Chapter Text
The faint scent of ozone lingered in the air, mixed with something metallic that reminded Teetee Wanpichit of old blood. It clung to his clothes, his skin, and the walls around him, as if the life he lived had seeped into everything he owned. No matter how many times he cleaned, no matter how expensive the soap or cologne, the smell never truly left. Maybe it existed only in his mind now.
His apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
The place looked more like a hotel room than a home. The floors were smooth concrete, polished until they reflected the dim lights above. A single armchair sat facing a large screen mounted on the wall. In the corner stood a bed that looked rarely used despite the long hours he spent lying awake on it.
There were no family photos.
No souvenirs.
No decorations.
Nothing that could tell a stranger who lived there.
The apartment held no memories because Teetee had spent years avoiding them.
Everything he owned served a purpose. Anything unnecessary had been thrown away long ago. It was safer that way. Easier. The less attached he became to things, the less he had to lose.
Hidden behind a reinforced section of the wall was a secured vault. Inside were the tools of his trade. Weapons carefully maintained. Equipment organized with military precision. Every item had helped him survive another mission.
Every item had helped someone else die.
The room remained silent until a soft electronic chime broke through the stillness.
Teetee's gaze shifted toward the screen.
A new file had arrived.
Without much interest, he activated it.
A photograph appeared.
A young man stared back at him from the display.
Handsome.
Well-dressed.
Confident.
The kind of face usually found on magazine covers or business interviews.
For a moment, Teetee simply studied him.
Then a familiar voice filled the room.
Artificial.
Smooth.
Emotionless.
The voice belonged to his employer, though Teetee had never heard the man's real voice before. Every message arrived through encrypted channels and voice changers. After all these years, Teetee still didn't know his boss's real name, face, or location.
The man existed like a ghost.
Invisible.
Untouchable.
Yet somehow always watching.
"Target identified. Por Suppakarn."
The name echoed through the apartment.
Teetee leaned back in his chair and listened.
"Son of Sathorn Suppakarn. Current CEO of Siam Holdings."
The screen shifted, displaying photos, financial records, and public information.
The target smiled in most of them.
At charity events.
Business meetings.
Award ceremonies.
Every picture painted the image of a successful young businessman.
Someone admired.
Someone respected.
Someone who seemed far removed from the violence that existed in Teetee's world.
The voice continued.
"Public profile indicates strong public approval and positive media coverage."
Then came a brief silence.
A pause.
Deliberate.
The kind his boss always used before revealing the part that actually mattered. Teetee already knew what was coming. He had heard it countless times before.
Finally, the voice spoke again.
"Privately, he has become a liability."
No explanation followed.
None was needed. In their line of work, that single word carried enough meaning.
A liability could be a threat.
A witness.
A loose end.
Someone standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or simply someone another powerful person wanted gone.
The truth rarely mattered.
Only the order did.
The screen remained fixed on Por's face. For a few seconds, neither the room nor the voice made a sound. Then came the final command.
"Eliminate with prejudice."
Another short pause.
"Standard procedure." Then the transmission ended.
Silence returned once more.
Teetee stared at the photograph long after the screen stopped changing.
Por Suppakarn.
Another stranger.
Another name added to a long list.
Another life that had unknowingly crossed paths with death.
And somehow, despite everything, Teetee could no longer bring himself to look at these files with the same indifference he once had.
Teetee felt the familiar tightness in his stomach. It wasn't fear. Fear was something he had buried years ago, beaten down by countless missions and nights spent staring death in the face.
No, this feeling was different.
It was exhaustion.
The kind that settled deep into a person's bones and refused to leave.
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the face displayed on the screen. Another target. Another name.
Another life that would eventually become a file marked completed.
Once, jobs like this were easy. He would receive the order, gather information, make a plan, and finish the mission without a second thought. He was the Reaper. The best of the best. The one people whispered about but never saw. His success rate was nearly perfect. Few people could match his skills, and even fewer could survive after becoming his target.
Years ago, that reputation had made him proud.
Now it only made him tired.
The thrill was gone. The satisfaction was gone.
Every successful mission felt exactly the same as the one before it.
A clean shot.
A silent death.
A payment deposited into his account. Then another assignment would arrive, and the cycle would start all over again.
How many people had he killed?
The number had become too large to remember.
Sometimes he wondered if forgetting was worse than remembering.
His gaze drifted toward the large windows of his apartment. Beyond the glass, the city lights sparkled against the darkness. Somewhere out there stood the house he had bought with blood money. A beautiful modern home tucked away frpm crowded streets and curious eyes. It had everything he once dreamed about when he was younger. Spacious rooms. Expensive furniture. A private garden. Enough space to finally breathe.
He also had more money than he could ever spend.
For years, that had been the goal.
Earn enough.
Save enough.
Then leave.
Simple.
At least, that was what he used to tell himself.
Every contract, every risk, every sleepless night had been part of a larger plan. One day he would walk away. He would disappear without a trace and start over somewhere nobody knew his name.
No bosses. No targets. No blood.
Just peace.
He had spent years preparing for that future.
The money was ready.
The house was ready.
Even his escape route had been carefully planned.
Everything was in place.
This mission was supposed to be the final step.
One last job.
One last target.
Then he would vanish.
Yet somehow, every time he reached the finish line, his boss found a way to move it farther away.
Another contract.
Another favor.
Another reason why he couldn't leave just yet.
Teetee let out a slow breath and rubbed a hand over his face.
Sometimes he felt less like a person and more like a tool that had been sharpened for too long. A weapon kept locked away until someone needed something removed. The money had bought him comfort, but it hadn't bought him freedom.
And freedom was the one thing he wanted most.
His eyes returned to the profile on the screen.
A stranger.
A man who had no idea that somewhere in the city, someone had already decided he deserved to die.
Teetee stared at the photo for a long moment.
Then he closed his eyes.
For the first time in years, he found himself wondering whether he had enough strength left to keep doing this.
He continued studying Por Suppakarn's profile, his eyes moving from one photograph to the next.
The man was undeniably handsome. Sharp features, neat dark hair, expensive suits tailored perfectly to his frame. Every picture seemed carefully taken, yet Por's smile never looked forced. It was easy, natural, the kind of smile that made people trust him without thinking twice.
Teetee had spent years reading people.
Most smiles were fake.
Most public figures wore masks.
But looking at Por's photos, he found himself wondering if the man was actually sincere.
The file was filled with achievements. Business awards. Successful projects. Charity events. Interviews praising his leadership. Articles describing him as one of the country's brightest young CEOs. There were pictures of him shaking hands with investors, visiting schools, donating to communities, and standing beside children who looked genuinely happy to see him.
On paper, Por Suppakarn looked like a good man.
The kind of person people admired.
The kind of person parents would point to and tell their children to become.
Teetee scrolled through the information in silence.
Everything about Por's public image was clean.
Too clean.
Years in this business had taught him that nobody reached the top without getting their hands dirty somehow. Wealth always had a story behind it. Power even more so.
His gaze eventually landed on another name.
Sathorn Suppakarn.
Por's father.
The moment Teetee saw it, he understood why this file had landed on his desk.
Sathorn wasn't known to the public in the same way his son was. Most ordinary people only knew him as a successful businessman and founder of a powerful company. But in certain circles, among criminals, politicians, and people who worked in the shadows, his name carried a different meaning.
People lowered their voices when speaking about him.
Some avoided saying his name altogether.
Rumors followed him everywhere.
Stories about rivals who disappeared. Witnesses who suddenly changed their statements. Business deals secured through fear instead of negotiation. No one could prove much of it.
But everyone knew.
A man didn't build an empire that large without leaving blood behind.
Teetee had seen enough powerful men to recognize the pattern.
The expensive buildings.
The luxury cars. The respectable image. Underneath it all was usually violence.
Just hidden better.
His eyes returned to Por's photograph.
That was the problem.
Por wasn't Sathorn.
At least, there was no proof that he was.
Teetee sighed,a quiet exhalation that seemed more from exhaustion and not the mere act of breathing. The file contained no evidence of murder, traffcking, extortion, or any of the crimes often connected to his father's name. If anything, Por seemed determined to stay as far away from that world as possible.
Yet bloodlines had a way of trapping people.
Sometimes guilt wasn't decided by actions.
Sometimes it was decided by association.
Sometimes sharing a surname was enough.
Teetee leaned back in his chair and stared at the smiling face on the screen. Por Suppakarn had inherited his father's wealth. His father's company. His father's influence.
And whether he wanted it or not, he had also inherited his father's enemies.
In their world, that alone could become a death sentence.
Teetee slowly closed his eyes.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then the faces appeared. One after another.
Some were clear enough for him to remember every detail. Others had faded over the years, leaving behind only fragments. A pair of frightened eyes. A trembling hand. A desperate expression frozen in his memory.
There had been so many.
Too many.
An accountant who had stolen from the wrong people.
A gang leader caught in a war he couldn't win.
A politician buried under secrets and corruption.
Businessmen.
Criminals.
Informants.
Strangers.
Each one had once been alive. Each one had a name, a family, a story.
And each one had died because someone paid for it.
Because Teetee had carried out the order.
The memories came and went like flashes of light in the darkness behind his eyelids. Some lasted only a second. Others lingered longer than he wanted them to.
He had spent years convincing himself that it was just work.
A mission.
A job.
Nothing more.
But lately, that excuse wasn't working as well as it used to. The weight of it all had started catching up to him. It followed him everywhere.
In the quiet moments.
In the sleepless nights.
In the rare mornings when he woke up and forgot who he was for a few seconds before reality settled back in.
The guilt was no longer something he could push aside.
It had become a permanent part of him. Like a shadow that refused to leave.
Like a scar hidden beneath his skin.
Some nights he found himself staring at the ceiling for hours, wondering about the people he had taken from the world. Wondering if they had been scared. Wondering if they had known what was coming.
Wondering if any of them had deserved a chance he never gave them.
A bitter laugh almost escaped him.
The funny thing was that he had everything he once wanted.
Money.
Security.
A beautiful house.
Freedom, at least on paper.
Yet none of it felt enough.
Because no amount of money could erase what he had done. No expensive house could silence the memories. No fresh start could wash the blood from his hands.
Sometimes he wondered if a person like him even deserved a normal life.
Could someone who had spent years taking lives really settle down and pretend none of it happened?
Could he wake up one day and simply become someone else?
He didn't know.
And the older he got, the less certain he became of the answer.
Teetee opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling above him. For most of his life, darkness had been his home.
It had protected him.
Fed him.
Kept him alive.
But now, even when sunlight filled a room, he felt like he didn't belong in it.
As if he had spent so long living in the shadows that he no longer knew how to stand in the light.
Teetee Wanpichit wasn't born a killer.
He wasn't born wanting to hurt people. He wasn't born dreaming of guns, blood, and contracts. Like every other child, he had once wanted simple things.
A home.
A family.
A place where he felt safe.
But life had different plans for him.
His childhood was filled with arguments that seemed to never end. Almost every day, the walls of their house echoed with shouting. Doors slammed. Harsh words were thrown around without care. The home that was supposed to protect him slowly became the place he dreaded the most.
At first, Teetee believed things would get better.
He thought his parents would stop fighting eventually.
But hey never did.
As the years passed, their love for each other turned into resentment. Every conversation became a battle. Every disagreement became another reason to blame one another.
And somewhere in the middle of it all stood Teetee.
A child who never asked to be involved.
His mother would send him away whenever she was angry.
"Go stay with your father. I don't want to see his face every time I look at you."
His father wasn't much better.
"Your mother only cares about herself. You're better off without her."
Neither of them seemed to realize what those words did to him.
Or maybe they simply didn't care.
Little by little, Teetee stopped speaking during their arguments. He stopped defending either side. He learned to stay quiet and make himself invisible whenever the shouting started.
It was easier that way.
Less painful.
But then came the divorce.
While his parents treated it like the end of a long war, it felt like the end of everything to Teetee. The papers were signed. The marriage ended.
And with it came a truth he had spent years trying not to see.
Neither of them wanted him.
Not really.
For years they had used him as a weapon against each other.
A way to win arguments.
A way to hurt the othe.
But once the fighting was over, there was no reason to keep him close anymore.
He wasn't their priority.
For them, he wasn't even their responsibility.
He was simply a problem neither of them wanted to deal with.
His mother remarried not long after.
Her new husband had little patience for a quiet teenager who barely spoke and spent most of his time alone. Teetee could feel the man's irritation every time they were in the same room. Every sigh. Every annoyed glance. Every complaint spoken when he thought Teetee wasn't listening. The message was clear.
He wasn't welcome there.
His father wasn't any better.
After the divorce, he spent more time drinking than working. Bottles replaced conversations. Alcohol replaced responsibility. Some days, it felt like his father forgot he even had a son.
The calls became less frequent.
Eventually, the visits stopped completely.
There was nothing left.
No home with his mother.
No home with his father.
No place where he belonged.
By the time he turned fifteen, Teetee found himself standing alone with a worn backpack slung over one shoulder.
Everything he owned fit inside it.
A few clothes.
A little money.
And a lifetime's worth of disappointment.
He remembered standing on a crowded street that first night, watching people walk past him without a second glance.
Families laughed together.
Friends talked about their plans.
Couples held hands as they passed.
Meanwhile, he stood there alone.
No one looking for him.
No one waiting for him.
No one wondering where he was.
That was the night Teetee truly understood something. He had been abandoned long before he ever stepped onto the streets.
The streets were simply where he finally realized it.
The streets became Teetee's new home.
They were cruel, unforgiving, and dangerous. But unlike the people who had abandoned him,
the streets never pretended to care.
The first lesson they taught him was hunger.
Real hunger.
The kind that twisted his stomach until it hurt. The kind that kept him awake at night. The kind that made him stare at food through store windows and wonder what it would feel like to eat until he was full.
Some days he was lucky enough to find something cheap to eat. Other days he survived on almost nothing. After a while, hunger stopped feeling unusual.
It became normal.
Just another part of his life.
The second lesson was the cold.
There were nights when he curled up in corners, abandoned buildings, or bus stops, trying to keep warm. He learned how long a night could feel when he had nowhere to go. No matter how many layers he wore, the cold always found a way in. It settled into his bones and stayed there.
Then came the lessons he never wanted to learn.
How to steal without getting caught.
How to run when someone bigger came after him. How to throw a punch. How to take one. How to keep his head down and avoid attention.
Most importantly, he learned how to disappear.
People rarely noticed homeless kids. They looked through them instead of at them.
At first, that hurt.
Later, he learned to use it.
He became invisible. A shadow moving through crowded streets. A boy no one remembered seeing. A ghost among thousands of strangers.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks turned into months.
Teetee stopped expecting anyone to save him. He stopped hoping his parents would come looking for him.
Nobody did.
The longer he survived alone, the stronger he became. The anger inside him grew little by little.
Anger at his parents.
At the world.
At the people who walked past him every day without sparing a glance.
He carried that anger everywhere.
But eventually, someone noticed.
It happened on a cold evening.
Teetee was sitting in a narrow alley behind a row of buildings, trying to stay out of the wind. His jacket wasn't enough to keep him warm anymore, and he hadn't eaten properly in days. He barely looked up when footsteps approached.
People usually ignored him. And he expected this person to do the same.
Instead, the footsteps stopped right in front of him.
Teetee raised his head.
A man stood there.
His suit looked expensive enough to feed Teetee for months. His shoes were spotless despite the dirty alley. The scent of cigars lingered around him, mixed with an air of confidence that seemed impossible to ignore.
The man didn't look disgusted.
He didn't look pitying either.
He simply studied Teetee. As if he had found something interesting.
Something valuable.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then the man smiled.
"You've got fire in your eyes, kid."
Teetee frowned but said nothing. The man crouched slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on him.
"A lot of anger too."
His voice was calm. Smooth. The kind of voice that made people listen.
"Most people would see a homeless boy."
The man's smile widened.
"I see potential."
Teetee didn't know why, but those words made him pay attention. Maybe because nobody had called him valuable before.
Nobody had looked at him like he mattered.
The man continued speaking.
"I can give you a place to stay."
Teetee's eyes narrowed.
"A warm bed."
His stomach tightened.
"Food whenever you're hungry."
For a moment, Teetee hated how tempting that sounded.
Then came the final offer.
"You'll never have to be alone again."
Something inside him shifted. Because more than food. More than warmth. More than money.
Loneliness was what hurt the most.
And standing in that dark alley, listening to promises that sounded too good to be true, Teetee found himself wanting to believe them.
He didn't know it yet.
But that conversation would change the rest of his life.
It started subtly. Running errands, delivering packages, observing. Then came the training.
Weeks turned into months, months into years.
He was taught to shoot, to fight, to infiltrate, to disappear. He absorbed it all, a sponge starved for purpose, for a chance to carve out a space for himself in a world that had discarded him.
The first kill was a nightmare, a terrified gasp, a sickening thud. He vomited in an alley afterward, shaking uncontrollably. But the man in the suit, his new boss, simply patted his shoulder.
"It gets easier," he’d promised.
And it did.
The faces blurred, the screams faded, replaced by the grim satisfaction of a job done, a task completed, and the growing tally in his bank account.
He became a weapon, precise and deadly, losing bits of himself with each contract. The boy who yearned for a family was replaced by the man who craved only autonomy. He worked his way up, proving his loyalty, his ruthlessness.
He became the anonymous boss's most trusted, his right hand, the one called upon for the impossible.
He had the house now, the money, everything he had once thought would bring him peace. But peace remained elusive, replaced by a deep-seated weariness and the haunting specter of his past.
The file on Por Suppakarn grew thicker on Teetee’s screen over the next few days. He observed Por's routine with clinical detachment, yet an unfamiliar sliver of doubt began to prick at him. Por frequented an orphanage he personally funded, spending hours reading to children, playing games. He chaired board meetings with an air of genuine concern for his employees. He met his friends, among them a boisterous, perpetually energetic man named Auau, for casual dinners, laughing easily over trivial matters.
This wasn't the hardened criminal Teetee was used to eliminating. He was a son, yes, born into a kingdom of shadows, but he seemed... untainted.
Unaware, almost.
Teetee tried to push the thought aside. Innocence was a luxury none in his world could afford. Especially not the son of Sathorn Suppakarn. A target was a target. His boss’s word was law.
And the implicit message was clear: question nothing, execute everything.
Teetee chose the night carefully.
The manor sat on the outskirts of the city, far from crowded streets and curious eyes. According to the information he had gathered, Por often stayed there whenever he wanted peace and quiet away from his busy life.
It was the perfect place for a mission.
Private.
Isolated.
Easy to control.
Rain poured from the dark sky, striking the ground in steady sheets. The sound covered small movements and blurred visibility, turning the night into a curtain of shadows.
Teetee moved through the storm without hesitation.
Rain poured heavily from the dark sky, soaking everything in its path. His long coat darkened under the relentless downpour, water dripping from the fabric as he made his way toward the property. In one gloved hand, he carried a pistol fitted with a suppressor, the matte-black weapon resting comfortably in his grip after years of use.
The gun felt like an extension of himself.
Familiar.
Reliable.
Deadly.
Years of experience had taught him how to move unnoticed, how to become one with the darkness. He slipped through the shadows with quiet confidence, his footsteps drowned out by the sound of rain. Hidden beneath the storm and the night, Teetee looked less like a man and more like a ghost making his way toward its next victim.
From a distance, the manor looked calm.
Safe.
Protected.
But Teetee knew better.
The security around the estate was tight. Cameras watched the perimeter. Alarms guarded the entrances. Sensors monitored movement. Enough precautions to stop ordinary intruders.
But Teetee wasn't an ordinary intruder.
He had broken into places far more secure than this.
As he approached the property, his movements remained steady and controlled. Every step had been planned beforehand. Every possible obstacle had already been studied.
Still, something felt different tonight.
A faint tension sat in his chest.
Not fear.
Just the awareness that this mission carried more weight than the others. This was supposed to be the last one. The final contract.
The final target.
After tonight, he planned to disappear.
No more orders.
No more missions.
No more bloodshed.
The thought lingered in his mind as rain continued to fall around him. There was a strange irony in it.
To earn his freedom, he first had to take away someone else's.
Teetee pushed the thought aside and focused on the task ahead. His gloved hands worked quickly and quietly.
One by one, he bypassed the manor's security measures. Alarms were avoided. Sensors were disabled. Obstacles that would have stopped most people barely slowed him down.
Years of training made every action feel natural.
Effortless.
Within minutes, he was inside. The house was silent.
No voices.
No footsteps.
Only the distant sound of rain against the windows.
Teetee moved through the hallways without making a sound. The darkness concealed him as he searched for his target.
Eventually, he reached the study. A soft light spilled from the partially open door. He looked inside.
Por Suppakarn sat alone behind a desk.
The warm glow of a lamp illuminated the room, casting gentle shadows across the shelves and furniture. A book rested in his hands, holding his full attention.
For a moment, the sight caught Teetee off guard.
It wasn't what he expected.
There was no meeting.
No bodyguards.
No signs of power or authority.
Just a man sitting quietly, reading.
A wealthy and influential businessman spending his evening alone with a book. The scene felt strangely peaceful.
Almost ordinary.
And for reasons Teetee couldn't explain, that made it harder to look away.
Teetee moved without a sound.
Por, however, possessed an unexpected alertness. He glanced up, his eyes widening as Teetee emerged from the shadows. There was no terror, not immediately. Just a profound confusion.
"Who are you?" Por's voice was surprisingly calm, a hint of steel beneath the cultured tone.
Teetee remained silent, raising his silenced weapon.
Por’s gaze flickered to the gun, then back to Teetee's face. "Let me guess. My father sent you? Or one of his rivals?" A ghost of a bitter smile touched his lips. "It's always something, isn't it? Being him."
Teetee said nothing, his finger tightening on the trigger.
"Wait," Por said, holding up a hand. "I don't understand. I haven't done anything. I run a legitimate business. I stay out of whatever... mess he's gotten himself into." His voice was earnest, a desperate plea.
The words resonated with Teetee, stirring the unwelcome doubt. This wasn't the usual defiant victim, nor the begging coward. This was a man genuinely bewildered. But Teetee had a job to do, a life to escape.
"Doesn't matter," Teetee’s voice was a low rasp, unused, rough. "You're a liability."
"A liability?" Por scoffed, then his eyes sharpened, seeing the cold, unyielding resolve in Teetee's gaze. This wasn’t a warning. This was execution. "You're going to kill an innocent man?"
That word.
Innocent.
It echoed in Teetee’s mind, grating against the hardened shell of his conscience.
Teetee adjusted his stance slightly.
Years of training had taught him exactly when to move and when to wait. Every mission followed the same pattern. Observe. Calculate. Act.
The moment had come.
Por was right there. Close enough. Unaware.
Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. Then suddenly, Por moved.
Not toward the door.
Not toward Teetee.
Away.
The movement was quick and desperate, as though he had acted on instinct rather than logic. His hand collided with a large antique globe positioned near the desk. For a brief second, the object wobbled in place.
Then gravity took over.
The globe tipped over the edge and crashed onto the floor. The impact shattered the silence of the room.
A loud crack echoed through the study as pieces scattered across the polished floor. Fragments rolled in different directions, bouncing against furniture and walls.
The noise was sudden enough to draw attention. Loud enough to disrupt the calm atmosphere that had existed only moments before.
It wasn't a clever plan.
It wasn't even a good one.
Any reasonable person would have known that knocking over a decorative globe wouldn't stop a trained assassin. But Por wasn't trying to stop him. He was trying to create a distraction.
And for one crucial second, it worked.
Teetee's attention shifted toward the crash.
Not because he was startled, but because unexpected movements always demanded attention. It was instinct. Years of surviving dangerous situations had trained his mind to react immediately to anything unusual.
That single second was all Por needed.
The moment the globe hit the floor, he ran.
Fast.
Without hesitation. Without looking back.
The book he had been reading was forgotten. The study was forgotten. Only escape mattered now.
Teetee immediately refocused on him, expecting the obvious route. The main door. Most people would run for the nearest exit. Most people would panic. Most people would make predictable choices.
Por didn't.
Instead of heading toward the door, he rushed toward one of the bookshelves lining the wall. For a split second, Teetee thought he had cornered himself. Then part of the bookshelf shifted. The movement was smooth and practiced. A hidden passage revealed itself behind the shelves.
Teetee's eyes narrowed. The opening had been concealed so well that it blended perfectly with the rest of the room. Even after studying the manor's layout beforehand, he had found no mention of it.
No blueprints.
No reports.
No signs that it existed.
Yet there it was. A secret escape route hidden behind rows of books.
Por disappeared into the opening without slowing down.
His eyes remained fixed on the hidden passage as the realization settled in.
Por had surprised him.
That alone was unusual.
Most targets reacted in predictable ways when faced with danger. They froze. They panicked. They made mistakes.
Por had done the opposite.
He had acted quickly, noticed an opportunity, and used it without hesitation.
“Fuck.” Teetee muttered. The sound was low, barely audible.
Teetee moved forward without hesitation.
His body responded automatically, every movement smooth and controlled. Years of experience made speed feel effortless. He didn't waste energy. He didn't rush blindly. Every step was efficient. Every motion had purpose.
Teetee spent hours studying every target, every location, every possible route before accepting a mission. He prepared for problems before they happened. He planned for mistakes before anyone could make them.
That was one of the reasons he had survived for so long. That bothered him more than anything.
And yet, somehow, he had missed this.
As he entered the hidden passage, his attention remained locked on the path ahead.
The chase had begun.
And Teetee intended to end it.
Por was fast, pumped by raw adrenaline, rushing out into the pouring rain. He scrambled into a waiting luxury sedan, its engine already idling – a getaway car, prepared for... what? Teetee hadn't thought for this level of precaution. Perhaps Por wasn't as oblivious as he claimed.
Teetee didn't waste a second.
The moment he emerged from the escape route and realized where Por was headed, he broke into a sprint. Rain poured heavily from the sky, soaking everything in sight. Water splashed beneath his boots as he moved across the property with a single goal in mind.
Catch the target.
His vehicle was parked a careful distance away from the manor, hidden from immediate view.
The black sports car waited exactly where he had left it.
Within seconds, he reached it. The driver's door swung open. He slid inside. The engine roared to life almost immediately. Then he accelerated.
The tires cut through the wet road as he pulled away from the property and entered the chase. Rain hammered against the windshield without mercy.
The wipers moved rapidly, pushing away sheets of water only for more to take their place moments later. Streetlights and traffic signals blurred behind the rain, turning the city into streaks of color and light.
Visibility was poor. The roads were slippery. Most people would have slowed down.
Por did the opposite.
Up ahead, Teetee spotted his vehicle weaving through traffic.
Por drove like someone who knew exactly what was waiting for him if he got caught.
Fast.
Desperate.
Reckless.
Cars swerved out of the way as he pushed through openings that barely existed. Red taillights flashed through the rain as vehicles were forced to brake and move aside.
Por wasn't thinking about safety. He was thinking about survival. And survival made people do dangerous things.
Teetee kept his eyes fixed on the vehicle ahead. His grip on the steering wheel remained steady.
Unlike Por, he wasn't panicking.
There was no fear.
No desperation.
Only focus.
Driving had become second nature to him long ago. Years of missions had forced him to master every skill that could keep him alive, and that included handling a vehicle under extreme conditions.
Rain.
Traffic.
High speeds.
None of it was unfamiliar.
His movements remained controlled as he guided the car through the crowded streets. Every turn was precise. Every lane change was calculated. He wasted no motion and no energy.
The distance between them slowly began to shrink.
Little by little.
Meter by meter.
Por had a head start.
But Teetee was catching up.
The chase continued through the rain-soaked city, both vehicles cutting through the night while neon lights reflected across the wet roads.
Ahead, Por kept running.
Behind him, Teetee kept closing the gap.
And neither of them showed any sign of stopping.
This wasn't how the mission was supposed to happen.
From the very beginning, the plan had been simple.
Get in. Eliminate the target. Leave without being seen.
That was how Teetee preferred to work.
Quiet.
Clean.
Efficient.
No witnesses. No unnecessary complications. No long chases through the city.
Yet somehow, everything had gone wrong.
Instead of ending the mission inside a silent study, he now found himself speeding through rain-soaked streets while his target continued to pull farther ahead.
The situation irritated him more than he wanted to admit. His jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on the road. Por wasn't supposed to escape. The hidden passage wasn't supposed to exist. The mission wasn't supposed to turn into this.
Every unexpected turn only added to the frustration building inside him.
Not because he doubted his ability to finish the job. But because he hated losing control.
Rain continued to pound against the windshield as vehicles moved through the crowded streets around him. Bright lights reflected across the wet pavement, creating shifting patterns of color that flashed past in seconds.
Up ahead, Por's vehicle remained in sight.
Still running.
Still escaping.
Still forcing this mission to continue.
Teetee exhaled slowly.
His focus sharpened as he studied the traffic ahead.
Cars moved in both directions, creating a constantly shifting obstacle course. Openings appeared and disappeared within seconds. Most drivers would hesitate.
Teetee didn't.
Then he saw it. A gap.
Small. Narrow. Risky.
But usable.
His eyes tracked the movement of the surrounding vehicles, calculating distances and timing almost automatically. Years of experience allowed him to process everything in an instant.
The opening wouldn't last long.
If he wanted to use it, he had to act now.
Without hesitation, he turned the wheel. The sports car responded immediately.
Its tires cut across the wet road as he swerved through the opening, positioning himself for the maneuver he had been waiting for. Water sprayed from beneath the tires. The engine growled as the vehicle accelerated.
His goal was simple.
Get ahead.
Cut Por off.
Take away his escape route.
Force him into a position where he had nowhere left to go.
Teetee kept his attention fixed on the vehicle ahead as he pushed forward through the rain.
The moment Teetee turned the wheel, the car lost its grip.
The rain-slick road betrayed him.
A hidden patch of oil lurked beneath the flood of water, invisible until it was too late. The tires slipped.
For the first time that night, the vehicle stopped responding the way he expected. His stomach dropped.
The world lurched violently to the side. The steering wheel jerked beneath his hands as the car spun out of control.
One rotation.
Then another.
Streetlights, headlights, and neon signs blurred together into a dizzying storm of color.
The sound came next.
A deafening scream of metal scraping against pavement.
The sharp explosion of shattering glass. The tortured groan of steel twisting under impossible force. Everything happened at once. The impact hit like a freight train.
The force threw Teetee forward before he could react.
Pain erupted through his body.
His vision flashed white.
The air was driven from his lungs in a violent rush.
For a split second, he couldn't tell which way was up. The world became nothing but noise and motion.
Crashing.
Spinning.
Breaking.
Then came another impact.
Harder.
Closer.
The kind that rattled every bone in his body. A sharp burst of pain exploded through his head, and his thoughts scattered instantly.
The sounds around him began to fade.
The rain.
The screeching metal.
The distant traffic.
All of it seemed to drift farther and farther away.
His vision blurred.
The city lights melted into shapeless streaks. Darkness crept in from the edges of his sight, swallowing everything piece by piece. Teetee tried to stay conscious.
Tried to hold on.
But the darkness was stronger.
And within seconds, it consumed him completely.
Everything disappeared.