The corridor buzz returns in a nervous wave—whispers, recalculations, loyalty shifting like sand.
Renn leans close. “Boss… that’s going to?—”
“Start a fire,” I finish. “Good.”
The Nine don’t wait.
Street-level violence spikes across Gur within the hour, like someone lit a fuse and ran.
I’m on my way to the cargo depot when the call comes in—panicked, breathless.
“Boss, Depot Twelve is hit. Kaijen workers down. It’s… it’s bad.”
I feel my blood cool.
“Hold the perimeter,” I bark. “Nobody touches anything until I’m there.”
We arrive with sirens off and weapons ready.
Depot Twelve smells like fuel and scorched metal and blood left too long in warm air. The floodlights glare harsh white, making every shadow look guilty. Cargo containers sit open like mouths. Forklifts are abandoned mid-lift.
Bodies are arranged.
Not just dropped—placed.
Three workers in a line, hands folded, faces turned toward the depot entrance like they were made to “watch.” A fourth body—an enforcer—laid across them like a warning.
Pinned to the nearest container is a strip of cloth with a simple symbol painted in dark red.
Nine mark.
My stomach twists, and rage surges so hot I taste iron.
Renn swears softly beside me.
A dockworker nearby sobs, muffling the sound with his hands.
I turn to my crews, voice hard.
“Listen,” I say. “This ends now. We lock down Kaijen zones.”
A captain nods. “Boss, that’ll spook civilians.”
I step toward him, letting him feel my size.
“Civilians are already spooked,” I say. “They’re dead. They’re threatened. They’re being used as leverage. We protect them or we deserve to fall.”
I point at the bodies. “No civilian collateral. That’s the rule.”
A young enforcer—eyes wide, hands shaking—blurts, “What if the locals panic?”
I look at him. “Then we calm them. We don’t terrorize them.”
He swallows. “What if we need to make an example?—”
I cut him off with a stare that freezes him.
“If anyone ‘handles fear’ by hurting civilians,” I say, voice low and lethal, “I will execute them myself.”
