The night pressed heavy and dark around Marcus as he moved through the alleys of Mandali, his Glock steady in his grip. Hours earlier, he had dismantled another safe house and pieced together scraps of intelligence that brought him here—to a crumbling structure on the edge of town. This wasn’t just a hideout; it was a critical hub for Ashaar al-Haq’s operations in the area. Marcus knew one of the men inside held the information he needed to finish the job in Mandali and move up the chain.

From his vantage point near a cracked window, Marcus observed the room. Four men sat around a battered table, their voices low as they pored over maps and notes. Among them, Marcus picked out the leader—a wiry man with a graying beard, the one who leaned over the table, pointing and issuing orders with quiet authority. This man wasn’t just another foot soldier; he was the organizer, the one who held the names and locations Marcus needed.

He moved to the back door, his steps silent. Testing the handle, he found it unlocked. Slipping inside, Marcus ghosted through the narrow corridors, dispatching guards as he went. A suppressed shot took down the first man, his body crumpling noiselessly to the ground. The second guard turned too late to react before Marcus’s blade sliced through his throat, leaving only a faint gurgle as he fell.

The main room was next. The men around the table were absorbed in their discussion, their rifles propped carelessly against the wall. Marcus rounded the corner, his Glock raised. Three shots, perfectly placed, dropped three of the men instantly. The leader scrambled to his feet, but Marcus was on him in a second, driving him to the floor with brutal force. The man struggled, but Marcus slammed the butt of his Glock into his temple, stunning him long enough to zip-tie his hands and drag him into a back room.

The leader was still dazed as Marcus propped him against the wall, but his defiance hadn’t faded. His eyes burned with hatred, though Marcus knew fear was beginning to creep in.

“You’re going to talk,” Marcus said, his voice cold and unyielding. “Make it easy for yourself.”

The man spat on the floor, glaring up at Marcus. “I won’t tell you anything.”

Marcus’s expression didn’t change. He activated the System, feeling the cold surge of energy course through him. A notification flickered in his vision.

Skill Activated: Interrogation (Base Potency). Duration: 60 seconds.

The surge wasn’t as strong as it once was. The edge was there, but it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the man completely. Marcus would have to rely on something he’d always been good at: fear.

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He knelt in front of the man, his voice low and menacing. “You’re going to tell me who’s left in Mandali. How many men. Where they are. If you don’t, I’ll make this slow. And I promise you, I’ve had a lot of practice.”

The leader gritted his teeth, refusing to speak. Marcus didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the man’s hand, pulling a knife from his belt and pressing it against the skin beneath the fingernail.

“Talk,” Marcus ordered.

The man flinched, his breath hitching, but he remained silent. Marcus pressed harder, the blade biting into flesh. The leader hissed in pain, his resolve wavering.

“Fifteen,” the man spat finally, his voice strained. “Fifteen men left in Mandali. Three safe houses. I can give you the addresses.”

Marcus kept the knife in place. “Names. All of them.”

The man hesitated again, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for escape. Marcus’s patience snapped. He slammed the butt of his Glock into the man’s already bloodied temple, making his head snap back against the wall.

“Names!” Marcus barked.

Breathing heavily, the man began to rattle off names, each one spilling from his lips with increasing desperation. Marcus memorized them, committing every detail to memory. He reached into the man’s jacket and pulled out a phone, holding it up.

“The numbers for these men. Where are they?”

“They’re in the phone,” the man said quickly, his voice shaking. “They use burners, but I have their contacts saved.”

Marcus scrolled through the phone, finding the list of numbers labeled in Arabic. He transferred them to his own burner phone, ensuring he had everything he needed.

“Who do you take orders from?” Marcus asked, his tone icy. “Who funds this operation?”

The leader swallowed hard, beads of sweat dripping down his face. “Khalid bin Zahir,” he said. “He’s the one who organizes everything. He’s in Albu Kamal, at the border. He’ll be there in two days. He… he handles everything.”

Marcus’s gaze sharpened. “And Khalid? Who funds him?”

“I don’t know,” the man stammered. “We don’t ask. He gives the orders. We follow.”

The timer on the skill ticked down in Marcus’s mind, the System’s influence slipping away. He stood, pocketing the burner phone and the scraps of paper he’d taken from the table.

“You told me what I needed to know,” Marcus said flatly.

The leader’s eyes widened in panic. “Wait—”

A single, silenced shot cut him off, his body slumping against the wall.

Back in the main room, Marcus scanned the remaining maps and documents. One map detailed supply routes leading to Albu Kamal, while another listed dates and times for upcoming movements. He gathered everything, his mind already calculating his next steps.

As he stepped into the night, he pulled out his burner phone and dialed Hale. The line clicked after a single ring.

“Marcus,” Hale answered, his voice steady. “What’s the situation?”

“I’ve got fifteen names and numbers,” Marcus said coldly. “I need traces on them. Names, locations, everything. I’m finishing Mandali before I move on to Khalid.”

There was a pause before Hale responded, his voice grim. “Send me the list. I’ll get you what you need.”

Marcus ended the call, his focus sharp and unrelenting. Fifteen men remained in Mandali. They did not yet know that they wouldn’t see another dawn.