The leader regrouped the remaining men with a sharp gesture.
Their breathing was heavy.
Uneven.
Fear was no longer implied.
It was visible.
Almost tangible.
Now they knew.
They weren't facing just a man.
There was something wrong.
Something impossible.
"Hold formation!" the leader ordered, trying to reclaim authority. "He bleeds like anyone else!"
Eric stood at the center of the room, controlling his breathing.
The invisible timer ticked in his mind.
13 minutes remaining.
The four survivors tried to push him back toward the hallway—
Likely aiming to funnel him into a narrower space.
Limit his mobility.
Use their numbers.
Eric didn't retreat.
He advanced.
The first man lunged from the side.
Eric intercepted—grabbing the armed arm and twisting with calculated force.
The crack of bone echoed louder than it should have.
The man screamed.
Eric pivoted, using the man's body as leverage—
And hurled him into the glass wall.
Another tried to fire.
Eric dropped low—
A brutal kick to the knee.
It bent the wrong way.
The man collapsed, howling.
The leader realized—
Dragging this fight out would be fatal.
For them—
Or for everyone in the building.
But Eric realized something worse.
If the gunfire continued—
Someone innocent could die.
A resident.
A worker.
Someone on the street.
The decision formed in his mind—
Cold.
Final.
End it.
His movements became sharper.
Faster.
No hesitation.
One of the men, panicking, fired at a shadow he thought was Eric.
Another crossed his line of fire at the same moment.
The shot was fatal.
The man dropped—
Confused.
"You shot me!" the other screamed—
Before collapsing.
Chaos shattered the formation.
Eric crossed the room before anyone could aim again.
Strike to the clavicle.
Break.
Kick to the leg.
Fracture.
He felt no pleasure.
No guilt.
Only urgency.
The leader retreated toward the panoramic balcony—
Gun still steady—
But his eyes had changed.
Not just hatred.
Understanding.
"I saw my brother's body," he said, voice low. "You did that."
Eric stepped onto the balcony.
The city glowed beneath them.
Indifferent.
"He chose it," Eric replied.
No arrogance.
Just truth.
The leader snarled—
Fired.
Eric moved before the bullet completed its path.
A precise strike to the hand—
The gun flew over the balcony.
Spinning—
Vanishing into the darkness below.
For a second—
Eric hoped no one was passing underneath.
The leader reached for a second weapon.
Eric grabbed his wrist.
They locked together.
Strength against strength.
On the floor—
One of the broken men dragged himself toward a fallen weapon.
One functional arm.
Shaking.
He aimed toward the balcony.
Vision blurred.
Breathing unstable.
But hatred—
Clear.
He fired.
Eric heard the shot before feeling anything.
Instinct.
He moved.
The bullet struck the leader in the neck.
The man's eyes changed instantly.
Shock.
Betrayal.
His body collapsed—
Falling backward onto the balcony.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Eric froze for a moment.
There was no intention.
But there was consequence.
He turned—
Closed the distance—
A precise kick to the shooter's face.
Unconscious.
The timer read:
9 minutes remaining.
Sirens echoed in the distance.
Blue and red lights reflecting across buildings.
Police.
Eric inhaled deeply.
His reflection in the glass door caught his attention.
His eyes—
Glowed.
A faint red.
Visible in the dim light.
He searched mentally for a way to deactivate the Midas System.
Nothing.
No button.
No command.
Only time.
He heard a radio crackle from one of the fallen men.
A voice.
Foreign.
Urgent.
Calling repeatedly.
Reinforcements.
He knew.
If he went down now—
He could finish everything.
End it completely.
But that would create something worse.
Questions.
Cameras.
Witnesses.
The building was already compromised.
The bodies were enough.
The police wouldn't ignore this.
The sirens were close.
Very close.
Eric scanned the corridor.
No movement.
But he knew—
Some had likely escaped.
Through stairs.
Parking levels.
They wouldn't stay to be arrested.
He closed the penthouse door.
Locked it.
Breathed.
Looked around.
Bodies in tactical gear.
Weapons scattered.
Broken glass.
Heavy breathing.
7 minutes remaining.
He needed to disappear from the equation.
No time to clean the scene.
No time to explain.
Only one solution formed—
Cold.
Practical.
He walked to the center of the room.
Lay down among the bodies.
Relaxed his muscles.
Erased expression.
Irregular breathing.
Half-closed eyes.
Unconscious.
The sound of forced entry echoed in the hallway.
"Police! Drop your weapons!"
Boots.
Flashlights.
When officers stormed the room—
The scene was chaos.
Three men in tactical gear.
Weapons.
Broken bodies.
One fallen from the balcony.
And in the center—
A young man in pajamas.
Barefoot.
Unconscious.
"My God…" one officer muttered.
Another checked his pulse.
"He's alive!"
"Call an ambulance!"
The invisible timer read:
5 minutes remaining.
But no one knew.
The Midas System was still active.
Eric's eyes remained closed.
But behind them—
His mind was awake.
He knew—
From this moment on—
Everything would change.
This was no longer just an investigation.
It was exposure.
And as sirens filled the night—
As officers took control of the scene—
Eric remained still.
Breathing.
Waiting.
Knowing—
The night wasn't over.
And the real price—
Had yet to be paid.