Killing The Crown: Lethal Lies

Chapter 1: The Injury Protocol

The concrete wall in front of Kaiden Bart exploded into dust and jagged shards. His ears rang violently, a high-pitched frequency that was painful and drowned out the rattle of machine-gun fire tearing through the Zurich air that night. Behind the suffocating cloud of dust, Kai could see the remnants of the law firm’s luxury office shattered to pieces. Oil paintings worth millions of Euros were now shredded, and the expensive teak furniture was nothing more than a pile of kindling.

The smell of hot gunpowder and the copper tang of blood filled his nostrils. Kai slumped behind a marble pillar that was being chipped away by lead bullets. He could feel a warmth seeping through his white shirt—not sweat, but the thick fluid leaking from a bullet hole in his left waist. Every time he drew a breath, a burning sensation flared up, as if someone had just poured acid into his abdomen.

Target is still breathing! Secure the northern corridor! a voice shouted in German behind the veil of smoke.

Kai grimaced, his teeth clenching until his jaw ached. He had no time to complain or mourn his fate. His trembling hand fumbled for the Glock-17 on the slick floor, his blood-stained fingers nearly slipping as he reached for the trigger. His vision began to blur, white spots dancing at the edges of his sight due to the massive blood loss.

One. Two.

Two precise shots brought down the man in front of him who had just emerged from the smoke. Kai didn't see where the bullets landed, but the sound of a body thudding followed by a momentary silence was confirmation enough. However, that small victory came at a devastating price. A .45 caliber bullet slammed into his right shoulder as he leaned out slightly.

The sensation wasn't like being shot; it felt like being hit by a glowing sledgehammer right in the shoulder joint. The joint exploded, sending a shockwave that made Kai drop his weapon. He let out a low groan, his body sliding down to the cold marble floor. He could see his own reflection in the spreading pool of blood, the reflection of a man who looked ten years older than his actual age.

It is only business, Kaiden. Do not use your feelings, Ethel Bowie’s voice whispered in his head, as cold as Alpine ice.

Kai had no one. He had no memory of parents who loved him or a home filled with the aroma of warm cooking. Since his teenage years, he had been nothing but an instrument. A blade sharpened by Ethel Bowie to defend the throne of the Bowie family empire from the attacks of her own brother, Eigar. In this world, Kai was merely a shadow paid to ensure Ethel remained in the highest seat at Paradeplatz, even if it meant Kai had to end up in an anonymous grave on the outskirts of the city.

Eigar Bowie was not playing around tonight. He had hired mercenaries from an elite Eastern European unit to take Kai's life. A simple mission to steal secret documents at this law firm had turned into a slaughterhouse. Eigar knew that by eliminating Kai, he was breaking his sister's right arm. Without Kai, Ethel was a queen without a protector.

Kai forced his body to move. Every inch of movement felt like a burn doused in petrol. He dragged himself toward the emergency exit at the end of the hallway, leaving a stark red trail across the opulent floor. The wound in his waist now throbbed in time with his racing, shallow heartbeat.

There he is! Do not let him reach the door!

The hall lights went out after a shot destroyed the central transformer in the ceiling. In total darkness illuminated only by the red blinking of the alarm indicators, Kai relied on his animal instincts. He pulled a tactical folding knife from his trouser pocket with his remaining functional left hand, though his fingers already felt stiff. His lungs felt constricted; oxygen seemed to have been sucked dry by the fire from the earlier explosion.

An assassin lunged from the shadows, his silhouette large and threatening. Kai did not dodge; he had no strength left for that. He let the man approach, waiting until the muzzle of the opponent's rifle almost touched his chest. With the last of his adrenaline, Kai drove his folding knife into the gap beneath his opponent's chin. Warm blood sprayed Kai’s face, fishy and thick. He pushed the corpse away with his remaining strength, but a hard kick landed right on his cracked ribs.

Kai was thrown back, hitting a decorative glass table until it shattered into a thousand pieces. A sharp shard of glass embedded itself deep into his right thigh, piercing the muscle. The pain now moved beyond the limits of human sanity. Kai opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a dry hiss and the froth of blood filling his throat.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three more bullets hit the marble pillar right above his head, showering his face with sharp cement dust. Kai could feel his life slowly slipping away. He felt a strange coldness beginning to creep up from the tips of his toes. It was a sensation he had often heard about from comrades who died on the battlefield—a numbness that tempted one to just give up.

He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining Ethel Bowie’s expressionless face when he was first recruited from the streets. “You have no family, Kaiden. I am your family. I am your purpose.”

To hell with you, Ethel, Kai hissed hoarsely. He knew Ethel would not come to save him if he failed. Ethel only picked up winners.

Kai reached for the largest shard of glass near his hand. As the last assassin—a muscular man in a black mask—approached to deliver the execution shot to his head, Kai made one desperate move. He stabbed the glass shard into the opponent's ankle, wrenching the weapon upward as the man fell in surprise. Kai seized the assault rifle with a violently shaking hand, propped it against his shattered shoulder, and squeezed the trigger until the entire magazine was empty.

The sound of the gunfire echoed in the enclosed room, deafening his ears before total silence reigned once more. Only the sound of rain from the broken window and the fire alarm wailing in the distance remained.

Kai lay amidst the ruins of glass and corpses. His expensive white shirt had now completely changed color to a deep, dark crimson. His shoulder was destroyed, his waist was leaking, his ribs were crushed, and a glass shard was still embedded in his thigh. The world seemed to slow down, spinning away from him.

He tried to stand, but his legs felt like melting rubber. Kai fell back, his head hitting the floor hard, creating sparks of light behind his closed eyelids. His vision began to narrow, creating a long black tunnel.

Ethel... task... complete... he murmured hoarsely, though he knew there was no one there to hear him.

With an effort that consumed the rest of his life force, he reached into the inner pocket of his torn coat. He pulled out a satellite phone with a screen cracked in a thousand places. With fingers slick with his own blood, he pressed a single specific button. An emergency call for Ethel Bowie’s cleanup team. The protocol code for a ‘severely wounded pawn’. If they did not arrive within three hundred seconds, Kaiden Bart would be nothing more than a lifeless heap of flesh in a building that cared nothing for him.

The world began to go truly dark. The cold had now reached his chest, making his heartbeat feel heavy and slow like an engine running out of fuel. Kai stared at the grand ceiling of the building, thinking how ironic life was. For the last fifteen years, he had killed for the prosperity of the Bowie family, and now he was dying alone on a floor that didn't even record his name.

His consciousness jerked for a moment as he heard the sound of heavy boots approaching rapidly from the corridor. Was it Ethel's medical team coming to stitch his body back together? Or was it Eigar Bowie’s men returning to make sure his head was truly separated from his body?

Kai could no longer lift a weapon. He could no longer fight, even if it were only for one last breath. He could only lie there, drowning in the pool of his own cooling blood, waiting to see if fate would give him a chance to see the Zurich sun tomorrow, or if it would close his storybook right here, in a silence that smelled of iron and death.

His eyes slowly closed completely. The last thing he felt was the scent of cold snow coming through the broken window, touching the pale skin of his face, mingling with the smell of death that had now become a part of his soul.