"Please," he gasped again, his voice fracturing like brittle twigs snapping under heavy boots, raw and desperate.

Tears carved glistening paths down his flushed cheeks, mingling with rivulets of sweat that drenched his collar, turning the crisp white fabric into a sodden mess.

"I swear on my life, It wasn't what you think it was. I had no choice, man, none at all! It was an order from someone. They own me, pull my strings like a damn puppet!"

Devon's response was silence, absolute and chilling. He didn't blink, didn't twitch a single muscle. His face was impassive, devoid of any flicker of mercy or hesitation.

Those sharp eyes bored down like the gaze of an avenging angel, unflinching in their judgment. The man, sensing the void where compassion should be, spiraled further into panic.

Words tumbled from his lips in a frantic torrent, faster than his heaving chest could supply the breath to fuel them. "Look, I'll spill it all! Every dirty little secret they've got buried! Names of the bosses—the real ones pulling the levers! everything you could want! Just don't pull that trigger! Don't do this to me, please! I'm begging you!"

His hands shot up higher, palms splayed outward like a makeshift shield against the reaper, trembling so violently they seemed to blur in the dim light. Fingers twitched erratically, as if possessed by the raw electricity of terror surging through him. Snot bubbled grotesquely from his nostrils, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven gulps, each inhale a desperate rattle that filled the room with the sound of impending collapse.

He was a man unraveling, thread by thread, his dignity stripped away, leaving only the primal instinct to survive.

Devon remained unmoved, his right hand gripping the pistol with a steadiness born of years in the shadows cold metal pressing firmly against his palm, a familiar weight that grounded him in the chaos.

With his left hand, he moved like a shadow himself, darting down swiftly to snatch the man's phone from where it had skidded across the floor earlier, its screen still glowing faintly like a beacon of false hope in the gloom.

He thumbed through it with quick, methodical efficiency, his eyes scanning the digital trail like a predator tracking prey through underbrush.

First, the call log. The last outgoing entry jumped out at him: "Mrs. Silas."

He swiped deeper, delving into the texts that popped up like venomous secrets uncoiling from hiding. "Kidnapping confirmed. Devon secured." The words burned into his retinas. Another, "Warehouse setup ready. They shouldn't be anything left of him."

It was a map of an underground empire, gears grinding toward his own demise, a machine of corruption that spanned cities and swallowed lives whole. But one message seared hottest of all, "Orders: Finish Devon tonight."

Devon's jaw clenched involuntarily, the muscles along his cheek ticking like a countdown clock, but his eyes remained flat.

With a deliberate motion, he slid the phone into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, zipping it shut with a soft, final rasp like sealing away a ticking bomb.

The man watched every second of it, his eyes bulging with renewed horror, whites gleaming in the low light.

"Wait! No! Give that back. you can't take it! That's my life in there, everything! Contacts, accounts, proof it's all I've got!"

In that instant, desperation ignited something feral within the man, flipping a switch from plea to primal fury.

He lunged upward from his knees in a wild, uncoordinated surge clumsy and sloppy, driven by pure animal instinct. His blood-smeared hands clawed desperately at Devon's gun arm, nails raking across the fabric of his sleeve, trying to wrench the pistol sideways in a bid for salvation.

"Get off me!" he snarled through gritted teeth, spittle flying in flecks that caught the light like tiny projectiles.

His breath came hot and foul, reeking of whiskey and terror.

Devon pivoted smoothly, his body coiled and drove his knee upward like a piston—CRACK! The impact landed square on the man's face, a sickening crunch of bone giving way under flesh, echoing through the room like the snap of a heavy oak branch in a storm.

Blood erupted in a volcanic spray from the shattered nose, hot and crimson, misting the air and splattering across Devon's dark pants and the nearby wall in abstract patterns.

Chunks of cartilage and tissue flew outward, the man howling in agony as he reeled backward, his body crashing into the wall with a meaty thud that vibrated through the plaster.

His skull bounced off the surface with a dull rebound, stars exploding behind his eyes.

He slid down the wall slowly, his legs folding beneath him like limp noodles, hands instinctively clutching at his ruined face.

Blood gushed through his splayed fingers in thick, pulsing streams, soaking his once-pristine white shirt and turning it a deep, glistening crimson-black. Droplets fell in heavy plops to the floor, forming dark pools around his knees like spilled ink spreading across paper.

His breaths came wet and ragged now, gurgling through the wreckage, the fight draining out of him like air from a punctured tire. He was just a broken husk, a pathetic remnant of the man who'd thought himself untouchable.

"Please," he sobbed, his voice muffled and distorted through bloodied hands, bubbles of red froth forming on his split lips.

"Forgive me! God, forgive me! I made a huge mistake, a stupid, deadly one that I can't take back! I'll vanish—poof! Gone forever! New name, new country, new everything! Just let me walk out that door, and you'll never hear from me again!"

In a last, pitiful display, he crawled forward an inch, then two, his bloody hands reaching out like grasping claws, smearing vivid red streaks across the scarred hardwood.

Devon stepped in closer, his boots halting mere inches from those trembling fingers, the pistol dipping lower until the barrel nearly brushed the man's forehead.

The cold metal gleamed under the bulb's harsh light, a sinister reflection dancing in the man's wild, bloodshot eyes.

He froze, staring cross-eyed into the abyss of the barrel, his pupils dilated to black pits of terror, breaths reduced to tiny, whimpering hitches.

"I have kids!" he blurted, voice cracking with fresh urgency. "Two boys, little ones, just five and seven! They're innocent, and my wife she's at home right now, probably stirring pasta on the stove, glancing at the clock, wondering why I'm late. They need their daddy! Please, mercy! Spare my life! I'll owe you forever anything you want, any favor, any time!"

Devon's face remained an impenetrable fortress, a pure poker blank, no flicker of anger, no crack of pity, just an endless expanse of cold resolve.

The man's mouth flopped open once more, words bubbling forth in a final, pathetic whimper.

"I beg you, on my soul—"

Devon cut him off with a voice low and flat as a grave slab. "See you in the next life."

BANG!

The shot tore through the air like brutal thunder, unsilenced and raw, reverberating off the walls in a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the building.

The bullet punched clean through the man's skull, the entry wound a neat hole that belied the carnage behind—an exit wound blooming in a grotesque spray of red-black matter across the cream-painted wall. Chunks slid down slowly, leaving viscous trails. The man's head snapped back with violent force, his body jerking once, twice—like a marionette with cut strings—before slumping heavily to the side. His eyes froze wide and vacant, staring into the void of the ceiling, unseeing. The sharp, bitter sting of gunpowder filled the room like acrid smoke from the underworld, clinging to everything.

The blast's echo ricocheted wildly through the hallway beyond—BOOM-BOOM-BOOM—bouncing off closed doors and amplifying like an earthquake's aftershocks.

Devon knew the clock was ticking, sixty seconds, tops, before Yvonne's guards descended after they were informed about the gunshot that happened

He moved with the efficiency of a ghost wiping the pistol's barrel swiftly on his sleeve to erase any residuez

Spotting the nearest chair. a heavy oak beast with ornate carvings he dragged it over with a low scrape, jamming it firmly under the doorknob at a precise angle.

This improvised barricade would buy him precious seconds, enough to rattle the incoming horde and force them to waste time breaching.

His boots whispered across the floor as he slipped out, easing the door shut behind him with a barely audible click, sealing the scene of death inside like a vault.

The hallway stretched out empty before him, dimly lit by flickering yellow bulbs overhead that buzzed like dying fireflies, casting erratic shadows on the faded wallpaper.

He flicked a glance at his watch, 11:58. The warehouse meet was set for noon, a razor-thin margin that left no room for error.

At the end of the hall, red letters glowed like a promise: "EMERGENCY EXIT →"

Beside it, a fat red lever screamed for attention—PULL. Perfect.

He yanked it hard, muscles straining against the resistance—CLICK-WHOOSH!

The alarm erupted to life with a piercing wail: WOOO-OOO-OOO! Shrill and unrelenting, like nails dragged across endless glass.

Red strobes pulsed bloody light everywhere, doors throughout the building auto-unlocking with sharp, mechanical snicks, unleashing pandemonium.

Downstairs, all hell broke loose. Devon flew down the stairs two three at a time, his footfalls swallowed by the alarm's deafening howl.

The exhibition hall below had transformed into a zoo of hysteria screams piercing the air like shattered glass, bodies shoving and jostling in a frantic bid for escape.

Champagne flutes crashed to the marble floor in explosive tinkles, shards scattering like deadly confetti. "Fire! Everyone out—NOW!" a portly man in a ill-fitting tux bellowed, trampling over discarded coats and purses in his haste.

A tall woman in a sparkling sequin dress caught her heel on a rug—SNAP!—tumbling forward into a priceless jade statue with a resounding CLANG! Pearls from her necklace burst free, rolling across the floor like fleeing bullets.

The people in the hall moved quickly, the men striding quickly, while women clutched their handbags tight, heels slipping on the slick marble floor.

Devon hit the ground running, blending into the stampede like smoke in the wind. A panicked banker slammed into him, a teenager's elbow grazed his ribs perfect cover in the chaos. Ahead, a guard stood at the main doors, rifle raised, eyes darting through the crowd.

More guards poured in six, maybe seven faces hard, gear bristling, shouting orders over the sirens and screams.

"Clear the area! Where's Devon?!" the lead guard barked into his radio. Devon ducked low, moving with the crowd.

A heavyset man tore off his baseball cap in frustration and dropped it. Devon snatched it mid-run, tugging it low to shadow his face.

Next, a woman in a fur stole stumbled past, her mask slipping free. Devon caught it, ignoring her startled protest, and pulled it over his mouth.

The mask muffled his breath, hiding him among the terrified masses. Now he was just another panicked face in the crowd.

They surged toward the glass exits, bodies pressing shoulder to shoulder in a frantic wave. Devon weaved through the crush with quick, precise movements, ducking, sidestepping, keeping his pace steady while the crowd screamed around him.

At the doors, guards had formed a blockade, guns drawn, flashlights cutting through the haze like slicing blades.

"Dr Devon! Anyone seen him?!" one shouted, grabbing a random man and shining a beam in his eyes. The man cursed and shoved away.

A flashlight swept over Devon close, too close. He faked a violent cough, hunching over. The beam lingered, then moved on.

"Split teams! Balconies, move!" the lead guard yelled.

The group broke apart, pushing upstream through the crowd. Radios crackled with static, "No visual!"

"Check upper floors!" Devon slipped through a gap and out the final door.

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