William checked the blood.
Fresh.
The target had just arrived.
This is too easy.
He slipped inside the half-open door.
Two shots punched through the thin metal.
Missed.
The bloodline shifted.
Moving toward William’s old hiding spot.
Gotcha.
William had scattered blood samples on the stairs.
He’d been ready since the fire alarm.
The footsteps.
The fire.
Too convenient.
Now he knew his stalker had fallen for the bait.
Who is this guy?
Fast reaction.
The Shaved Head operative attached a silencer.
He’s good.
But still going to die.
Footsteps.
Then a crash.
The window shattered.
William was already on the fire escape, descending.
A head appeared in the window.
William fired twice, buying time.
The operative in the suit didn’t wait.
He jumped, landing hard, and kept moving.
William hit the street.
Blended in.
Headed for his extraction point.
Then he saw it.
That face.
No mistaking it.
Even with the cap.
Statham.
William changed direction immediately.
No way he was walking into whatever setup Statham had prepared.
Statham watched him veer off.
Pity.
He’d put so much work into that trap.
Then he spotted the Shaved Head in the crowd.
William fired two shots into the air.
Chaos.
Then he threw a homemade smoke bomb.
Crude, but effective.
“BOMB!
BOMB!” The crowd scattered.
William vanished.
The Shaved Head stopped chasing.
Too risky.
That building had been close enough.
William ducked into an alley.
A man in a jacket followed.
Seconds later, the man’s mouth was covered.
A blade at his throat.
William’s face was half in shadow.
Sweat beaded on his forehead.
His wound was barely holding.
He left the body bleeding on the ground.
No cleanup today.
Let the blood pool.
Then he disappeared deeper into the alleys.
Time passed.
More hunters flooded the neighborhood.
They’d traced the sniper’s stolen car.
A red sedan sat on the street.
No one approached.
They waited.
Two men in worker’s uniforms finally broke the stalemate.
They approached carefully.
Picked the lock.
Started the engine.
Checked the systems.
“Nothing.” The car exploded.
Inside a nearby café, Statham watched the flames.
He sighed.
Finished his coffee.
Folded his newspaper.
Left.
Wrong target.
William was too cautious.
He never came back.
William was already miles away.
A rundown motel.
Full of runaways.
No ID required.
He didn’t stay long.
Stole another car.
Headed for the city’s edge.
Ride out the clock.
Buy enough time.
If he left the city, the hunters would have no restrictions on weapons.
He’d be dead before the next town.
Then his phone rang.
“Mr.
Stanley.
Apologies for interrupting your escape.
You’re quite good at being a rat.” William said nothing.
The voice was too calm.
Too controlled.
“We’re still verifying things.
High Table follows procedure.
Give us…” A pause.
William tapped the steering wheel.
“…sixteen hours.
Your bounty will be lifted.
Good luck.” The line went dead.
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