#9

Number Nine kept his ear to the door, listening.

The man on the right shifted—just slightly, a subtle crouch. His joints cracked.

Rookie mistake.

The others stayed disciplined. Trained. Maybe ex-military, maybe private contractors. Didn't matter. They weren't waiting for him to come out. They were waiting to force him out.

A sudden clink—metal on wood.

Flashbang.

Nine's instincts took over. He raised his pistol, pressing the barrel tight against his face to shield his eyes.

Boom.

The world erupted in white heat, sound collapsing into a deafening whine. The walls warped, the door rattled, but he was already moving.

They expected him blind, stunned, off-balance. They'd pour in right after, weapons drawn, aiming for center mass.

Wrong move.

The door burst open. The first man lunged in. Nine snapped forward, hurling his pistol straight into the guy's face—crack—bone crunched, head snapped back. The man staggered.

Nine caught the pistol mid-air and fired.

A bullet buried itself in the man's forehead before he even hit the ground.

The second man was already raising his rifle. Nine stepped in, close—too close for the guy to aim. A shove sent the rifle sideways, the man struggling for control. Too slow.

Nine's gun was already under his chin. One shot. A muffled pop. The body dropped.

Gunfire erupted from the hallway. Nine ducked left, a bullet tearing through the drywall where his head had been.

The third guy hesitated—just for a second. That was enough.

Nine threw the pistol again—straight into his throat this time. The man gagged, staggering. Nine stepped in, caught the pistol mid-drop, fired once.

Three down.

The other three scrambled back into the hallway, regrouping. One yelled into his radio.

Calling for backup.

Nine exhaled, rolling his shoulders. The fun was just getting started.

He could already hear movement beyond the first wave. The real players were mobilizing.

This wasn't just about taking him out.

This was about sending a message.

Too bad. I don't take messages.

Nine stepped over the bodies, reloading as he moved.

Time to send one back.