Neon lights cast a hazy glow over the streets, a mix of reds, blues, and electric whites refracting off the wet pavement. It was late, well past midnight, and the city buzzed with its peculiar kind of nightlife—a life under artificial lights, bound by the hum of engines and the clatter of late-night footsteps. Here, on this block in the heart of downtown, everything and everyone moved in rhythm, though the rhythm was one of controlled chaos.
Leila Jones slipped her hands into the pockets of her bright orange suit jacket, her fingers grazing the cool metal hidden within. The suit was tailored, every inch of it cut to perfection, from the structured shoulders to the fitted trousers. She looked powerful, confident, and bold, her bright outfit a deliberate beacon amidst the muted hues of the night. She wasn’t here to blend in; she wanted them to see her coming.
She adjusted her sunglasses—a strange choice for nighttime, perhaps, but she had her reasons. They hid her eyes, concealing more than just her identity; they shielded her purpose, her determination. The orange of her suit was a signal, though few would know it. Among her allies, it was called the “Orange Signal”—a color that marked an operation in progress. It was her calling card, a warning.
She strolled down the sidewalk, every step controlled and unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world. But her mind was racing, mapping every potential escape route, every vantage point, every shadow that might conceal an ambush. She was waiting, watching, even as she walked. Tonight was not a night for mistakes.
She caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the glass window of a shop. The neon from the sign above cast her in surreal hues, making her look almost otherworldly. In that moment, she was reminded of her old life, before the missions, before the betrayal, before she’d become someone her younger self wouldn’t recognize. There had been a time when she wore simple clothes, lived a quiet life, and blended into the background like everyone else. But that life had ended the night she’d lost everything.
Her target tonight was Bishop—one of the most elusive criminals in the city, a master manipulator, a man with a network of connections that reached every corner of the underground. Bishop had once been her mentor, teaching her everything she knew about infiltration, surveillance, and escape. But he’d also been the one to betray her, setting her up to take the fall for a crime he had orchestrated. She’d spent years in hiding, rebuilding herself, honing her skills, waiting for the right moment to strike.
And tonight was that moment.
She stopped beneath a neon sign that read “Big Cobb,” an old diner turned speakeasy. It was one of Bishop’s favorite haunts, a place where deals were made in dark corners and secrets traded like currency. She glanced around, noting the small details—the parked cars, the subtle movements of passersby, the way the lights flickered ever so slightly. Her instincts told her he was near.
Pulling her hand from her pocket, she checked her watch. She had a small window of time, a carefully planned opening. Bishop was a creature of habit, one of the few mistakes he allowed himself, and she intended to exploit it. He would arrive through the side alley, where his men would do a quick sweep before escorting him inside. All she had to do was be in the right place, at the right time.
She moved to the edge of the sidewalk, her gaze fixed on the narrow alleyway just a few feet away. In the distance, she saw a black car pull up, its headlights cutting through the misty air. Two men stepped out first, dressed in dark suits, their eyes scanning the street with practiced precision. Leila slipped back, pressing herself into the shadows, waiting. She knew they wouldn’t see her—not until she wanted them to.
When Bishop stepped out, her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen him in years, but he was exactly as she remembered: tall, thin, his hair slicked back, his suit immaculate. He carried himself with a calm authority, a man who feared nothing and trusted no one. But that calm, that confidence, was about to be shattered.
As he passed her hiding spot, she moved, stepping into his path with a grace and silence that caught even his guards off guard. Before they could react, she had her weapon—a small, compact taser—in hand, pressing it against Bishop’s side. He gasped, his body convulsing as the electricity surged through him, his legs buckling as he fell to the ground.
The guards lunged at her, but she was ready, sidestepping the first, twisting his arm behind his back before shoving him into his companion. They stumbled, momentarily disoriented, and that was all she needed. She grabbed Bishop by the collar, dragging him into the shadows, pressing him against the wall as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Leila,” he rasped, his voice filled with disbelief and a hint of fear. “I thought you were dead.”
She smirked, tilting her head as she looked at him, her sunglasses reflecting his panicked expression. “You should have made sure.”
He grimaced, his hands clutching at her wrist. “This is a mistake. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Oh, I think I do,” she replied, her voice cold and unyielding. “You took everything from me, Bishop. My life, my career, my future. You set me up, made me the scapegoat for your little empire. But I didn’t come here for revenge. I came here for answers.”
He looked away, a sneer twisting his lips. “Answers? You think there’s some grand conspiracy behind what I did to you? You were just… collateral damage, Leila. Nothing personal. Just business.”
She tightened her grip, her nails digging into his collar. “Wrong answer.”
Bishop winced, his eyes narrowing. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I want the names, Bishop. Everyone involved in the operation that night—the people who helped you set me up, the people who let it happen. I want them all.”
He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “You think I’d just give that to you? I built my empire on secrets, Leila. Those names are worth more than your life.”
She leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper. “Maybe. But right now, your life depends on giving me what I want.”
There was a flicker of fear in his eyes, a hesitation, and she knew she’d struck a nerve. Bishop might have been powerful, ruthless even, but he wasn’t invincible. And in that moment, he understood that she was willing to do whatever it took.
He swallowed, glancing toward the street, where his guards lay unconscious. “Alright,” he muttered. “There’s a file… at my office. Everything you want is there. Take it, and we’re even.”
She tilted her head, considering his offer. “Not quite.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small tracking device and pressing it against his neck. He flinched, but she didn’t relent.
“This will ensure I can find you if you try to run. Don’t think I won’t use it.”
He scowled, but he didn’t resist. She took a step back, releasing him, her gaze hard and unyielding. Bishop straightened, brushing off his suit, his eyes filled with a cold hatred.
“You won’t win this, Leila,” he warned. “There are forces at play here you can’t even begin to understand.”
She smiled, a cold, deadly smile. “Then I guess it’s time I started learning.”
With one final glance, she turned, disappearing into the shadows, her orange suit a flash of defiance against the night. She had her lead, her next target. The game was just beginning, and she intended to see it through to the end. Bishop might have been powerful, but she was relentless.
As she walked away, her mind was already racing, piecing together the next steps. She didn’t know where this path would lead, but she knew one thing for certain—she was done running. The Orange Signal was lit, and she would stop at nothing to finish what she’d started.
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