CHAPTER -3 ~`KISS OF DEATH`~

I didn't sleep. Not at night. My team and I was always at work. Planning, strategizing, analyzing routes and making sure that our weapons were always at the ready. Around seven in the evening, we started gearing up. We were loading guns, checking ammunitions and making sure that our vehicles were set.

We stood apart from the rest, easily distinguishable from the crowd. We wore black, but that wasn't the only thing that set us apart. Different was our demeanor. Cold, unfeeling and ruthless, we were known for it. I in particular was called the coldest among us but make no mistake we were all relentlessly merciless. To us the world outside didn't matter, all we cared about was our team, our survival.

We moved as one, I gathered my team. Our vehicles were set too. Our cars were sleek and intimidating, black as the night. They shined like polished obsidian under the street lights, not a single scratch on them.

Mine? A matter black Rolls-Royce Phantom. It wasn't just for show. All of our vehicles were bulletproof, fireproof and missile resistant. They were made to survive anything, to keep us safe no matter what the cost. The cars could tear through any terrain, a predator moving through a jungle, swift and unyielding, dodging obstacles with ease. People called them the "KISS OF DEATH" as these cars were anything people could dream of, beautifully dangerous.

The air was thick with tension, a palpable energy that charged our surroundings. We exchanged terse nods, an unspoken understanding binding us together in this moment of anticipation. Each of us knew the stakes, and the potential consequences of failure.

We climbed into our vehicles, engines rumbling to life like a beast awakening from slumber. The sound reverberated in the stillness, a warning to anyone who dared cross our path. As I settled into the plush leather seat of my Phantom, I felt a familiar rush of adrenaline. This was where I belonged, in the eye of the storm, amidst chaos and danger.

The night was ours. We navigated through the labyrinth of streets, my team in tight formation, every turn calculated, every move deliberate. We were a unit, a predator on the hunt. The targets were in sight—individuals who had wronged us, who had underestimated our resolve. We had been patient, biding our time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

As we approached the designated location, my heart raced. The moment of reckoning was near. We were not just seeking vengeance; we were delivering a message. The world would remember the night.

As we neared the target’s location, the streets grew quieter, tension hanging thick in the air. Each heartbeat echoed like a drum in my ears. We parked strategically, shadows blending with the night, concealed yet ready to pounce. I glanced at my team, their faces steely and focused, reflecting the same relentless resolve that coursed through me.

The plan was simple yet ruthless. We would strike swiftly, leaving no room for retaliation. The sound of our boots on the pavement was muted, an ominous prelude to the chaos we were about to unleash. The night would belong to us, and our legacy would be etched in fear.

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