The next night, Alexander Reid returned to the construction site. This time, he came prepared.
Dressed in dark tactical gear, he moved through the shadows with practiced ease. His knives were strapped securely to his belt, his firearm holstered at his side. The weight of his weapons was reassuring, but he knew that brute force alone wouldn't win against Vasiliev. This was a battle of strategy, of patience. The Butcher had laid his trap, but Alexander intended to turn it against him.
He positioned himself on a nearby rooftop, crouching low behind a rusted ventilation unit. The unfinished building stretched before him, a skeletal husk of steel and concrete. The night wind howled through its empty framework, sending loose debris skittering across the floor. The entire place was designed for ambushes—too many blind spots, too many angles to cover. The shadows stretched long across the ground, creating dark corridors of uncertainty. Every opening in the steel framework was a potential sniper's nest, every hanging beam a perfect vantage point for an assassin to strike from above.
But Alexander had spent the day studying blueprints of the site. He knew the weak points, the alternate exits, the places where a man like Vasiliev would position himself. And more importantly, he had set his own traps.
Tiny, nearly invisible motion sensors were placed along key entry points, their frequencies linked directly to his HUD. If anything larger than a rat passed through, he would know. Tripwires rigged to flashbangs were hidden near the stairwells, positioned in such a way that an intruder's first instinct to retreat would only drive them further into a kill zone. He had even prepared a remote detonation charge on one of the weaker support beams—nothing that would bring the building down, but enough to create chaos if needed. The mere thought of Vasiliev being caught in his own web of destruction brought a cold satisfaction.
Now, he waited.
The silence stretched, thick and oppressive. He scanned the structure through a thermal scope, searching for any heat signatures. Nothing. The stillness was unnerving. Even the usual city noises—distant traffic, the occasional honk of a car—felt muted, as if the world was holding its breath.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
Then—movement.
A flicker of heat near the third floor. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Alexander tensed, his grip tightening around his knife. He remained still, controlling his breathing, waiting to see if the figure would reveal itself further. His instincts screamed at him to move, to act—but he fought them down, knowing that patience was his greatest ally.
Another flicker. A shadow moving between steel beams.
Vasiliev was here.
The shape moved with calculated precision, weaving through the skeletal remains of the building with an eerie grace. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation. This was a hunter in his element. Alexander watched as the shadow paused near the edge of an exposed platform, scanning the area, likely sensing something was off. Vasiliev wasn't reckless—he was feeling out the environment, testing for danger. It was a dance of predators, neither wanting to make the first wrong move.
Alexander exhaled slowly, his muscles coiled like a spring. His trap was set. The game had begun.
And this time, he was ready.
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