first move
598 Words
She woke before dawn, heart pounding with restless energy. Today, she would find him.
The mercenary.
In her past life, he had been a ghost someone whispered about in the underworld, but rarely seen. He had operated alone, ruthless and precise, until she had crashed into his world, forcing him to take an interest. She didn’t have time to wait for that to happen naturally this time.
She needed to make the first move.
Dressing in dark, flexible clothing, she strapped a knife to her thigh and tucked a handgun into the holster at her back. She wasn’t going into a fight, but she wasn’t walking in unarmed either.
She checked the clock. 5:00 AM. If he was still running the same pattern as before, he would be hitting a nearby underground fight club for morning drills. A place where violence was currency and blood was spilled for sport.
She slipped into the streets, the city still wrapped in quiet before the day began. It felt surreal, walking through a world that didn’t yet know it was doomed. People still rushed to jobs, sipped their morning coffee, worried about deadlines.
She wanted to scream at them. Tell them it was all pointless. That in four months, the dead would outnumber the living, and no amount of daily routine would stop that.
Instead, she clenched her fists and walked faster.
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The entrance to the fight club was in a dingy alley, hidden behind a steel door. She slipped inside, the heavy bass of music vibrating through the walls. The air was thick with sweat, testosterone, and the metallic scent of old blood.
A fight was already underway. A brutal exchange of fists and bone-cracking blows. The crowd circled the fighters like a pack of rabid dogs, shouting, betting, drinking.
And then she saw him.
Aleksandr Kade.
The mercenary.
He was standing near the edge of the ring, arms crossed, observing the fight with cold detachment. A predator watching prey.
His dark eyes flicked up as if sensing her presence, locking onto her immediately.
Her breath hitched.
In her past life, it had taken months to earn his trust. Now, she had only seconds to convince him she was worth his attention.
She did the only thing she could think of.
She stepped into the ring.
The crowd roared as the announcer barely had time to register her presence. “Looks like we’ve got a last-minute challenger! Lady, you sure about this?”
She didn’t hesitate. If she wanted Aleksandr to take her seriously, she had to prove herself the way he understood best.
With violence.
Her opponent was a massive man, at least a foot taller and twice as broad. He grinned at her like a wolf eyeing a rabbit.
She let him.
The bell rang.
The man lunged fast, but not fast enough.
She ducked, twisting to the side, slamming her elbow into his ribs. He grunted, stumbling, but she was already moving. A kick to his knee. A sharp punch to his throat. Precise. Efficient. Ruthless.
The crowd erupted, but she barely heard them. She wasn’t fighting for entertainment. She was fighting for survival.
The man roared, furious now, swinging wildly. A mistake.
She stepped into his attack, catching his arm mid-swing, twisting until she heard the sickening pop of a dislocated shoulder.
He screamed. The fight was over.
She turned, breathing hard, searching for him.
Aleksandr was watching, his expression unreadable.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
Not a friendly smile. A dangerous one.
She had his attention now.
And she knew it was only the beginning.
- Writer
