9 October 2025 – Devil's Side
The first bullet missed by inches.
Bunnyman rolled behind a stripped SUV, heart pounding as red laser dots bounced across the hood. Four men — armed, trained, and posted up like they were expecting him. Maybe they were.
"Move fast," he whispered to himself.
He dropped a smoke pellet and vanished into the fog.
Gunfire cracked through the warehouse. Metal screamed as bullets tore through fenders and windshields. Bunnyman was already on the move — low, fast, precise. A shadow in the chaos.
He disarmed the first thug with a brutal elbow to the jaw and used the man's own pistol to shoot out the lights above.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Screams. Curses. Then silence.
One by one, he dropped them — pressure point strikes, bone-breaking sweeps, suffocating chokeholds. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Two minutes later, the only thing left was the groaning of defeated men.
Bunnyman stood, breath heavy behind his mask. Bruised. Scraped. But standing.
Then — a slow clap echoed through the warehouse.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
From behind a blacked-out SUV, a man emerged.
Slick dark hair. Custom suit. Gloves. A skeletal porcelain mask with a permanent smile.
Skull Mask.
"Impressive," he said, voice smooth as velvet. "But a little late, don't you think?"
Bunnyman raised his fists, muscles tense. "So you're the coward hiding behind dealerships and hired guns."
Skull Mask chuckled. "Coward? No, no. I just prefer playing chess over checkers."
He stepped forward, unfazed. Calm. Too calm.
"You're strong," Skull Mask continued. "But strength without purpose is just… noise."
Bunnyman didn't flinch.
"Let's see how much noise you can make," he growled.
Skull Mask tilted his head — and pulled two pistols from beneath his coat.
"Let's begin."