The first thing Ethan did was pull out his phone and dial "911." The line rang five times before the agent on the other side picked up, her voice calm yet alert.

{911, what’s your emergency?}

Ethan kept it short. “I’m being targeted by the Three Axe Gang. They’ve infiltrated the hotel I’m in and plan to kidnap me tonight.”

There was a brief pause, the name clearly not new to her.

{Understood. Can you stay in a populated area? Preferably near security. We’re dispatching a unit now—ETA five minutes. Stay calm and keep the line open.}

'Populated area?' Ethan resisted the urge to scoff.

This call wasn’t for backup. He already knew how useless it was to rely on the cops. The Three Axe Gang had a long reach, too many hands in the right pockets. After all, their boss was the blood brother of the Italian Mafia's Consigliere.

This call was more about leaving a trail than asking for help. 'If things went south, at least they wouldn’t be able to say I didn’t do things the “right” way.'

He hung up and pocketed the phone, eyes scanning the bustling hotel lobby. People milled about, oblivious to the fact that danger was closing in. “Five minutes, huh?” he muttered under his breath, a dry chuckle escaping him. “Everything will be over by then.”

Heat surged through his veins, anger bubbling beneath the surface as he replayed the gang’s audacity in his mind. The thought that they had the nerve to come after him, here of all places, was both infuriating and... entertaining. His lips curled into a sharp smirk. No way they were getting off easy tonight.

His eyes locked onto the nearest receptionist, and he strode over to the counter, his gaze cutting through the air like a blade.

“I need you to call Kennedy to Room 301. Right now.” His voice echoed, cold and sharp.

The receptionist blinked, startled by the sudden command, but hesitated. “S-sir, we—”

'Wrong answer.'

Ethan’s fist came down on the counter with a heavy thud, the sound rippling through the room like a gunshot. Guests nearby flinched, turning to stare, but Ethan didn’t care. His voice was low, dangerous. “Two minutes, or I’ll go drag him out myself.”

Panic flashed in her eyes as she scrambled to comply. Satisfied, Ethan turned away and walked toward the elevators. He felt the weight of the guests’ eyes on his back, murmurs of confusion filling the air, but it was background noise to him. He already knew how this night would end.

'Kennedy’s going to have his hands full.'

The elevator doors slid shut behind him, and he couldn’t help but feel the calm before the storm settling in. Kennedy, the hotel’s head of security and the gang’s inside man, was glued to the CCTV room. Ethan’s little show downstairs would force him to leave his post, leaving the cameras unwatched for just long enough. He wouldn't have time to tamper with the recordings at all.

The elevator chimed on the 20th floor. Before stepping out, Ethan pressed the button for the 30th floor, ensuring the elevator would keep moving. Anyone coming to the same floor as him would be delayed, and that was all the time he needed.

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The hall was silent as he stepped out, the soft hum of air conditioning filling the space. He passed by his own room—205—and stopped in front of Room 206 beside it. He raised his hand and knocked, barely loud enough to be heard, but just enough to stir the occupants inside.

'Showtime.'

The door creaked open, and a hulking figure filled the doorway. The man was dressed in casual, tactical gear, eyes narrowing the moment they landed on Ethan.

Ethan smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, hey there! Just checking if the zoo misplaced one of their gorillas.”

The insult barely had time to sink in before the man’s face contorted in rage.

*BAM!*

A punch shot toward Ethan’s face, fast and brutal. He let it connect, letting his body fly backward across the hallway floor. Blood smeared his lip as he hit the ground with a grunt, but the pain barely registered.

'Self-defense confirmed.'

A slow grin spread across his face as he wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. He climbed to his feet, feigning shakiness. “Damn,” he said, voice low with a mocking edge, “you’ve got quite the swing, Mr. Gorilla.”

The man snarled, charging at him again. His movements were all muscle and brute force, but Ethan could see through them like a badly choreographed dance. Compared to the Last Boss, this thug was predictable. Slow.

Ethan sidestepped the attack, grabbing the man’s arm and twisting it in a fluid motion. With the thug’s momentum working against him, Ethan planted his feet and slammed his shoulder into the man’s ribs while pulling him further forward at the same time.

*CRACK!*

The man crashed into the far wall with a sickening thud, sliding down in a heap, gasping for air. His chest rattled as he wheezed, clearly unable to stand.

“One down,” Ethan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He turned back toward the doorway, where six more figures stood frozen, wide-eyed with shock.

“Fabio’s down? You’ve got to be kidding!”

Ethan’s eyes flickered between them, sizing up their weapons. Four had knives strapped to their sides, two carried batons, and one had a pistol poorly concealed beneath his jacket. 'Amateurs.'

The man with the gun didn’t wait for instructions, panicking as he drew the weapon. But Ethan was already moving. He surged forward, grabbing the thug’s wrist and twisting until the bone snapped.

*CRACK!*

The thug howled in pain, accidentally squeezing the trigger in the process.

*BANG!*

The shot ricocheted off the floor, but Ethan barely flinched. With one fluid motion, he yanked the gun free and fired.

*BANG!* *BANG!*

Two of the men dropped, their bodies crumpling to the ground like discarded toys. The others froze, staring at the blood spreading across the carpet.

Ethan moved again, faster than they could react. He closed the distance to the next thug, slamming the butt of the pistol into the man’s head, aiming, and pulling the trigger.

*BANG!*

The thug crumpled without a sound.

“Jacketed Hollow Points? Really?” Ethan remarked, his voice dripping with disdain as he ejected the magazine and tossed the gun aside. “You guys don’t mess around.”

One of the men reached for a knife, but Ethan was quicker. He snatched the blade from his hand in one fluid motion and drove it into the throat of the thug next to him. Blood sprayed, warm and metallic, but Ethan barely registered it. He pulled the blade back and returned it to the owner, stabbing his chest, the blade going through his heart.

Five seconds. Six men down.

He exhaled slowly, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The coppery scent of blood filled the room, pooling beneath the bodies like a macabre carpet. Ethan stepped through the mess without a second thought.

A faint gurgling sound caught his attention. One of the thugs, barely clinging to life, stared up at him, eyes wide with terror.

“Oh,” Ethan murmured, crouching down next to him. “Forgot about you.” His tone was light, casual, like he was talking to an old friend.

He picked up the discarded knife and flicked it into the thug’s neck with a practiced motion. The man’s eyes rolled back as he choked on his own blood, the gurgling fading into silence.

Ethan stood, wiping his hands on his jacket. “Suffering a bit before death... Not a bad way to go, right?”

His eyes drifted toward the security camera at the end of the hall. He smirked, shaking his head. “Cleanup should be here any minute.”