XUX Headquarters #5 was a place built for silence.
An old vocational school swallowed by decay, flooded with flickering blue light and the stink of iron. Blood had soaked these tiles so many times, it had its own smell now.
Rust, bleach, rot. Layered deep in the concrete.
No signs. No welcome.
Only a door. And behind that door, men who traded lives like currency.
Tonight, another garbage bag was dragged in.
It thudded against the warped floor. Heavy.
Blood leaked from the edges. One arm hung out—fingers stiff, snapped, blue.
The man who brought it didn't smile. He didn't talk.
Just stood there, waiting.
The one seated at the table—bald, eyes sunken, coat still wet from rain—checked his phone.
A message blinked on screen.
"Done."
That was it.
He nodded once. Payment slid across the table. Cash, real and clean.
"Done," he said.
The killer left without a word. His boots left streaks of red.
Nobody asked who the target was.
Nobody needed to.
The Next Morning – West High, Class 3C
Raphael was early for once.
He stood by the door, arms crossed, chewing on the end of a broken pen. Not nervous—just done. Finally.
Four thousand dollars.
Farrel's stash. Watches, chain, his emergency fund—gone.
All to kill one dumb bastard. One loser who kept crawling back up no matter how many fists they threw.
But it was over now.
He had the message last night. "Done."
That meant blood. It meant closure.
He watched the class slowly fill. Isac walked in. Then Sunny, who looked like he hadn't slept in two days but still managed to look like he owned the place.
Then...
Then came Daniel.
Raphael blinked.
No way.
No.
No f**king way.
Bandages. That was the first thing he saw—white cloth wrapped around Daniel's palm and forearm.
But he was walking.
Breathing.
Talking.
Cracking a dumb joke to Sunny about getting stabbed by a tree or something.
Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
The pen in Raphael's hand snapped.
He just stood there, eyes locked, lungs frozen.
Daniel didn't even look at him.
Not a glance. Not a nod.
Like Raphael didn't exist. Like the blood on his hand never happened.
The room went underwater.
His pulse pounded through his skull like a war drum. Rage didn't come in like a wave—it came like a gunshot.
That wasn't possible. That wasn't f**king possible.
He paid. He paid good money. That knife should've gone through Daniel's ribs, spine, neck, everything.
Someone lied.
He could feel it—the crack spreading in his head.
He turned, shoved past the doorframe, stormed out into the hall.
Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
His throat was dry. The hallway looked fake. Paper-thin.
He needed to see blood. Or answers.
That Night – XUX HQ #5
Rain fell in crooked sheets. Cold and sharp.
Raphael stood outside the rusted side door in a soaked hoodie, fists clenched. One knock. Two.
Nothing.
He pushed through anyway. Heart in his throat.
He didn't belong here. He knew that.
This was their house. Not his.
But this was personal now.
He stomped down the hall—the same one he'd walked last week to hand over the cash. Same cracked tiles, same dying lights. Everything looked exactly the same.
Except for him.
He wasn't a client anymore.
He was a mark.
He burst into the back room. Three men at the table. One near the wall. Same setup. Same coin flipping slowly between gloved fingers.
They didn't even look up.
"I want answers," Raphael snapped. Voice hoarse. "I paid. Four grand. The message said done."
Still silence.
"He's alive," he growled. "I saw him this morning. Daniel. You f**ked up."
The man flipping the coin stopped.
"You paid. And the message was sent."
"That's not what I paid for."
"You paid for a hit," the man said flatly. "You didn't pay for a guarantee. Level 2 is a risk bracket. You knew that."
Raphael took a step forward. "He's walking around like he didn't get touched."
One of the men finally looked up. Old, grey-bearded, one blind eye.
"If he's still breathing, that means someone else stepped in."
"So fix it," Raphael snapped. "Do it right this time. I'll pay again."
That got a reaction.
The room shifted.
The coin slammed into the table. Loud.
"You'll pay again?" the seated man said slowly, almost amused. "With whose money?"
"I—I can get it—"
"Like you got the last four grand? Off your brother?"
Raphael froze.
The room went colder.
They knew. Of course they knew. XUX didn't operate blind.
"You don't f**king steal from Farrel," the man at the wall muttered. "Not unless you're ready to end up in a bag next."
Raphael's mouth opened. Shut. Opened again.
"Listen, I—"
The man stood. Slowly. Tall, older, face scarred.
He stepped closer until they were chest to chest.
"You think this is some Fiverr bulls**t? You think you press a button and we chase your high school beefs for pocket change?"
He shoved Raphael back. Hard.
"You're a nothing. A joke. You wasted our time."
"I paid you—"
"You paid to shut up. Now you're talking again."
Raphael's legs shook.
He tried to speak, but the words didn't come. Just steam from his mouth and the sound of blood pumping too loud in his ears.
The man pointed to the door.
"Last warning."
"But—"
"Get the fk out.**"
Outside – Ten minutes later
Raphael stood in the rain, hoodie drenched.
His jaw trembled—not from the cold.
His fists were clenched tight enough to bleed.
Daniel was alive.
And now, he was humiliated. Ignored. Tossed aside like a dumb kid who didn't know how the world worked.
He spat on the sidewalk.
"This ain't over," he whispered to himself. "You think you're untouchable?"
His hand went to his phone.
But he didn't call anyone.
He just stared at Daniel's name in his contacts.
Then deleted it.
Whatever came next?
It wasn't about business.
It was personal now.