[2 Broke Girls] Ch: 129 [Interlude- In the shadows] (Patreon)

AN: Shorter than usual. As it says, an interlude that shows the other side of the world. And I said, I won't do it before, but couldn't help myself lol. Read and find out. Some will be happy, others will be not so happy. So, depending on the reaction, I might remove this and rewrite something else.

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[1:00 AM – Honolulu, Industrial District]

The moon hung low over the harbor, casting a ghostly shimmer over the dark water. Neon signs flickered dimly in the nearby streets, barely lighting the edges of the crumbling alley that ran behind a shuttered seafood warehouse.

From the outside, the warehouse looked like any other in the area, reeking of brine and fish guts, shipping crates stacked in sloppy towers, the ground slick with melting ice.

Inside, it was something else entirely.

Rows of crates filled with modified weapons, encrypted comms gear, forged IDs, and the acrid scent of suppressed gun oil. Steel desks with open laptops running surveillance footage. A wall covered in pinned photos and timelines. And at the very center: a blown-up image of Alex Wilson.

A red X was drawn across his face.

The leader of the cell, a stocky man in a black vest with a cybernetic eye implant, looked around at his team. Ten trained killers. All ex-military, ex-spies, or ghosts of worse institutions. Well, no one knew their real identity.

“He’s here for four days,” he said, voice flat. “That’s four days to erase a problem and fulfill the contract. Failure means death.”

Another assassin laughed from across the table, cleaning his blade. “You make it sound hard. The guy’s on vacation. Probably sleeping with his girlfriend right now. And why the hell do we need this many men to just kill a single man? Just let me loose and I'll bring you his head before the sunrise.”

“Confidence is good,” said the leader. “But overconfidence will get you killed. That man is guarded by Codename 0."

"Oh, c'mon. That's just a myth. Some kind of stories to spook the rookies," The one with the blade said.

"Well, you'll find out soon enough," The leader replied as he touched his cybernetic eye.

[Outside – Alley Behind the Warehouse]

A shadow moved.

Only the glint of a blade in his left hand caught moonlight.

He wore all black, and his face stayed hidden in the darkness. 

Ten men inside. He’d seen them all through the warehouse windows. He’d mapped their movements. Logged their patterns. Now… it was time.

[Inside]

The cybernetic leader was mid-sentence, briefing the squad about Wilson’s security habits, when the lights flickered once. A low hum rolled through the overhead bulbs.

Someone near the side door frowned. “Did we lose...”

CRACK.

A suppressed shot pierced the air. The man’s head snapped back before he could finish the sentence. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, blood pooling around his boots.

Silence.

Then movement.

Fast.

Too fast.

One of the mercs near the eastern exit lifted his weapon... too slow. A blade spun out of the dark, arcing through the air and embedding in his throat. He gargled, stumbled back, and slammed into a weapons crate.

Two down.

The others spread out, shouting orders, drawing rifles, and scanning the shadows with their scopes.

But the shadows were already gone.

Now they were inside.

A blur dropped from the ceiling girder, landing silently behind a guard who never even turned. Snap. Neck broken. He fell in a heap.

Three.

Another turned too late. A fist slammed into his jaw, shattering bone on impact. As he reeled, he was yanked forward by the collar and slammed face-first into the edge of a steel table. His skull split open. Blood sprayed the blueprint-covered surface.

Four.

Gunfire... short bursts. Wild and uncoordinated. 

They were panicking and shooting almost everywhere.

They couldn’t see him.

One tried to shout something but...

THWIP. A wire wrapped around his neck from the rafters above, yanked him into the air. He thrashed violently, boots kicking, rifle clattering. His body twitched… then went limp.

Five.

“Switch to thermal!” the cybernetic leader barked.

Too late.

Another was pulled into the shadows and gutted silently, a spray of blood painting the wall in wide arcs. The next caught a throwing knife to the eye. He dropped instantly, convulsing.

Six. Seven.

A large brute of a man spun, holding a shotgun tight against his shoulder. He backed into a corner, breathing heavy.

“I know you’re here,” he muttered, sweat dripping from his brow.

He wasn’t ready for the silence.

Not until a hand reached from the darkness and dragged the shotgun upward, jamming the barrel under his chin. BOOM. The flash was contained by the body that fell backward, face gone.

Eight.

The last two backed toward the center of the room, trembling now.

“What the fuck is this?” one whispered.

A shadow passed behind them.

Then a hand grabbed one by the face, yanked him backward into the dark—

CRUNCH. Silence.

The last turned in a frenzy, weapon raised. Empty.

Click. Click.

He screamed and sprinted for the door.

He made it three steps before a blade plunged into his spine, severing the cord.

He hit the floor, paralyzed, gasping, bleeding out in a pool of red under flickering lights.

Nine. Ten. All dead.

Only one remained.

[Center of the Warehouse]

The cybernetic leader stood with his rifle leveled and a detonator in hand. His red mechanical eye scanned the carnage. His team had been turned into scattered meat in under two minutes.

His lips trembled. His mechanical eye whirred and locked onto movement just ahead of him.

"I’ve heard about you," he muttered, trying to keep his grip steady on the rifle, trying to steady the tremor in his hand. "Ba..."

A single suppressed bullet tore through the space between them and struck him clean in the forehead.

There was no sound or flash.

Just the brutal finality of a tiny hole appearing in the center of his skull.

His body jerked once, then crumpled backward with a heavy thud, landing hard against the cold concrete. The detonator slipped from his fingers and skittered across the floor.

Silence.

The kind of silence that made the air feel heavier than steel.

The man in the shadow moved to the main table at the center, where the photo of Alex Wilson lay taped above a web of strings and photos. His eyes lingered on the red X scrawled over Wilson’s face.

One gloved hand reached up and peeled it down.

He folded it, pocketed it.

Then he stepped back.

Behind him, the lights flickered once, revealing the massacre.

[A few hours later...]

The sky above the docks was full of smoke.

Flames shot out of the warehouse windows, eating through the walls and roof. A nearby gas tank had blown minutes earlier, followed by multiple chain explosions.

Fire trucks surrounded the area. Sirens wailed. Water sprayed from long hoses, but it barely made a difference. Firefighters shouted to each other, trying to keep the flames from spreading to the buildings next door.

Inside, there was nothing left to save. Weapons, crates, bodies, and every trace of evidence turned to ashes.

[Near the Docks]

The man who had killed ten people stood at the wheel, one hand on the throttle, the other holding a phone. He brought it to his ear. The call rang once. Then a female answered.

"You finished?"

He looked ahead. 

"Warehouse is gone. They're all dead. The leader too. I want my Marker."

There was silence on the other end for a second.

Then she said, "Check under your seat."

He lowered the phone and knelt down. Lifted the small cushion beneath the seat.

There it was.

A black envelope.

Sealed.

He picked it up slowly and stared at it for a moment. His name was written on it in red ink.

That was it. His freedom and his Marker.

The job was complete.

He was quiet. Watching the waves roll beneath the moonlight. Letting the silence sit.

Then the voice returned.

“You did well. As always.”

John didn’t answer.

She continued.

“But I have a new offer. Something… different.”

He leaned back, watching the sky, not speaking.

She knew he was listening.

“We don’t know who ordered the hit on Alex Wilson. Not yet. But someone’s feeding intel to ex-agents. The kind of men who don’t get out of bed without heavy coin and a kill list.”

John stayed quiet.

“You killed the squad. But someone gave them Wilson’s travel path. His schedule. His hotel. Security layouts. Everything. We've already stopped three squads in the last 24 hours.”

John finally spoke in a low voice.

“How much time?”

“Six hours before the next attempt. Maybe less. We’ve found chatter in a dark channel forum. Very hush-hush. Black Sapphire level. Someone is asking for exact location tracking on Wilson’s guard rotation. Paying in layered crypto. The kind used by ghosts.”

He turned the wheel slightly, guiding the boat farther from the coast.

“Give me a name,” he said.

“We don’t have one. Not yet. But I know where to look. Before that, are you going to take this contract?”

John didn’t move. His jaw clenched slightly. He looked at the envelope again. His Marker. His freedom.

“What do you want?” he asked.

She paused before answering.

“Find out who’s after Wilson. Cut through their network. Break the chain. In return, I’ll give you my Marker.”

His eyes flicked open wide for the first time.

“You?”

“Yes,” she said. “I owe you nothing now. But if you take this job, and finish it, I’ll owe you one favor. My Marker. No limits.”

John looked out into the water.

One job. Not just killing. Hunting. Digging. Finding.

“I’ll need access,” he said.

“You’ll have it.”

"Guns," John said.

"Already prepped up a safehouse for you. Mailed you the location."

"I'll take the contract," John said.