The Tenth Explosion

Chapter 12: the shooting.

Mr. James barely slept that night. Not the normal “tired businessman” kind of sleeplessness where somebody checks emails at 2 a.m. pretending productivity will solve emotional damage. No. This was survival insomnia. The kind where every sound outside your window starts sounding like approaching death. He sat alone in the living room around five in the morning still wearing the same black sweatpants from yesterday, staring at untouched whiskey on the table. His fiancée’s burial was today. And somehow that wasn’t even the only thing trying to kill him emotionally.

The Sun Thunder gang problem had already become bigger than fear now. It had become calculation. Because once criminal organizations decide you’re useful, escaping them becomes harder than escaping debt collectors. At least debt collectors usually stop at embarrassment. These people preferred bullets.

James rubbed his face slowly. His mind kept replaying the initiation message from last night. The threats. The pressure. Kate getting dragged into the mess too. And the worst part? He genuinely believed they would come for him today. Funerals were perfect places for assassination honestly. People cry. People panic. People stop paying attention to details. One gunshot inside emotional chaos becomes confusion before understanding. That was exactly the kind of environment gangs loved.

The front door suddenly opened downstairs. James straightened immediately. Then relaxed slightly seeing Benson walk in casually. Behind him stood another man. Tall. Dark suit. Calm eyes. The kind of face that looked forgettable intentionally. Which honestly made him more dangerous already.

Benson smiled slightly. “You look terrible.”

James exhaled tiredly. “I feel worse.”

Benson walked toward the couch while the stranger remained standing silently near the entrance. “Good.”

James frowned. “How is that good?”

“Fear keeps people alive.” Classic Benson sentence. No comfort. Just practical violence disguised as wisdom. Then Benson gestured toward the man beside him. “This is your new bodyguard.”

James looked at the stranger carefully. The man nodded once respectfully. “Ben.” That was all. No unnecessary introduction. No fake tough-guy energy. Just Ben.

James stood slowly. “I already have security.”

Benson laughed softly. “You had security.” He pointed toward Ben calmly. “This one survives gunfights.”

Silence. James looked back toward Ben again. Still calm. Still unreadable. Honestly, Ben carried himself like somebody who had already buried enemies mentally before breakfast. James didn’t know the real irony standing in front of him though. Because this same man had spent years inside the Sun Thunder gang itself. Their driver. Their trusted transporter. Their silent observer. And somehow none of them suspected the truth.

That was the terrifying thing about highly trained infiltrators. They don’t act suspicious. They become useful enough that people stop looking carefully. Ben had betrayed the Sun Thunder gang quietly for years while feeding information elsewhere. And now? Now he stood protecting one of their targets.

James extended his hand finally. Ben shook it firmly. “Appreciate this.”

Ben nodded once. “My job is simple.”

“What’s that?”

“To make sure you don’t die.” Again. No drama. Just directness. Honestly comforting in a strange way.

A few hours later, the burial procession began. The cemetery sat beneath gray skies that looked emotionally exhausted themselves. Everybody wore black according to tradition. Black suits. Black dresses. Black headscarves. Even the atmosphere itself felt dark. Funerals always reveal uncomfortable truths about people. Some cry loudly because grief destroys them openly. Others become quiet because pain moves inward instead.

James belonged to the second category. He stood near the coffin in a black suit staring at the polished wood silently while relatives moved around offering condolences. His fiancée looked peaceful in the framed photo beside the flowers. Too peaceful. That picture irritated him emotionally because real death never felt peaceful to the people left behind.

The pastor eventually stepped forward. An older man with soft eyes and the kind of voice built perfectly for sad occasions. He adjusted the microphone gently. “We are gathered here today…”

The speech began. People cried quietly around the burial ground. The pastor spoke about her kindness. Her intelligence. How she volunteered helping children during weekends. How she once paid hospital bills for somebody she barely knew. Honestly, those speeches always hurt more because they remind everyone that good people still die randomly. James listened silently while memories kept attacking him one after another. Her laugh. The way she argued during movies. How she hated cold coffee. Tiny human details suddenly becoming priceless after death. That was grief’s cruelest habit. It turns ordinary memories into emotional weapons afterward.

Ben stood slightly behind James the entire time. Watching. Not mourning. Scanning. His eyes moved constantly through the crowd like a machine searching for patterns. And eventually—he saw them. Three men. Different positions. Same body language. Too alert. Too focused on James instead of the burial itself. Sun Thunder. Ben recognized one immediately from older operations. His expression didn’t change though. That’s the thing about professionals. Panic wastes time.

The burial continued. The coffin lowered slowly into the ground while relatives cried harder now. James finally looked away because watching the coffin disappear felt unbearable. Then afterward came the greeting phase. That long emotionally draining period where grieving people shake hands while pretending language can repair loss. James moved between relatives quietly.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“She loved you deeply.”

“Stay strong.”

Everybody always says the same things at funerals because honestly there are no original sentences left for death anymore.

Then suddenly—a bullet sliced past James’ head. Sharp. Violent. The sound cracked through the cemetery instantly. For one second nobody processed it properly. Human brains do that sometimes during danger. Reality arrives half a second late. Then chaos exploded. People screamed. Women dropped to the ground. Relatives scattered everywhere. Another gunshot echoed.

Ben moved immediately. Not fast like action movies. Fast like trained survival. There’s a difference. Movie fighters move dramatically. Professionals move economically. Ben already had his weapon out before most people fully understood what happened. The shooter stood near a distant tree line trying to reposition. Too slow. Ben fired once. Clean shot. The assassin collapsed backward instantly into the grass. No hesitation. No celebration. Ben grabbed James hard by the shoulder. “DOWN.”

Another bullet shattered part of a nearby marble grave. Dust exploded across the cemetery. James dropped instinctively behind a concrete structure breathing hard.

“What the hell—”

“Stay low.” Ben’s voice remained frighteningly calm. That calmness honestly saved lives because panic spreads faster than bullets.

Around the cemetery more Sun Thunder members revealed themselves now. Strategic positions exactly like James feared. One near parked vehicles. Another behind stone pillars. Two more hidden near the far entrance. This wasn’t intimidation. This was execution planning.

Ben glanced around quickly calculating angles. Three additional security men near James pulled weapons too. Unfortunately they lacked Ben’s experience. One fired wildly. Bad mistake. The shooter near the vehicles immediately killed him with a shot through the throat. Blood sprayed across black funeral clothes. People screamed harder. The cemetery transformed into war within seconds.

Ben leaned sideways briefly and fired twice. One attacker dropped instantly clutching his chest. Another lost half his jaw before collapsing against a gravestone. James stared in horror. Because until moments like this, violence usually feels fictional emotionally. Then suddenly bodies start falling around you and reality changes shape.

One Sun Thunder member rushed closer through the graves trying to flank them. Ben noticed movement instantly. Three controlled shots. The attacker spun sideways violently and crashed into funeral flowers. Another assassin appeared near the pastor’s vehicle firing recklessly toward James’ position. Bullets shattered stone everywhere.

Ben moved aggressively now. He rolled behind another grave marker while returning fire with terrifying precision. One shot to the knee. The attacker fell screaming. Second shot directly through the forehead. Silence. Temporary silence at least. Smoke drifted faintly through the cemetery air now. Bodies lay across graves and pathways dressed in black like death itself organized a meeting.

James’ breathing became uneven. He looked toward Ben almost disbelievingly. The man moved like he had rehearsed this exact attack already. No wasted motion. No emotional reaction. Just elimination. Then Ben suddenly grabbed James again. “Move. NOW.”

More gunfire erupted near the entrance. Two remaining Sun Thunder members emerged firing toward them aggressively. Ben shoved James behind a vehicle and stepped forward alone. Honestly? That moment looked less like protection and more like hunting. One attacker emptied bullets too quickly under pressure. Amateur mistake. Ben used the reload window instantly. Two shots. Center mass. The man dropped hard beside the cemetery gate. The last assassin tried escaping toward parked motorcycles realizing the mission had failed. Ben fired once from distance. The bullet entered through the back of the man’s neck. He collapsed face-first before reaching the bike.

Then finally—silence returned properly. Not peaceful silence. Aftermath silence. The kind where everybody’s ears still ring slightly from gunfire. Smoke. Blood. Crying relatives hiding behind graves. James stood slowly staring around the cemetery in disbelief. His fiancée’s burial had transformed into a battlefield. And somehow… he survived.

Ben checked the surroundings one final time before lowering his weapon calmly. “It’s finished.”

James looked at him carefully. “No.” His voice shook slightly. “…You finished them.”

Ben didn’t answer. Professional killers rarely discussed work emotionally.

Police sirens echoed faintly somewhere in the distance already. Ben immediately turned toward James. “We leave now.”

James nodded quickly. Within minutes the surviving security team escorted him into armored vehicles. The convoy sped away from the cemetery fast enough to leave dust behind.

Inside the car, James sat silently trying to process everything. Bullets. Bodies falling. The sound of screaming. Ben shooting people like it was muscle memory. And somehow beneath all that horror… the burial itself still happened. His fiancée was finally laid to rest. That realization hit strangely. Like grief and violence had collided inside one afternoon.

By the time James reached home, emotional exhaustion sat heavily on him. He ignored everyone immediately and went straight upstairs toward the bathroom. The shower water hit his skin hard. Still his mind refused calming down. He kept seeing flashes. The bullet passing near his head. The cemetery exploding into chaos. Sun Thunder members collapsing onto graves. Blood staining black funeral clothes. And Ben… Jesus Christ. Ben himself felt unreal. The man killed trained gunmen with the emotional reaction of somebody organizing office files.

James leaned one hand against the shower wall breathing slowly. “I almost died today.” Not dramatic realization. Literal fact. If Ben wasn’t there? That funeral would’ve ended with two burials instead of one.

Meanwhile far away inside a maximum-security prison, another problem quietly evolved. Mr. Jackie sat alone inside his prison cell staring calmly at the metal wall. Most prisoners eventually look defeated. Jackie didn’t. That was what made him dangerous still. Because prison only traps ordinary criminals physically. Powerful ones continue operating through networks. And Jackie understood systems extremely well.

His right hand rested calmly against the table. Except technically… it wasn’t his original hand anymore. The replacement looked perfectly human. Artificial skin. Natural movement. Fingerprints replicated carefully. Advanced military-level prosthetics. Most guards never noticed anything unusual. That hand alone had already helped him bypass several prison monitoring systems. Right now he used it holding a small hidden communication device no bigger than a cigarette lighter.

Jackie smiled faintly while speaking quietly. “Any updates?”

A distorted voice responded through the device. “James survived.”

Jackie’s smile disappeared immediately. “…How?”

“There was interference.”

Jackie already understood. “Ben.”

Silence confirmed it. Interesting. Very interesting. Jackie leaned back slowly inside the cell. “Then the traitor finally picked a side.”

Outside the prison walls, seven men were being processed quietly as newly arrested criminals. Petty charges. Forgery. Illegal weapons. Assault. Normal criminal paperwork. At least on the surface. The police officers handling intake never realized the truth. These men weren’t random offenders. They were loyal Sun Thunder operatives intentionally entering prison. Their objective? Reach Jackie. Protect him. Reconnect the network from inside.

One officer laughed while checking documents. “You idiots threw your lives away.”

One of the fake prisoners smiled faintly. “If only you knew.”