Heavy boots thundered down the concrete corridor outside, followed by the clatter of gear and ragged breathing. A split second later, the commander and four of his heavily armed operators spilled through the blown-out doorway, weapons raised, sweeping the room. "What the hell? What the hell?!" the commander barked, his eyes darting frantically from the shredded metal doorframe to the four elite wet-work operators bleeding out on the floor. He froze, lowering his carbine a fraction as his brain tried to process the sheer carnage in front of him. Billy stepped out from the back corner, dusting off his tailored jacket and stepping carefully over a shell casing. He looked right at the pale, sweating commander and his squad. "You're a little too late now," Billy said flatly, crossing his arms. "My man right here just took them all out without even losing his breath. Where the fuck were you at?" The commander’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He stared at the bodies, then at the smoking breach in the doorframe, stammering something about lockdown protocols and delayed response times. That was the absolute worst thing he could have done. Billy snapped. The calm, composed directorate veneer vanished in a microsecond, replaced by pure, unadulterated venom. He closed the distance on the commander so fast the guy flinched, stepping right into his personal space and getting right up in his face. "Are you fucking kidding me with that bullshit?!" Billy roared, his voice cracking with fury as he slammed a finger hard against the commander's tactical vest. "Look around this room, you incompetent piece of shit! If he wasn't here—if it was anyone else sitting in that chair—I would be fucking dead on this concrete right now!" The commander swallowed hard, his face turning pale under the harsh red emergency strobes. "Sir, the electronic overrides—" "Shut the fuck up!" Billy cut him off, his voice echoing off the bare walls with razor-sharp intensity. "Don't give me your excuses! What the fuck is wrong with you guys?! How does a four-man hit squad walk right into a high-security black site, plant a breach charge on a Directorate-level briefing room, and execute a near-silent approach without a single internal alarm tripping until they're already stacking up at the door?!" Billy grabbed the front of the commander's tactical vest, shoving him back a half-step so hard the guy's boots scrambled for traction. "Where the fuck were you?" Billy hissed, his eyes burning into the commander's soul. "You and your entire quick-reaction force were sitting on your thumbs while an assassination team walked right through the front door of my facility. You're supposed to be protecting this installation, and right now, you look less like security and more like a bunch of accomplices." Billy shoved him back one more time, releasing his grip with a disgusted sneer. "Clean this mess up," Billy snapped, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. "Get these bodies out of my sight, lock down every terminal on this floor, and audit every single security log from the main gate to the motor pool. If I find out a single person under your command had anything to do with this breach... I won't let him kill you," Billy added, casting a brief, cold thumb in my direction. "I'll do it myself. Now move!" Billy let out a sharp breath, rubbing the back of his neck as the adrenaline finally started to drain out of him. He turned around, giving me a tight nod before gesturing down the smoking corridor. "Now just follow me, Daniel," Billy said, his voice lowering back to normal. "Let these motherfuckers clean up this mess." "Well, okay," I muttered, stepping over the threshold and out of the ruined box. As I walked past the commander, the guy stood frozen by the door, staring down at the blood. Right as I cleared his shoulder, he reached out and grabbed my arm—not aggressive, but firm and dead serious. I stopped, glancing back at him. The commander looked right into my eyes, the usual arrogance completely stripped away, replaced by raw, absolute respect. "Hey, man," the commander said quietly, his voice dropping. "Thank you. Thank you for having his back." I looked at him, letting out a slight smirk before shaking my head. "Dude, that's little Billy, dog," I told him, patting his armored shoulder right where his hand had grabbed me. "I've always got that guy's back. And you're welcome, commander. Just remember... you owe me one." I kept walking down the corridor, catching up to Billy's stride as he headed toward the secure elevators at the end of the hall. Behind us, out in the dim, red-lit haze of the ruined briefing room, the commander stood frozen for a second over the bodies. He slowly turned his head, watching our backs disappear down the hall, before looking sideways at one of his sweaty, wide-eyed operators. The commander squinted, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. "...Little Billy?" he whispered under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that a terrifying, ghost-tier operator had just casually referred to a high-ranking Directorate official by a kid's street name. He didn't get an answer. The operator just swallowed hard, avoided eye contact, and went back to grabbing a pair of zip-ties and body bags.

Clean Sweep