Guldrin’s Gluttony: Family Bound by Speed & Food

The minutes stretched into an eternity, the silence of the night amplifying every tiny sound, the rustle of the wind through dry grass, the occasional crackle of static from their earpieces, the distant hoot of an owl somewhere in the darkness. Despite the lack of immediate danger, the tension was thick, coiling like a snake just waiting to strike. 

Even the air felt different, charged with anticipation, as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting for chaos to unfold.

Guldrin adjusted his grip on the M24, his fingers steady, his mind razor-sharp. Sniping was about patience, discipline, and the cold acceptance that at any moment, he might have to end a life with no hesitation. Because in this world, hesitation was a luxury he couldn't afford.

His gaze flicked briefly to Revy, who lay beside him, her AR-15 resting against her shoulder as she peered through the ACOG scope. Her fingers drummed impatiently against the receiver, her restlessness barely contained. She was like a caged predator, itching for the moment when she could finally sink her claws into something. The waiting? That was the worst part for her.

"Man, I really hope someone shows up soon," Revy muttered under her breath, shifting her weight slightly. "Sitting around like this makes me antsy."

Guldrin smirked but didn't look away from his scope. "Try breathing exercises."

Revy snorted. "Yeah? How about I exercise my trigger finger on that dumb camo wrap you put on your rifle instead?"

Before Guldrin could fire back a retort, a crackle came through their earpieces, followed by the unmistakable voice of Shiro, light and teasing. "Hush, big-sister-in-law," she giggled, clearly enjoying herself, "we have eyes in the sky. Pun intended."

Revy rolled her eyes, mouthing the words "big-sister-in-law" mockingly while making exaggerated hand gestures. Guldrin and Alisa, watching her antics, exchanged amused glances but said nothing.

"Sky is clear, thank you for the pun Shiro," Skye's unamused voice cut in, making Shiro giggle.

Shiro continued, unfazed by Skye's commentary and Revy's lack of patience. "The bugs' trackers show they're about two miles out. I haven't established a video feed yet, but they should be in sight any moment now. Keep your eyes open, and don't start anything until Guldrin gives the go-ahead."

Revy mimicked talking with her hand, her lips forming silent words as she mockingly parroted Shiro's instructions. Her exaggerated expressions were comical enough to nearly make Guldrin chuckle, but he forced himself to stay focused.

Alisa shook her head, whispering, "You two are children."

Revy grinned, flashing her a toothy smirk. "Compared to you? Yeah, but I'm the fun one." Alisa just grumbled something about needing to maintain professionalism.

The radio went silent for a moment, the night resuming its eerie stillness. 

Guldrin exhaled slowly, adjusting his scope. His gut told him that this wasn't going to be a simple meet-and-greet. Something felt off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Then, in the distance, a faint rumble.

It was subtle at first, barely noticeable, but it grew steadily, the telltale sound of engines approaching. Not just one or two, several. A convoy.

Guldrin pressed his eye to the scope, his vision sharpening as he caught sight of movement. Headlights appeared over the horizon, bobbing slightly with the terrain. 

At least four vehicles, possibly more trailing behind. He could make out the outlines of heavy-duty SUVs, their dark forms moving through the night like prowling beasts.

"Contacts confirmed," he murmured through the comms. "Four vehicles minimum, SUVs escorting a truck. Could be more in the back. Heavily tinted windows. No signs of aggression yet, but that could change."

Shiro's voice came back immediately. "Sending live feed now."

The hastily thrown together wrist screen on Guldrin's forearm flickered to life with a faint hum, casting an eerie glow against the darkness. 

The grainy infrared feed from the drones sharpened just enough to make out the convoy, a string of vehicles rolling steadily toward the meeting point, their engines little more than a low growl beneath the night's silence. 

The heat signatures of their occupants flared in shades of white and red, silhouettes shifting as the men inside moved.

"Got visuals," Skye's voice came through the comms, calm but alert. "Counting ten… no, twelve warm bodies across all vehicles. Three of them are definitely carrying rifles. Could be more, but that's what I can see for now."

Guldrin exhaled through his nose, his gaze locked onto the feed. "Not a casual meetup, then. They came expecting trouble. Or preparing for it, either way."

"Perfect," Revy drawled, rolling her shoulders with a smirk. "Means I don't have to pretend to be patient."

She cracked her knuckles, shifting slightly as she adjusted her hold on her rifle. The eagerness in her tone wasn't feigned, if anything, she was disappointed it had taken this long for things to kick off. 

But Guldrin wasn't as keen to rush in. He kept watching, eyes sharp, as the lead SUVs slowed, then came to a stop in perfect synchronization. The way they parked was methodical, controlled. These guys were professionals.

The first doors swung open, and two men stepped out in near unison. Tactical gear. Sidearms holstered, but their hands lingered close, ready. 

They moved in smooth, calculated strides, scanning the area with the kind of discipline that spoke of training and experience.

Then, another door creaked open. A third figure emerged, his presence immediately commanding. Taller than the others, dressed in a dark overcoat that swayed slightly in the night breeze. 

There was no need to see his face to know, this was the guy in charge. He walked with the ease of someone who expected control, who had never needed to prove his authority because it had never been questioned.

Guldrin narrowed his eyes.

"ID coming through now," Skye muttered. There was a brief pause, then a sharp inhale of breath. "Oh, you're gonna love this. Looks like we've got more Anvil to put down."

Guldrin's grip tightened slightly on his rifle. Anvil. That explained the discipline, the methodical movements. 

Private military contractors, high-end mercs who sold their services to whoever had the deepest pockets. 

"Great," he murmured. "So these guys are the vanguard. Security detail meant to clear the area before the real party shows up."

Across from him, Revy let out a low chuckle. "Makes things easier for us. Kill the babysitters before their boss even shows up? It's like getting a head start."

Guldrin didn't respond immediately, instead watching as the Anvil mercs spread out, taking up defensive positions. 

They were quick, efficient. No wasted movement, no hesitation. 

Each one settled into a vantage point that gave them maximum coverage of the area, their eyes sweeping the landscape in near-perfect synchronization.

They were pros.

And they were about to die.

His gaze flicked across each one, mentally mapping their locations. He needed to take out the high-ground threats first, the ones with the clearest lines of sight. If they weren't dealt with swiftly, things could get messy fast.

Revy was already shifting in place, fingers flexing over her rifle. "Can we start shooting yet, or are we gonna wait until they send out formal invitations?"

"Hold," Guldrin said simply, voice steady.

Revy groaned but didn't argue.

The faint crackle of static bled through the comms before Shiro's voice came in, cool and composed but carrying an edge of urgency. "Heads up. Letty's convoy is inbound. And I don't mean a casual roll-up, I mean full-throttle, tire-screeching entrance. Whatever's about to go down, it's happening now."

Guldrin's lips twitched, barely restraining a smirk. Of course, Letty wouldn't take the subtle approach. Subtlety wasn't exactly her style when the alternative was a high-speed spectacle that announced itself with all the finesse of a jet engine tearing through a quiet night.

"Showtime," Skye murmured, her voice tinged with anticipation, fingers dancing over the controls as she adjusted their surveillance feed.

Guldrin exhaled slowly, steadying his focus. His vision narrowed, his senses tuning into the tension threading the air as the Anvil mercs reacted to the incoming roar of engines. Some turned sharply, their instincts kicking in as they reached for their weapons, while others, still trying to decipher the source of the disturbance, hesitated just long enough to make themselves targets.

The Anvil team leader, an imposing figure with the kind of cocky stance that came from knowing he had the upper hand, or at least believing he did, brought his radio up again, barking orders with the kind of authority that suggested he wasn't worried. 

He motioned his men forward, spreading them out in a coordinated maneuver.

Guldrin kept his voice low, his tone almost casual, though his mind was already working out the logistics of what came next. "Alright. First, we take out the ones running overwatch. No spotter, no coordination. Then we time our shots, each one clean, each one synced, so there's no chance for them to react. You take the right sniper, I'll take the left."

Revy just grinned, this was what she was waiting for.

Guldrin shifted slightly, aligning his sight downrange. His finger rested lightly against the trigger as he counted down, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Three… two… one… fire."

Two suppressed shots cut through the night, barely audible over the distant rumble of Letty's approaching convoy. The two snipers perched in overwatch positions jerked backward almost simultaneously, their bodies slumping before they even had a chance to process what had happened.

No alarms. No frantic shouts. Just the silent removal of two crucial pieces from the board.

The rest of the Anvil mercs remained unaware, their focus now divided between preparing to secure the cargo and the approaching convoy. But their false sense of control was rapidly slipping through their fingers, and they didn't even know it yet.

"Targets down," Skye confirmed, already scanning any new threats.

Guldrin didn't waste time. He adjusted his positioning, shifting his scope to the next cluster of enemies. Timing was everything. The moment they realized their overwatch was gone, things would spiral. 

They had a small window, razor-thin, where they could keep cutting down their numbers before anyone had the chance to react.

"Alright," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Next."

The distant thunder of Letty's engines grew louder, the convoy closing in. It was almost go-time.

Guldrin's heart beat slow and steady, his breathing controlled, every movement deliberate. His scope traced the remaining guards, each, unaware that their numbers had already started to dwindle. 

The overwatch snipers were dead, their bodies slumped in unseen perches, cooling under the night sky. No shouts. No alarms. Just a game of numbers, and Guldrin was stacking the odds in his favor.

He scanned the scene through his rifle's scope. 

The Anvil team was still spread out, methodical, professional, but they had no idea they were already compromised. 

He counted the remaining threats, memorized their positions, four near the cargo truck, three circling the perimeter, another lingering by the SUVs, standing slightly apart like he thought he was too important to keep watch. That was the team leader. The last two were wandering around, clearly new hires given base jobs with no impact.

Perfect.

"Four at the cargo, one roamer, two near the SUVs," Guldrin murmured, already making the calculations.

Revy barely breathed into the comms. "Take the perimeter first. Drop the roamer before he gets wise."

He was already on it. 

The roamer, a man with a carbine slung lazily over his shoulder, paced in slow, deliberate steps, scanning the darkness with the casual arrogance of someone who didn't expect to find a damn thing. 

Guldrin adjusted his aim just slightly, lining up the shot right at the soft spot beneath his jaw. He squeezed the trigger.

Another muffled thump. Another body collapsed, dead before his knees even buckled.

Still no reaction.

Silent. Precise. Efficient.

Guldrin moved to the next one, a guard standing near the far side of the cargo truck. The man had a tight grip on his weapon, but his head was turned toward the approaching convoy, too focused on Letty's thunderous entrance to realize his doom was already upon him.

Guldrin didn't hesitate. Another shot, another silent kill. The guard's head snapped back an inch before he crumpled, hitting the pavement with a dull thud.

One of the others glanced in his direction, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, but before his mouth could even form a word, Revy took her shot.

Dead. No time for last words.

The last man near the truck shifted, glancing at the fallen body at his feet, his fingers twitching toward his radio.

Too slow.

Guldrin put a round through his temple before his fingers could even reach the button.

Revy was making quick work of her targets, she was clearly enjoying this, maybe a little too much.

It took exactly five seconds for these men to die.

The board was clearing fast.

And still, the rest of the Anvil team had no clue they were being picked apart one by one.

Guldrin exhaled, scanning what was left. Two remained near the SUVs, including the team leader. The cocky bastard still had his radio up, issuing orders, completely unaware that most of the men he was speaking to would never respond.

"Two left," Skye muttered. "Boss man and his shadow."

"I'll take the leader," Guldrin replied. "You got the other?"

A soft chuckle. "Always."

Guldrin adjusted his aim again, centering his crosshairs just above the leader's collarbone. He could tell by the way the guy carried himself, feet planted firm, back straight, shoulders squared, that this was someone who was used to giving orders, not taking them. That made him dangerous. The moment he realized things were going sideways, he'd be a problem.

Better not to give him that chance.

Guldrin's finger tensed against the trigger.

Then, as if sensing something was wrong, the team leader finally paused mid-sentence, turning slightly. His hand moved toward his sidearm, instincts kicking in. Whether he had seen something or not, didn't matter, it was already…

*Crack*

Too late.

Guldrin fired.

The bullet tore through his throat with a sickening efficiency, the sharp crack of the suppressed shot lost beneath the distant hum of the night. His words, whatever orders or warnings he had been about to give, died with him, strangled in a bubbling rush of blood that gurgled at his lips. His eyes went wide with the sudden, horrifying realization that something had gone terribly wrong.

Staggering, his knees buckled beneath him, his body caught in the cruel hesitation between fight and surrender. One trembling hand shot up, clutching at the gaping wound, as if he could somehow will the life back into his veins. 

But it was already slipping away, draining from his body in thick, crimson rivulets that painted the pavement beneath him. A shuddering breath, a final twitch of the fingers, then nothing.

Half a second later, Revy's shot found its mark. The last merc didn't even have time to react. One moment, he was standing beside the SUV, his head just beginning to turn toward the collapsing body of his leader. 

The next, his body jerked violently, a bullet punching clean through his skull, snapping it sideways with enough force to send him slamming against the vehicle. The dull thud of flesh meeting metal was the only sound that followed. 

His lifeless body slid down, leaving behind a smear of blood on the polished surface before pooling at his feet.

Then, for the first time since the ambush began, the world held its breath.

Stillness. Utter, absolute stillness.

It stretched on for what felt like an eternity, the air thick with the ghosts of the fallen. No alarms blared, no shouts of panic, no desperate attempts at retaliation. 

Just the quiet whisper of the wind rustling through the distant trees, carrying with it the scent of spent gunpowder and fresh blood.

Then, as if sensing its cue, the night roared back to life.

Engines growled, cutting through the silence like a blade. The convoy surged forward, headlights slicing through the darkness, casting long shadows over the bodies that now littered the ground, hidden from sight. 

Tires crunched against gravel, the low rumble of powerful machines filling the air. One by one, the vehicles pulled in, forming a loose perimeter, the bodies positioned carefully chosen to conceal the carnage from any wandering eyes.

And then, with a deliberate slowness that spoke of pure confidence, an emerald 1972 Ford Gran Torino Sport rolled to a stop at the front of the formation. Its dark, polished exterior gleamed under the flickering glow of distant streetlights, the aggressive lines of the muscle car exuding a quiet but undeniable menace. This was no ordinary arrival. This was a statement.

The door swung open with an almost lazy flourish, and from the driver's seat emerged a man who carried himself with the arrogance of someone who knew the world bent to his will.

Fenix Calderon.

Even without a single word, his presence commanded attention. He didn't rush, didn't hurry to assess the situation or bark orders. No, he took his time, stepping out with the kind of controlled, predatory grace that came naturally to men like him.

With an almost theatrical gesture, he swung the car door shut behind him, the solid.

 *thunk* 

Reverberating in the tense air. A glance around, a casual survey of the scene before him, though there was no way he had missed the fact that something was wrong.

Yet, he didn't react. Not outwardly.

Instead, he simply lifted a hand, a slow, deliberate motion informing the drivers to stop, park their cars and wait.

Not yet.

Fenix took a step forward, his gaze sweeping the area once more. If he noticed the lack of responding guards, the eerie absence of the men who were supposed to be securing this location, he didn't let it show.

But Guldrin saw it.

That moment. That fraction of hesitation, so brief it could have been mistaken for a trick of the light. A flicker in Fenix's expression, there and gone before anyone who wasn't paying close attention could have caught it. But for those who knew how to watch, how to read the minute tells of a man used to control, it was as obvious as a gunshot in the silence.

He knew.

He didn't know how yet. Didn't know who was responsible, didn't know what exactly had gone wrong. But he knew something was off, and that was enough to send a crack through the arrogant, untouchable demeanor he so effortlessly projected.

And just like that, the game had officially begun.

His steps were fast but controlled, each one driven by equal parts anger and the kind of fear that a man like Fenix Calderon would never admit to. 

Fear wasn't something he felt. At least, that's what he told himself. But the tension in his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw, small things, but telling, betrayed something deeper. He could feel the weight of invisible eyes on him, the presence of something he couldn't quite pinpoint, and that set every single nerve in his body on edge.

His gaze locked onto a sleek white Porsche Cayman, parked just slightly off from the rest of the convoy. 

His destination.

And waiting for him was her.

Dark hair fell in effortless waves over her shoulders, but there was nothing soft about the woman standing next to the car. Athletic, poised, tanned, exuding the kind of quiet confidence that only came from experience in places where hesitation got you killed. She was composed, but Fenix knew better than to mistake that for ease. This woman was like a blade, silent, sharp, and just waiting for the moment to strike.

But she wasn't fast enough.

Fenix moved before she could react, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. In one swift motion, he yanked his engraved, gold-plated M1911 from his waistband, the polished weapon gleaming under the dim streetlights as he leveled it right at her head.

"You," he snarled, his voice dripping with venom.

He didn't waste time. Didn't give her room to maneuver, to think, to act.

"What the hell have you done?"

His finger twitched on the trigger, his hand steady despite the barely restrained fury radiating off him.

The woman's expression didn't change. Not at first.

Fenix's sneer deepened as he tightened his grip, shoving the barrel of the pistol closer to her temple.

"You think we didn't know? That we didn't see you for what you are?" His voice was a growl now, low and sharp, like a wolf warning off an intruder. "A mole. We knew from the beginning."

He pulled her in roughly, arm locking around her, turning her into a human shield as he scanned the darkness, searching for an unseen threat.

"And now you've shown your true colors."

His mind was racing. If she was the traitor, then she knew exactly who had come for them. And if she knew that…

"How many are out there?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "Tell them to stand down. Now."

The gun pressed harder against her skull.

"Or you die right here."

For the first time, the woman hesitated. 

But not in fear. It was something else. Confusion, maybe. Contemplation. And then, resolve.

A slow, cold smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, and for the first time since the gun was aimed at her head, she spoke.

"And… Why should I do that?" Her voice was smooth, unwavering, utterly unafraid. "One life for an entire operation? Sounds like a good trade to me."

She wasn't lying.

She knew this wasn't her doing.

She could see it. The small things that others might have missed. The slight, unnatural stillness in the air. The careful positioning of the fallen, hidden from obvious sight, but not from her. The way the silence wasn't just silence, but something else.

This wasn't a hastily executed betrayal. 

This wasn't the result of someone getting cold feet and deciding to blow the whistle at the last second.

This was surgical. Precise. Deliberate.

Someone had come through here, and they had done it with the kind of lethal efficiency that made even her uneasy.

But telling that to the man currently pressing a gun against her skull?

Not an option.

So she did the only thing she could.

She doubled down.

Her chin lifted slightly, her dark eyes locking onto his with a quiet, unshakable certainty.

"I am Gisele Yashar. Agent of the CIA."

The words slipped from her lips so effortlessly, so seamlessly, that it might as well have been the truth.

"Turn yourself in now, and maybe, maybe, you'll live."

She knew it wouldn't work.

Knew it the second the words left her mouth.

Fenix's expression twisted, caught somewhere between fury and amusement, like a man trying to decide whether to laugh or pull the trigger.

For a brief second, Gisele wished she had been faster. Had reacted just a little bit quicker. If she hadn't been blindsided, she could've snapped this arrogant bastard in half before he'd even gotten a chance to pull his gun.

But she hadn't.

She had hesitated.

She didn't know, hadn't seen it soon enough.

And now, she was at his mercy.

Her only hope now was that whoever had done this—whoever had slipped through unnoticed, leaving behind nothing but bodies and questions, was still here.

That they hadn't just left her to fend for herself.

Because if they had, then her options had just narrowed down to one.

And it wasn't one she was going to like.

Meanwhile, in two separate but equally sophisticated command centers, Shiro and Skye worked in tandem, running facial recognition on every single person present at the scene. 

Their drones hovered like unseen sentinels, feeding streams of data back to their systems in real-time. 

Each face was scanned, analyzed, and cross-referenced against every known database they had access to. And considering they had backdoor access into the CIA, NSA, Interpol, and several private intelligence firms, there wasn't much that remained hidden from them.

At least, that was what they thought.

The first wave of results came in fast, most of the people in the area lit up red, high-priority criminals flagged across multiple agencies. Smugglers, arms dealers, hitmen, cartel enforcers, thugs, none of them the kind of people who would be missed if they were to suddenly disappear.

And then, Gisele's face popped up on the screen.

The moment her profile tried to load, the system screamed.

Warnings flooded their screens.

Access Denied.

Clearance Level Insufficient.

Unauthorized Entry Attempt Logged.

Skye blinked. "What the hell?"

Shiro frowned, fingers flying across the keyboard as she tried to bypass the security lock. That should have been impossible. They had gotten into everything before. There wasn't a database they hadn't cracked, a file they couldn't slip into. 

The very idea that someone had a lock so tight that their systems couldn't access it? That was saying something.

Skye tried her own workarounds, layering intrusion protocols that should have at least given them some kind of information, but it was like hitting a steel wall. Gisele's file was completely sealed.

"Damn," she muttered. "That's government level."

"No," Shiro corrected, voice calm but sharp. "That's above government level."

Because even the government's top-secret files were within their reach. They'd broken into the NSA's data vaults like it was a side project. 

They'd gone through the CIA's black books like flipping through a magazine. If they weren't allowed access to something, it meant one of two things, either Gisele Yashar was someone far, far more important than they realized…

Or someone wanted them to think she was.

Either way, it meant trouble.

"Okay," Skye exhaled. "So, that's weird. But she's not the priority here."

Shiro nodded, filing the anomaly away for later. For now, they had a bigger concern.

Other than Gisele and Letty, every single person in that lot was the kind of scum that thrived in the underbelly of society, the ones who built their lives around blood, money, and fear. 

They weren't businessmen or even just criminals trying to get by. No, these were the ones who made their money by making sure someone else bled for it. Murderers, enforcers, traffickers, people who had long since abandoned the idea of morality in favor of power.

And if, by some unfortunate accident, they were all to simply disappear tonight?

Well, the world wouldn't lose any sleep over it.

Would that be shallow?

Maybe.

Would it be unfair?

Possibly.

But did Guldrin care?

Not even a little.

Because at the end of the day, Letty was his mother.

And the rest of the world?

They could burn for all he cared.

This wasn't some noble cause. He wasn't here to play hero. There was no grand speech about justice, no moral quandary about what was right or wrong. 

His reasons were simple, almost laughably so, Letty was in danger, and that meant anyone who put her in that position was getting erased, no hesitation, no second chances. And Gisele?

She was just lucky she wasn't on his list.

Still, he wasn't about to let her walk away from this without owing him. He'd save her, put her in his debt, and then leave her with just enough breadcrumbs to find him again if she ever needed to. It was a simple plan. Efficient. Clean.

But first, he had to put a bullet in Fenix Calderon's skull.

He keyed his mic. "Big sis, drivers first. I'll take care of Fenix. Let's hope the woman doesn't freak out too much when his head explodes."

Revy chuckled darkly over the comms. "Roger that, boss. Hope they didn't like their faces too much."

Guldrin didn't wait for anything else. He lined up his shot, taking in the details, the way Fenix held himself, the tension in his grip around the gun pressed to Gisele's head, the way his mouth moved, demanding answers, threats spilling from his lips.

It wouldn't matter in a second.

He inhaled.

The world narrowed.

He exhaled.

And squeezed the trigger.

The shot cracked through the night, a single whisper of death slicing through the chaos.

Fenix's skull erupted, a fine mist of red spraying behind him as his body went rigid for half a second before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

One second, he was a man.

The next, he was a corpse.

Gisele barely flinched.

There was a split-second of hesitation, maybe surprise, but she didn't scream, didn't panic. 

Her body tensed, instincts kicking in as she whirled toward the next threat, Fenix's gun already in hand before she even processed the fact that her would-be executioner had just been turned into a pile of twitching meat.

That was good. That meant she had experience. That meant she wouldn't freeze.

Not everyone had that kind of composure. 

Most people, when a man's skull exploded mere inches from them, would either start screaming, drop to the ground, or worse, freeze up entirely, paralyzed by fear. 

Gisele didn't do any of those things. Her reaction was split-second efficiency, instincts honed from experience. That told Guldrin a lot about the kind of person she was.

But he didn't have time to dwell on it.

Gunfire erupted, sharp, clean, and precise. The thwip of suppressed rounds sliced through the night air, eerily surgical in their execution.

Revy was doing her job.

The drivers barely had time to react. Some of them had their hands halfway to their weapons when the bullets found them, their bodies jerking like marionettes with their strings cut before slumping forward, lifeless. Others didn't even get the chance to register what was happening, one moment alive, the next just another piece of cooling meat littering the dirt.

Guldrin didn't waste time sparing a glance at Gisele.

She wasn't his concern right now.

His big sister needed help removing the lives of those unfortunate drivers.

Firing in tandem, Guldrin and Revy swept through the area with the kind of lethal grace that only came with training and experience. 

They didn't hesitate, didn't falter. 

Every shot was deliberate, every movement on their guns calculated. No wasted motion, no unnecessary risk.

Letty had already taken cover, wisely separating herself from the fight. That was good. At least she wasn't in immediate danger. He didn't have to worry about a stray bullet or some idiot getting lucky and dragging her into the crossfire.

And the rest?

They were dead men walking.

Like grim reapers moving through the battlefield, Guldrin and Revy silently erased each target in quick, efficient succession. No theatrics. No unnecessary brutality. Just pure, unfiltered elimination.

One by one, the bodies dropped.

The silence that followed was almost deafening.

Only two people were still standing, Letty, untouched and safe behind cover, and Gisele, her posture still tense, gun still in hand, scanning the area with razor-sharp focus.

She wasn't panicking.

She wasn't screaming.

She was processing.

And that, in itself, was interesting.

But before Guldrin could fully shift his attention, Alisa's voice cut through the aftermath, her tone light, almost playful, as if she were commenting on a casual game rather than the brutal execution that had just unfolded before her.

"Well handled," she mused, her tone carrying the kind of detached amusement that sent an involuntary shiver down the spine of those who weren't used to her brand of eerie calm.

Revy snorted, tossing her weapon onto her shoulder with practiced ease. The woman barely flinched at the massacre they had just orchestrated. It was just another job, another mission. The difference between life and death was measured in bullets, and tonight, Guldrin and Revy had been the ones pulling the trigger.

Guldrin remained focused, his grip tightening slightly on his weapon, though his body was relaxed. He hadn't needed to look back to know that Alisa had been there the entire time. Watching. Observing.

She hadn't intervened, hadn't even so much as shifted from her position while he and Revy cut through the opposition like scythes through wheat. That was just like her, silent, calculating, unbothered by the spectacle of death around her. 

She had told him she wouldn't interfere, and she had kept her word.

But now, now she had decided to speak.

"Now, little master," Alisa continued, the faintest edge of curiosity slipping into her otherwise composed tone, "what do you plan to do with the woman?"

Guldrin's gaze flickered toward the only survivor other than Letty.

She wasn't trembling, wasn't crying, wasn't even looking at the bodies around her with the kind of horror that someone else might have. 

No, her sharp eyes were already scanning, calculating, thinking. She had been in high-risk situations before; that much was clear. She was trained. Experienced. But there was a difference between being prepared for danger and being prepared for the kind of raw, efficient violence that had just unfolded before her.

She was both.

Gisele had held still, her hands open, non-threatening. Smart. She knew better than to make any sudden moves. She knew she was outgunned, outnumbered, and yet, despite that, she didn't look broken. There was something behind those eyes, curiosity, wariness, but not fear.

That was a problem.

Alisa leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable as she continued.

"My enhanced hearing picked up her name," she added with a slight tilt of her head, "Gisele Yashar. CIA."

Ah.

That complicated things.

A name like that, an affiliation like that, changed the entire equation. 

Killing her outright would have been simple, easy even. She was just another loose end. But the moment 'CIA' was attached to her name, things became infinitely more delicate.

The CIA didn't simply lose operatives without raising hell. If she went missing, someone would come looking. If they found bodies, especially bodies riddled with precision kills, a clear mark of professional execution, the trail wouldn't take long to lead to the right places.

This wasn't some random street enforcer or hired muscle. This was an intelligence agent, and an important one.

Guldrin exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, his mind already shifting through the possibilities, weighing the risks. He didn't glance at Letty, but he could feel her presence just at the edge of his awareness. 

Revy, on the other hand, scoffed.

"CIA, huh?" she muttered, shifting her weight. "Well, shit."

It wasn't exactly a complaint, nor was it concern. Just an observation. Revy had killed her fair share of people, but even she knew that intelligence agencies didn't like when their assets disappeared without a trace. It made life complicated.

Gisele, for her part, didn't say anything. She was waiting to see what they would do.

Smart.

Guldrin took a step toward her, slow, measured, neither overtly threatening nor inviting, still wearing his blank porcelain mask.

"You're not panicking," he observed, tilting his head.

Gisele met his gaze, unreadable.

"You don't seem like the type to waste time on threats," she responded evenly. "So why panic?"

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Guldrin's lips.

Clever.

Alisa watched the exchange with mild interest, still perched like a queen overlooking a game of chess. She was ready to intervene should it be necessary.

"So," Gisele continued after a beat, "what happens now?"

A loaded question.

The answer to that could mean a dozen different things, and they both knew it.

Guldrin could kill her. That was the simplest route. But it would create problems, and problems were the last thing he wanted right now.

He could let her go, but that presented a different set of issues.

Then there was the third option, an option that depended entirely on how much Gisele valued her life.

"I'm curious," Guldrin said after a moment, his voice calm, almost conversational. "How much do you like your current job?"

There was the briefest flicker of something in her eyes.

"I like staying alive more," she replied smoothly.

Honest.

That was good.

Alisa hummed in amusement. "Pragmatic. I like that."

Guldrin glanced at Revy, who just shrugged. "She doesn't seem stupid. Not sure if that makes this easier or harder."

Gisele shifted slightly, her stance still non-threatening. "If I had a choice between making enemies or making deals," she said carefully, "I'd always go for the deal. At least I live."

Guldrin studied her.

She was sharp, no doubt about it. She understood leverage, understood that her best bet was to offer something rather than try to plead for her life. The CIA connection was still a major problem, but problems could be managed.

"You realize," Guldrin said after a long moment, "if you cross me, I won't hesitate."

Gisele nodded once, fully aware of what was at stake.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

A tense silence stretched between them, then Guldrin smirked slightly, nodding to Alisa.

"Well, then," he said, stepping back. "Let's talk about your future, and what follows this event."

(Give me your POWER, Please, and Thank You! Leave reviews and comments, they motivate me to continue.)