I drop the cigarette and crush it under my boot.
“Then we end him.”
No slow bleed. No more reactionary hits.
One body. One message.
Blade pulls his phone out of his cut. “Church in thirty.”
Rev claps my shoulder once. “You lit the fuse, brother. Better be ready to explain it.”
I am.
The chapel isquiet when we file in.
Mason sits at the head of the table, Dagger to his right. Switch, Tank, Piston, Blade, Rev. Ghost leans against the back wall, arms crossed. Riot’s already got a laptop open, fingers moving.
I lay it out clean.
Target Volkov directly.
Bait him out.
Controlled kill zone.
Overwatch from Ghost and a second shooter.
Riot jams comms and spoofs feeds.
No half measures.
When I finish, the room sits heavy with it.
Mason finally speaks. “You’re asking us to green-light an assassination on one of the biggest players in the southeast. If it works, we own the streets. If it fails, we’re painted targets from here to Moscow.”
“I know,” I say. “But we’re already at war. This just makes it honest.”
He studies me for a long moment.
“Officers vote,” he says.
Dagger. “Aye.”
Blade. “Aye.”
Rev. “Aye.”
Switch. “Aye.”
Tank hesitates half a second. “Aye.”
Piston. “Aye.”
Mason exhales once.
“Ayes carry.”
He stands. “Lucky, you’re point on planning. You answer to the table every step. Ghost, Riot, full support. Blade and Rev ride with him. We move fast. We move clean. No mistakes.”
