The piercing white beam of the high-intensity flashlight swept across the moss-draped concrete walls of the abandoned subway station, casting horrifying, dancing shadows into the gloom. Behind a cracked concrete pillar, Jason held his breath tight. Every time he drew a breath, the scorching agony radiating from the gunshot wound in his right shoulder stabbed straight through to his spine, yet his face remained completely ice-cold—the iron mask of a veteran operative refusing to bow to pain.

Beside him, Leo curled up in terror, clamping both hands firmly over his mouth to muffle the sound of his ragged breathing.

"Listen," Jason whispered barely above a breath, a mere hiss of wind against Leo's ear. "They're breaking formation. One man is dropping down alone to clear the lower platform. Stay here, don't move and don't make a sound, no matter what happens."

Leo nodded frantically, cold sweat streaming down his cheeks. He clutched the laptop containing the classified data to his chest as if it were his only floating life raft in the middle of a deadly storm.

Above their heads, the heavy creak of mercenary combat boots scraping against the damaged iron vent frame grew steadily louder. That was followed by a heavy thud as someone dropped straight down onto the damp station platform floor.

Thump.

The man landed with a soft groan of knee joints. The flashlight in his left hand flared instantly, carving through the darkness of the station tunnel. The sound of his footsteps drew closer, accompanied by the rustle of a carbine rifle shifting against his tactical vest.

"I know you're down here," the hitman's raspy voice echoed mockingly through the silent tunnel. "Ten million dollars isn't going anywhere. Better crawl out now and die quick, or I'll carve you up limb by limb."

Jason didn't reply. Relying on total darkness and the advantage of terrain, he moved in absolute silence, crawling behind a row of concrete pillars. Knowing his right shoulder was completely incapacitated and useless for bearing weight or handling a weapon normally, Jason relied entirely on his left hand and a tactical combat knife gripped tightly between his teeth.

The hitman's footsteps drew closer. The flashlight beam even swept the floor a mere few centimeters from Jason's boot, yet the pitch-black abyss of the subterranean corridor spared them from direct illumination.

"Give it up..." the voice hissed, now standing directly behind the pillar where Jason was hidden.

This was the opening.

In a single, explosive, lethal movement, Jason lunged out from behind the pillar's shadow. His left hand shot forward instantly, clamping hard around the hitman's throat and slamming his head brutally against the rough, textured concrete wall.

Crack!

"Ugh!" the man choked out, his breath cut off instantly.

Before the hitman could yank the trigger of his assault rifle, Jason surged forward, locking his left forearm tightly around the enemy's neck in a suffocating rear-naked choke while his legs clamped around the target's lower limbs to strip away any leverage for kicking.

"Shh... it's over," Jason whispered coldly right into the man's ear.

The mercenary thrashed wildly, his elbow driving back toward Jason's ribs, but Jason tightened the choke until oxygen was completely choked off from the man's lungs. Within seconds, the rigid body grew limp. The man's eyes rolled upward before he collapsed heavily onto the platform floor, sliding into total unconsciousness amid absolute silence.

Jason landed on one knee, his chest heaving as cold sweat slicked his forehead. He winced softly as the wound in his shoulder flared with throbbing pain from the explosive movement.

"Jason... are you alright?" Leo whimpered from behind the pillar, crawling closer with a deathly pale face as he stared at the downed enemy sprawled motionless on the ground.

"I'm fine. Get over here, fast," Jason growled lowly.

Wasting no time, Jason immediately searched the mercenary's body. He stripped away a compact military flashlight emitting infrared and bright white modes, a semi-automatic Glock pistol outfitted with a pristine suppressor tucked into the enemy's belt, and a still-active tactical walkie-talkie clipped to the vest's chest pocket.

Jason shoved the suppressed Glock into his waistband, switched on the two-way radio to its lowest volume, and brought the small device close to his ear.

Static hissed softly for a few seconds, followed by the crisp sound of operational chatter cutting across the hitman syndicate's closed frequency channel.

"Alpha Team to Command. Sector lower east platform has been cleared by Unit 3. Any visual on targets?" a cold-voiced man crackled clearly over the radio.

Another voice immediately broke in over the same frequency, reporting from the surface observation post. "Negative for Unit 3. No visuals yet. But make sure they don't slip toward the northern vent shafts."

Jason furrowed his brow, listening intently to every tactical instruction broadcast by the enemy. From how they mapped the sectors, it was glaringly obvious these weren't common street thugs or amateur bounty hunters; they were professional black-ops units coordinated directly by someone intimately familiar with the city's infrastructure.

Yet, a few seconds later, a fresh voice pierced the radio frequency—a voice that made Jason's blood run ice-cold and every muscle in his body lock up instantly.

"Don't waste time sweeping the northern sector," a gravelly, cold voice cut through the private comms channel wired directly to the field commanders. "The targets aren't heading there. They're moving the kid toward the old transit station in the harbor sector. Block off the underground cargo rail lines right now. They're trapped."

Leo, sitting cross-legged beside Jason, caught every word clearly from the radio's tiny speaker. The young man's face instantly drained of its remaining color.

"Wait... that voice..." Leo whispered shakily, staring up at Jason with eyes blown wide in sheer horror. "Jason, I recognize that voice. That's... that's Commander Marcus! He's the head of internal security for your old agency!"

Jason didn't reply. His jaw locked so hard the muscles in his cheek twitched violently. His gaze drilled straight down into the small device clutched in his fist.

The message was unmistakable and damning. The voice that had just blown their hiding spot, leaked their classified extraction routes, and openly auctioned off their lives to a hitman syndicate belonged to no stranger.

It was Marcus—the superior and mentor whom Jason had spent years regarding as his own flesh and blood within the agency's old ranks.

"He sold us out..." Leo murmured with a voice barely above a whisper, tears of bitter betrayal spilling instantly onto the cold concrete floor. "Jason, the man who raised you in the shadow world... is the exact man trying to slaughter us right now for ten million dollars."

Jason drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a heartbeat to suppress the raging inferno of fury scorching his chest. When he finally opened his eyes again, all hesitation had vanished—leaving behind only the cold, razor-sharp, lethal glare of a true apex predator.

"Good thing he's finally showing his real face," Jason spoke coldly, his voice slicing through the silence of the underground tunnel. He hoisted himself up to his feet, gripping the suppressed Glock tightly in his left hand. "Let's go see just how expensive Marcus thinks our heads really are."