Breaking Through
"Boss, how much money do we have left?"
In the car heading to the safehouse provided by Whitehead, Wolf posed the critical question.
The man in the passenger seat—Steering Wheel—paused, then pulled out his phone and began reciting numbers.
"The mission commission is three hundred thousand. The middleman takes a 20% cut, airfare's fifty grand, target intel costs thirty grand, two rounds of weapon purchases are twenty-five grand, plus the safehouse is fifty grand. So we've got..." He tapped the calculator on his phone.
Lin Yang, listening intently, blurted out the total without hesitation: "Thirteen million USD."
"Huh? Is that right?"
Steering Wheel fumbled with his phone, fidgeting for a moment before nodding. "Yep, thirteen million. So per person..."
"Thirty-two thousand five hundred each for four people," Lin Yang interjected again.
Aside from Eagle Eye, who was driving, Wolf and Harvester both turned to look at Steering Wheel.
"Yeah, he's not wrong. Thirty-two grand five hundred each," Steering Wheel confirmed.
"Fuck, so the rumors are true—Chinese guys are math geniuses," Wolf muttered.
Harvester stayed silent, simply nodding.
Lin Yang couldn't help but smirk. Math genius? It was just basic addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. Back in school, his math teacher had even warned him never to say he'd learned math from her—she'd told people it was the PE teacher instead. This was the first time anyone called him a math genius; he couldn't hold back his grin.
But more than their amazement at his mental math, what really puzzled Lin Yang was the mission's total payout. It was nothing like what he'd seen in movies or read in novels. In his mind, a violent team like this should be raking in millions per job—not thirty grand.
"Do you guys usually get this little for a mission?" he blurted out.
"Of course not," Wolf answered without hesitation.
Lin Yang nodded. This must be an easy job—taking out a target among low-level thugs. As someone who'd been there, he knew it would be a cakewalk for them. A low price made sense.
"High-paying, low-difficulty jobs like this are rare. Too bad this one went south," Wolf said with a sigh.
"Wait, is thirty grand even considered high?" Lin Yang was confused. "What do you usually charge?"
"Usually around ten grand, and those jobs are harder," Steering Wheel said, glancing at Lin Yang's skeptical look. He added with a smile, "You think we're like in the movies? Rolling out for hundreds of millions? Dude, even black ops don't pay that. Only the top-tier teams get that kind of cash."
Wolf also gave a bitter chuckle, patting Lin Yang's shoulder. "Mercenaries aren't as glamorous as they show in films. It's a job where your head's on the line—lives mean nothing. Walking away with thirty grand alive is a damn good payday. Most mercs just die silently in some godforsaken corner, no one to collect their bodies."
Lin Yang's idealized image of mercenaries shattered. Now he saw the truth: life-and-death battles were everyday, but pulling in a fortune per job was rare—reserved for the elite. And those high-stakes missions? Obviously brimming with risk.
"We're almost there. Stay sharp. Eagle Eye, any tails behind us?" Steering Wheel checked the phone's GPS, confirming the safehouse location again.
"Nope, no vehicles following," Eagle Eye replied, his eyes locked on the rearview mirror. With his years of counter-surveillance experience, he'd spotted nothing.
"Good." They trusted Eagle Eye's skills—if he said no tails, there were none.
The car slowed to a crawl. Lin Yang scanned the surrounding buildings: familiar Japanese-style shops, karaoke bars, izakayas, and street vendors selling snacks. The scent of takoyaki and chicken skewers wafted through the open windows. The food stalls looked busy, with people lining up to buy.
Something felt off. Everything seemed normal, but Lin Yang's gut twist.
"We're here. That's the place. Stay quiet getting in—we're confined to the safehouse for the next few days. No one leaves. Got it?"
"Got it!"
"Got it!"
"Got it!"
Steering Wheel checked his phone again, confirming the address matched Whitehead's intel. After reiterating the rules, he prepared to exit.
Sitting in the middle of the back seat, Lin Yang kept his eyes on the street. As the car stopped, his unease spiked.
"Something's wrong!" His gaze locked onto a street vendor.
Bang!
The moment the door opened and Steering Wheel's foot hit the ground, he yanked it back and slammed the door shut.
"Eagle Eye, start driving—what's the problem?" Steering Wheel was all business.
Click. Wolf and Harvester drew their guns, safeties off, scanning the surroundings through the windows. No questions, no doubts—Lin Yang's warning was enough. They were battle-hardened mercenaries, after all.
"Look at that vendor!"
"What's wrong?"
"I own a restaurant; we sell takoyaki too. Even if the guy's not the best, he should be efficient. This dude's slow—first red flag." Lin Yang stared intently.
"Second, the line's huge, so his food must be good. But I just saw a guy take a bite of takoyaki, spit it out, and stand there holding the rest instead of throwing it away." Lin Yang paused, realizing his reasoning was flimsy. "Is the intel broker reliable?"
It wasn't much, but for Steering Wheel and the others, a single doubt was enough. No way would they risk their lives on a hunch.
"Eagle Eye, drive—we've been sold out!" Steering Wheel's eyes burned with rage. That bastard broker had taken money from both sides, selling them out.
Roar! The gas pedal slammed down, the engine roaring to life as the car lurched forward.
"We're made. Move in!"
Seeing Lin Yang's team not exiting but speeding up, the hidden Yakuza gunmen emerged from cover.
Bang-bang-bang! Rat-a-tat-tat!
Gunfire erupted in the street.
Clang! A bullet pierced the window, slicing a cut into Harvester's face. Ping-ping-ping—the car's body was pockmarked with holes.
"Eagle Eye, duck!" Lin Yang yelled. As the car rounded a corner, two riflemen stepped into view. His heart raced, vision narrowing—time slowed.
Ignoring Eagle Eye, Lin Yang fired. A bullet grazed Eagle Eye's cheek (leaving a blood trail), shattered the windshield, and drilled into the first gunman's skull. Both thugs collapsed, their fingers still pulling triggers.
Rat-a-tat-tat... Bullets flew wildly into the sky.
"Oh, fuck—what the hell!" Eagle Eye swallowed hard, still reeling. Those two had almost gotten them all killed.