Chapter 3: First Strike
The rain-soaked streets of New Arcadia were quiet, almost deceptively so. Kuroda Azein moved like a phantom, blending into shadows as neon signs flickered above. Every step, every breath, every thought was calculated.
His target: a Crimson Circle safehouse in the industrial district, holding his captured ally and serving as a local command post. Failure was not an option.
Infiltration
Kuroda approached silently, studying the perimeter. Guards patrolled in synchronized patterns, surveillance cameras scanned methodically, and automated drones hovered, tracking movement.
Mira's voice came through the earpiece: "Cameras looped. Entry point two is unmonitored for exactly seventeen seconds. Timing is everything."
Kuroda adjusted his gloves and moved. He scaled the wall, rolled over a roof edge, and landed behind the first guard. One swift strike, silent and precise, neutralized him before he could react.
Inside, hallways twisted like a labyrinth. Crimson Circle operatives were everywhere, but Kuroda's presence was a ghost. He bypassed traps, avoided patrols, and reached the holding room with unerring precision.
Rescue and Combat
The ally was restrained, but alive. Kuroda worked quickly, cutting the bindings as alarms suddenly blared. The Crimson Circle had anticipated interference.
Guards poured into the corridor, weapons drawn. Kuroda moved like water—rolling, ducking, striking with martial precision. Each enemy became an obstacle to overcome: a rifle was disarmed and used against two others, a knife redirected to incapacitate a third, bodies falling in choreographed silence.
Even the drones weren't safe. Kuroda used explosive devices to destroy them mid-air, sparks raining around him like fireflies.
The Escape
With the ally secured, Kuroda led the way through the maze of hallways and rooftops. Bullets ricocheted, alarms blared, and the rain slicked surfaces made every leap dangerous.
Finally, they reached the streets. Mira guided them remotely, ensuring no reinforcements could intercept. Kuroda looked back at the safehouse, now in chaos. "Message delivered," he muttered.
But the victory was bittersweet. Crimson Circle was bigger, stronger, and more organized than the Syndicate had ever been. This was only the beginning.
Closing Tension
Kuroda vanished into the neon-lit alleys with his ally, shadows folding around him like a cloak. The city was silent again—for now.
One man. One army. One new enemy.
The war had escalated, and Kuroda knew it would take every skill, every tactic, and every ounce of his legendary precision to survive what came next.