Franz ended the call.
He turned slowly, the screen of the phone still glowing for a heartbeat longer before it dimmed to black, casting his face into a sharper shadow.
The silence after the disconnect was thick. One of the guards had stayed behind. The other two had gone ahead—to report, maybe. Or to feel useful. Doesn't matter.
Franz started bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Small, rhythmic hops. Like a boxer before a fight. Testing his balance. Waking up the blood. His body was still a bit fatigued from previous massacre.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The sound echoed slightly off the tiled walls.
The remaining guard furrowed his brow. "What the fuck are yo—"
Too late.
Franz lunged forward—no pause, no shout, just motion—and tackled him like a human missile. Shoulder to sternum. The man grunted, air leaving his lungs in a strangled gasp, as Franz drove him down hard.
The ground met him with a sick crunch.
Before he could react—before a word, a breath, a protest—
