CHAPTER 73: CHAPTER 72: THE WHISTLE AND THE GUN

Zane’s heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, each beat a deafening thud in his ears. He was still on his knees, the rough texture of the concrete digging into his palms, his world a dizzying smear of grey pillars and oppressive darkness. The two men guarding them stood a few feet away, their silhouettes tense and alert. The driver was a coiled spring of nervous energy, his head constantly snapping toward the secluded corner where John had dragged Franz.

"What the fuck is taking them so long?" the burly man with the shaved head growled, his voice a low, angry rasp that echoed in the cavernous building. "He’s taking a piss, not signing a treaty." He shifted his grip on his rifle, jaw clenched tight. "Fine. I’ll go check myself."

He jerked his head at the other gunman. "You. With me."

The second man hesitated, his eyes darting nervously into the shadows, but he followed, rifle held tight against his chest. Zane tracked their footsteps until they melted into the gloom, leaving only the sound of his own ragged breathing.

Every second stretched into an eternity, the silence pressing in, heavy and suffocating.

Then, the world exploded.

TAT. TAT.

Two gunshots, sharp and impossibly loud, tore through the silence. They weren’t distant pops muffled by walls — they were close, clean, final.

"DOWN!" Jason barked, his training snapping into place. He lunged, tackling Zane hard and dragging him behind the thick base of a concrete pillar. The boy’s head slammed the ground, rattling his teeth. His ears rang, the echo of the shots still bouncing off every wall.

"What’s happening?!" Zane gasped, voice cracking, panic spilling into every syllable.

"I don’t know," Jason hissed back, his own breath harsh and uneven. He pressed flat against the pillar, his chest rising and falling too fast. "Stay low, don’t peek unless I say."

But Jason peeked anyway. Quick, trained, precise.

Two bodies sprawled across the unfinished floor, rifles abandoned at their sides. Both with neat, dark holes drilled into their heads.

Jason’s face paled. His jaw clenched.

"Shit."

Zane’s voice cracked, trembling. "What? What did you see?"

Jason pulled back against the pillar, his lips tight. "They’re gone. Headshots. Clean ones."

The words landed like lead in Zane’s stomach. His chest seized, every breath shallow, useless. More dead men. More killers in the dark. They were trapped in a concrete tomb between unseen, warring ghosts.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The air was too thin, too heavy.

Then, gravel scraped against the floor nearby.

Zane flinched, his body seizing in terror, expecting the final killing blow.

Instead, a figure slid into cover beside them, collapsing against the concrete.

It was Franz.

Sweat plastered his black hair to his forehead. His chest heaved, his breaths sharp, ragged, as though he’d sprinted across the entire site. His eyes darted frantically, and for the first time, Zane saw fear in them.

"What... what happened?" Zane stammered, voice breaking. "You went with them, and then... suddenly—"

Franz cut him off, his voice rough and panicked. "What do you mean, what happened? I fucking ran! The guy dragged me back there, and then some others just—" he made a vague, frantic gesture with his hand, "—they showed up and started blasting! I bolted. I’m not sticking around when psychos with rifles are having a turf war!"

Jason’s jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed for half a second, as though weighing the story. But he didn’t push. Not here. Not now.

"Both of you, shut it," Jason ordered, his voice low but firm, commanding. "No fighting, no panic. He’s right — this could be rival gangs. We’ve had reports of flare-ups. That means we’re in the middle of someone else’s warzone. Our only chance is to move now, while they’re distracted."

Franz nodded instantly, too quickly. "Yeah. You bet your ass we do."

Zane swallowed hard, still trembling. Jason’s voice steadied him, a rock in the chaos. But the terror still dug its claws in deep.

A Few Minutes Earlier...

The two men moved cautiously through the unfinished concrete maze, rifles raised.

"I’ve got a bad feeling," the younger one muttered, his voice trembling. "This doesn’t feel right."

"Relax," the burly man snapped. "John’s probably just teaching the brat a lesson. Stop jumping at shadows."

They rounded the final corner.

And froze.

John lay crumpled on the floor, his head twisted at an angle that no living body could manage, his eyes staring wide and glassy into nothing.

The younger man gagged. "Oh God—"

A sound cut him off.

Whistling.

Soft. Cheerful. Drifting from the dark rafters above.

Both men’s heads snapped upward.

There — perched fifteen feet above them, one leg swinging lazily on a steel girder, sat Franz. A rifle balanced casually in his hands, his lips still pursed around that jaunty, carefree tune.

He stopped whistling just long enough to lift his free hand in a mocking little wave.

The burly man snarled, rage overtaking fear. "You little shit—"

He raised his rifle.

TAT.

The shot cracked like thunder, echoing off the hollow walls. A perfect hole appeared in the center of the man’s forehead. He toppled backward like a felled tree, his body collapsing in a boneless heap.

The younger man screamed. "MIKE!" His hands shook as he squeezed the trigger, unleashing a wild, panicked spray of bullets at the beam. Sparks flared, concrete dust rained, the noise deafening.

But the beam was empty.

Franz had already slid off the side, dropping into cover. He leaned out from the opposite end, calm as a surgeon.

TAT.

The younger man staggered. A neat crimson bloom blossomed between his eyes. He fell, his rifle clattering against the ground.

Silence reclaimed the cavern, broken only by Franz’s soft whistle as he hopped down from the girder. He dragged the two corpses beside John’s twisted body, lining them up neatly, like trash waiting for collection.

Quiet Life System: That was clean. But what’s the plan?

Franz slung the rifle across his shoulder, humming. First, I take Zane away from here.

He crouched, peering through a gap in the concrete wall. His lips curled into a thin smirk.

And step two...

He shouldered the rifle, closing one eye, then shifting to the other, testing his sightline.

TAT. TAT.

Two precise cracks. Across the site, the last two gunmen — the ones still guarding Zane and Jason — crumpled instantly, headshots neat and silent.

Franz exhaled slowly. Efficient. Clean.

Arcadia: You’re enjoying this.

He ignored it.

Instead, he scaled the western wall, using pipes, beams, and ledges like stepping stones. He moved fast, silent, his body flowing with the rhythm of someone who’d done this before. Vault, swing, drop. Thirty seconds later, he landed behind a cluster of pillars, sweat beading his forehead. He raked his fingers through his hair, forcing his breaths ragged, his face pale, his body language screaming panic.

He emerged from the shadows, stumbling, just as Jason and Zane were still trying to process the distant gunshots.

Present

"This way," Jason whispered, scanning the angles with quick, tactical precision. "Stay low, move in bursts. Don’t bunch together. Keep your heads down, and follow my lead."

He was in charge now — calm, commanding, every word grounded in training. Zane clung to the instructions like a lifeline, forcing himself to nod.

Franz only muttered, "Yeah, yeah, let’s get the fuck out," his hands trembling in a performance so convincing it almost fooled Zane.

Together, they crouched low and slipped into the dark, concrete labyrinth, the air thick with dust and the ghosts of gunfire.

Zane risked one last glance back.

The corpses lay sprawled in pools of shadow, their blood dark stains spreading across the unfinished floor.

Not here. Not in this tomb. Not like them.

He pressed forward, following Jason’s lead, the promise carved deep into his bones.

A/N

Sorry for going quiet for a while — I just didn’t have the motivation to write or do much of anything. That’s really all there is to it. Thanks for sticking around and reading.

Thanks for reading the Chapter. Please share your opinions in comments.

Please keep commenting; it really helps. I’m also thinking of changing the cover, and I’m looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I’d love to hear them.Thanks for reading the Chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I’m also thinking of changing the cover, and I’m looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I’d love to hear them.Thanks for reading the Chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps.