinked, startled by the non sequitur. Then, slowly, she stood. She moved to the kitchenette, her movements mechanical, automatic. She filled a pot with water from the tap, set it on the stove, lit the flame. The simple domestic motion felt surreal after everything that had happened—the blood, the bodies, the guns to her head.
When the water was boiling, Nikki dropped in two packets of ramen. The smell filled the apartment—salty, familiar, almost comforting.
She brought two bowls over to the couch. Marina had lowered herself onto the cushions, moving like an old woman, every motion slow and careful. Her ribs screamed. Her back ached. The cut above her eye had finally stopped bleeding, leaving a crust of dried blood on her face.
She stared at the steaming noodles for a long moment. The steam rose between them, blurring her vision.
"I killed him," she said finally, her voice flat. Hollow. "Kalumba. I killed him tonight."
Nikki said nothing. She waited.
"I thought I would feel something." Marina's voice cracked. "Relief. Joy. Closure. Something. I've been dreaming about this for two years. Every night. Every morning. Every time I hit the bag, I was hitting him. Every time I wrapped my hands, I was wrapping them for him."
She looked down at her split knuckles, at the blood dried on her skin, at the scars that would join the others.
"Now it's done. The work is finished. And I don't feel anything. It's like…" She struggled for words. "It's like there's nothing inside me anymore. Just empty. Hollow. Like I spent so long being angry that now the anger's gone, there's nothing left to fill the space."
Nikki set her bowl down on the coffee table. She stood up, walked around the couch, and sat down next to Marina. Then she wrapped her arms around her—carefully, gently, mindful of the cracked ribs, the bruised back, the wounds that were still fresh.
Marina stiffened at first. She wasn't good at being held. Wasn't good at being touched without fighting. But Nikki didn't let go. She just held on, her hands warm on Marina's back, her breath soft against Marina's hair.
Slowly, like ice melting in spring, Marina leaned into it. Her head came to rest on Nikki's shoulder. Her eyes closed. The tears came then—not the angry tears of the fighter, not the bitter tears of the survivor, but something quieter. Something that had been waiting for two years to be released.
Nikki didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. She just held her, rocking slightly, the way you'd hold a child who had woken from a nightmare.
The city outside continued its neon hum—brighter, meaner, forever changing. Sirens wailed in the distance. Somewhere, a car alarm blared and died. Somewhere else, someone was laughing, someone was crying, someone was making a deal that would change their life.
But in that small apartment, with ramen cooling on the table and the weight of two years of rage finally lifted, Marina closed her eyes and let herself be held.
For the first time in a very long time, she didn't feel alone.
Across the city, in a dimly lit penthouse in VEXPoint, overlooking the bleeding neon skyline, a phone buzzed once.
A message appeared on the screen:
"Assets confirmed. Kalumba is dead. Subjects: Marina Delgado Yukima and Shupto Malik."
A pause.
Then a reply:
"Good. Let them rest."
Another pause.
"They'll need it. Phase One begins soon."
The screen went dark.
And somewhere deep within VEX City… something much bigger than revenge had already begun moving.