Predator and Pawn

Richard Lansing stood in the glass tower of his northern estate, the cigar between his fingers burning down to ash, unnoticed. He barely blinked as one of his aides read the newest reports—another offshore account emptied, another Balkan safehouse destroyed, a loyal lieutenant found dead in an alley with a black rose stuffed into his mouth.

Three of his strongest revenue streams had crumbled in less than seventy-two hours. This was no longer a whisper of rebellion—it was an outright war.

And it bore the unmistakable fingerprints of Gina Michaels.

"She thinks she's a queen," he muttered, turning to face the snow-dusted skyline. "Let's remind her what pawns are for."

He crushed the cigar underfoot, his jaw tight with rage. "Bring me the Scorpions."

The aide hesitated. "Sir, you mean the original Scorpions? The ones from Budapest?"

"The ones that owe me blood," Richard said, his voice ice. "I want them in position by tomorrow night. No negotiations. They are to watch the girl and report. If she so much as breathes wrong, I want it logged. The boy—Dave—is expendable."

He turned, eyes narrowed. "But Gina? She's mine."

---

Far away, beneath the snow-drenched cliffs of the Pyrenees, Elara stitched her wound without flinching. Each pass of the needle was mechanical, efficient, brutal.

She sat cross-legged in her hideout, the glow of surveillance boards lighting her face in red and blue. On the walls were pinned images of Gina, Houna, Davina, Dave. Every connection. Every move. Every weakness, waiting to be cracked open.

Her transmission came in encrypted, bouncing through ten dark nodes before reaching Richard.

"To Richard Lansing: I require no team. I require access. Let me finish this."

His reply came instantly: 'Door is open. Target: Gina. Deadline: 72 hours. Do not fail.'

Elara smiled.

She pulled her blade from the coals and pressed it against her palm, leaving a bloodline over the steel.

"Time to finish what I started."

---

Back in the safe quarters of the Michaels estate, the war room was lit up like a command base.

Gina stood at the center of it, eyes sweeping over dozens of data streams. She hadn't slept. The war didn't allow rest. Especially not after someone put a bullet in Dave.

Houna stepped in beside her. "We intercepted chatter from the northern routes. The Scorpions are on the move. Budapest division. They're not here to observe, Gina. They're here to kill."

"I know," Gina said, her tone flat. "That's why I've already laid a trap."

She tapped a screen, showing a convoy rerouting into a wooded zone where operatives loyal to Nuel had planted ground charges. "Let's see if old fangs can handle new fire."

"Speaking of Nuel," Houna added, handing her a small box, "he sent this."

Gina opened it slowly. Inside, a severed Scorpion emblem and a message carved into a sliver of dark wood:

"You're not alone in the dark. —N"

Gina's lips curved, just slightly.

"He always had style," she murmured.

---

In the private recovery suite, Dave had regained most of his strength. His chest still ached, but the fire in his eyes was back. He watched as Gina briefed the ops team and coordinated their response.

"You're moving like a general," he said from the doorway.

Gina glanced at him. "I've always been one."

"You never let me see this side before."

"I didn't want to lose you to it."

Dave walked over, slower than usual but firm. "You didn't lose me. I'm just seeing you clearer."

She paused, searching his eyes.

"I'm with you," he said. "Even if it means bullets again."

She smiled faintly. "Let's try to keep the bullets to a minimum."

---

Elsewhere in the estate, Davina stood in front of a holographic interface, briefing her strike team.

"We have confirmed movement from the Scorpions into Croatian territory. They're planning to flank us through the Adriatic line."

Sorin nodded. "That's your call, Commander."

Davina zoomed in on a route. "Re-route their surveillance feeds through ghost IPs. I want every message they send redirected to us. We'll feed them false targets until they drown in it."

Sorin blinked. "You're manipulating a centuries-old assassin ring."

"I'm their future, Sorin. They just don't know it yet."

---

Meanwhile, Elara boarded a train under a false identity, headed toward the capital.

She had just two items in her bag: a bone-handled dagger, and a vial of neurotoxin.

She smiled under her hood.

The hunt was in full swing.

But unlike the last time—Gina wasn't the only one being hunted.

This time, everyone was a target.

And Elara? She intended to leave no survivors.