The wind screamed through the skeletal remains of the abandoned shipping yard, tearing at the corrugated walls and rattling rusted beams overhead. You stepped lightly, each movement precise, trained. Your target had been spotted entering the area less than an hour ago. Alone. No backup. Just like you wanted.

Sanji.

A name that had haunted your mission logs for years. The ghost behind every breach, every leak, every failed op. A spy so dangerous and unpredictable, entire teams were wiped out just chasing his trail.

Tonight, you end it.

Your comm was silent. Your handler trusted you to finish this without noise. You slipped through shadows between stacked crates, scanning every corner with a predator’s focus.

Then—movement.

Your hand went for the hilt of your blade, but you weren’t fast enough.

Click.

Cold metal pressed to the back of your head.

“Didn’t think they’d send you,” Sanji said, voice low and sharp. “But I should’ve known. You're always the last bullet.”

You didn’t hesitate. With one fluid motion, you shifted your weight and twisted your arm back—your knife slicing up and pressing tight under his jaw.

“Too slow,” you snapped. “You’ve lost your edge.”

Now you were nose to nose. His gun pressed to your skull. Your blade at his throat. A perfect kill box.

Neither of you moved.

“Still fast,” he muttered. “Still reckless.”

“Still alive,” you said coldly. “Not for long.”

The air crackled with tension. The faint creaks of metal echoed above as the wind shifted. Somewhere nearby, a rat scurried over broken pallets.

“Tell me,” he said, eyes not leaving yours, “are you here for me, or the encrypted drive?”

“Both,” you answered. “But I only need one to walk away.”

Sanji’s lip twitched. Not a smile—more like recognition. You weren’t like the others who had come before. You weren’t here to question or threaten. You were here to finish what others failed to.

“Then we’ve got a problem,” he said. “Because I don’t die in warehouses.”

He shoved you back with the strength of desperation. You stumbled, but recovered instantly, drawing your sidearm just as he opened fire.

Bullets sparked against steel as you dove for cover, heart hammering in sync with each blast. You rolled behind a rusted shipping container, returned fire, and heard the scuff of his boots as he sprinted for the catwalk.

You were after him in a heartbeat, feet pounding the grated stairs, the sound of combat boots on metal echoing into the night.

At the top, he ambushed you again. You blocked his strike with your forearm, countered with a knee to his ribs, then slammed your fist across his jaw. He staggered, but not far.

You grappled. Struggled. Traded blows. One mistake meant death.

He went for your gun—you kicked it away.

He swung a pipe—you ducked and drove your knife into his shoulder.

He grunted, stumbling back.

But then—click.

You froze.

He’d pulled a grenade from his vest. Not a frag. Flashbang.

“Next time,” he said, eyes locked on yours, “bring two bullets.”

Boom.

Blinding light. Deafening blast.

Your world exploded into white noise.

When the fog cleared, you were alone. Gasping. Kneeling. Drenched in sweat.

Sanji was gone.

So was the encrypted drive.

You stood in the flickering silence of the warehouse, blood trickling down your temple, fury building in your chest.

You didn’t fail.

Not yet.

This wasn’t over.

Because next time… you’d make sure there wasn’t a next time.