18 Hours Before the Bloodbath
The sun had barely stretched its arms over the city skyline when Kiaan stood at the window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing but his thoughts. The room was quiet, but his mind was loud. Something about that club—Noir Haven—had pulled a string in his gut that refused to settle.
He turned swiftly, his voice sharp but low.
> "Dev, Rehaan—wake up. We're moving tonight."
Dev sat up, rubbing his eyes.
> "You serious? Noir Haven?"
> "I don't wake people up early for fun," Kiaan replied curtly, already tossing files on the table. "We go in tonight. Full team. No backup delays. If this place is real, we're not letting it slip."
Rehaan leaned in over the files.
> "Twenty agents?"
Kiaan nodded, already dialling the numbers.
> "Twenty, including us. Tara's working tech. I want no blind spots. Every alley, every rooftop, every door—we surround and strike."
---
Meanwhile, in Swindon…
Rex leaned back in his massive leather chair, staring at the slow drip of whisky in his glass. The reports on his table were untouched. He wasn't reading—he was thinking.
"Kiaan Verma…" he murmured, eyes narrowing. "You're getting braver."
He stood, walked to the giant window overlooking the dark English streets.
He didn't need a file. He had memorized the boy's brain pattern.
> "If I were him... Noir Haven would be next."
Rex grabbed his phone.
> "Send everyone to Noir Haven. Don't stop them from coming in," he said, voice cold. "Let them walk in proudly."
He paused, smirk curling on his lips.
> "But when they're inside—shatter the walls. Spill some blood. Just don't kill them all... Especially the boy. I want him breathing."
> "Shaking."
> "And bleeding just enough to remember it."
He hung up.
---
Evening – Noir Haven
The night cloaked the team as they moved into position. Kiaan, in all black, walked like a shadow through the alley behind the club. Tara whispered through the comms, tracking heat signatures inside. Dev and Rehaan flanked left and right, while the other agents took side entrances.
Everything seemed clear.
Too clear.
Kiaan's eyes darted toward the roof.
> "Something's off," he whispered.
Dev's voice came over the comms:
> "No resistance at the front either. You think—?"
> "We're being watched," Kiaan growled.
The second the last team member slipped inside—it happened.
Chaos.
The back wall exploded open with a thunderous crash. Armed men stormed from behind—guns blazing, metal bats cracking against bone. The club turned into a war zone. Screams echoed. The chandeliers shattered above, raining down sharp glass like stars falling from a broken sky.
Tara cried out, clutching her bloodied arm as she crawled behind a bar counter.
> "It's a trap! It's a goddamn trap!"
Dev fought hand-to-hand, taking down one man before getting slammed with a barstool. Blood from a head wound dripped down his face as he tried to shield Rehaan, who was cornered and bruised.
Kiaan was a storm in motion—punches flying, bullets dodged—but he couldn't stop what was already designed to collapse. Their formation broke.
Half the agents dropped—some dead, some unconscious. The rest were forced down. Surrounded.
Guns clicked. Bats drummed threateningly on the floor.
Ten agents remained. Kneeling. Beaten. Bleeding. Silent.
And all of them... waiting.
Waiting for the call they somehow knew would come.
---
In the dark corner, a phone rang.
Not a call. A declaration.
A trembling hand picked it up, stared at the name glowing on the screen.
REX.
No one dared speak.
The phone was handed to Kiaan.
He didn't hesitate. He pressed it to his ear.
And like a ghost through fire, the voice whispered:
> "Hi, little agent…"
> "Still alive?"
The line went dead.
The war had only begun.
And tonight—the floor turned red.