For You

THE VOID (ZANYA)

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Pretty sure that only works in my head.

Sighing, I looked at the target. Mr. Leonardo, 58 years old. Owner of the top security firm at the east border of the city.

Meaning: Mr. Leonardo has been getting in his way. And he doesn’t like it.

Solution: Eradication.

A part of me wanted to fight back. To scream. To refuse.

But I couldn't. Not after the pill.

I turned to Elliot, the bastard who relished in my suffering. I hated him. Hated his face, his smug smirk, the way he looked at me like I was just another weapon to wield.

He motioned for me to come forward. Like the good little pet I was, I obeyed.

I opened my mouth. The pill dropped onto my tongue.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

The world shifted.

Emotions drained from me, washed away like ink in water. The weight in my chest disappeared.

The Void.

That's what they call me.

Orders. I had orders to follow.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The house loomed in front of me. For a man who owned a security company, his home seemed unprotected. A false illusion, no doubt.

I moved.

Scaling the fence in a single fluid motion, I landed in a crouch, silent as a shadow. My fingers grazed the ground for balance before I straightened. A flicker of movement in my periphery—two guards patrolling. Their routes were predictable, rehearsed.

Sloppy.

I waited for the perfect moment, then slipped between them like smoke. One step, two steps—one of them turned.

Too slow.

I surged forward, wrapping my arm around his throat, my other hand clasping his mouth. A quick, calculated twist. His body went limp.

The second guard barely registered what happened before my blade found his throat. A clean, swift cut. I caught him before he collapsed, lowering him soundlessly to the ground.

I kept moving.

Security cameras lined the perimeter. Their rotation was precise, mechanical. I counted the seconds. Five-second intervals between each sweep.

I moved within the blind spots, dodging lasers, slipping past motion sensors. My body flowed like water, silent, untouchable.

At the side entrance, a keypad glowed red. I pulled a small device from my belt, pressing it against the panel. Numbers flickered, rearranging, decoding.

Three seconds.

The lock clicked open.

Inside, the air was colder, laced with the scent of leather and expensive cigars. The house was eerily quiet. No alarms yet.

A staircase led to the upper level. I took it two steps at a time, barely making a sound.

A door at the end of the hall. Behind it, him.

Two guards stood outside, their stance relaxed. They weren’t expecting an intruder.

Their mistake.

I lunged. The first man barely had time to react before my dagger buried itself in his chest. The second reached for his gun—too slow. I spun, twisting his wrist until the bones snapped, then drove my blade into his throat.

Blood splattered, warm against my skin.

I turned the handle.

Inside, Mr. Leonardo sat at his desk, eyes widening in realization. His fingers reached for the alarm under the desk.

I threw my knife.

It struck his hand, pinning it to the wood. He screamed.

I walked forward, slow, controlled.

"You’re just a girl," he gasped, eyes flickering with desperation.

I said nothing.

His other hand darted for the gun at his waist. I was faster. My second blade sliced through the air, embedding deep into his throat.

His body slumped over the desk, blood pooling beneath him.

Mission complete.

I turned, stepping over the bodies, my hands steady, my mind empty.

No emotions. No hesitation.

Just orders.