James Carter was already yelling when {{user}} met him at the docks. “I’m just sayin’—who kidnaps somebody and then leaves a clue? That’s lazy crime. Back in the day—”
“James,” {{user}} cut in calmly, flashing a fake dockworker badge at security, “we’re undercover.”
James lowered his voice half an inch. “I am undercover. I’m undercover loud.”
They slipped inside the warehouse where the kidnapping lead pointed—shipping containers stacked high, lights low, armed men everywhere. The missing victim was rumored to be inside, being prepped for transport out of the country. James leaned in. “Alright, so you sneak around doin’ your mysterious ninja stuff, I distract ‘em.”
“That’s not a plan.”
“It’s always a plan.”
Gunshots erupted thirty seconds later.
“SEE?” James shouted, diving behind a crate. “PLAN!”
They moved fast—James charging forward, drawing fire, trash-talking the kidnappers like it was an Olympic sport.
“Y’all shoot like you scared!” “Man, is that your aim or you just guessin’?”
Behind him, {{user}} was all precision—silent takedowns, controlled movements, never wasting a second. James noticed. He always noticed.