Lina entered the shopping mall through the back exit and walked around few stores.
The city's mall gleamed under the afternoon sun, its glass walls reflecting the hustle and heat of the outside world. Inside, Lina moved with a quiet purpose, blending in with the weekend crowd. Shopping bags hung from her arms—nothing flashy, just the essentials. A black hoodie, a set of dark gloves, and a portable utility belt from a niche gear shop tucked away near the arcade floor. Her eyes lingered on a locked cabinet displaying tactical boots. She bought them without hesitation. She also bought a floral dress and a trendy sling bag and a Jimmy choo heels for pretense.
To any onlooker, she was just another young girl shopping alone.
But her mind was elsewhere.
She then called driver Tang informing that she was done with shopping and can leave now.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Lina was back at the Tang residence. Her return was quiet. She greeted no one and slipped past the dinner table where her parents laughed at a drama show. In her room, she dropped the bags onto the bed, sat cross-legged, and pulled out a thin black laptop.
Her fingers danced across the keys as the dark web portal blinked to life on the screen.
The mission she had accepted earlier at the gaming café had already updated with details:
Target: Unknown Assassin
Objective: Neutralize before execution of high-profile hit
Time: 00:00 hrs
Location: Grand Orchid Opera House, Capital East
A thrill ran down her spine. This wasn't the world of her past—but the instincts, the hunger, the quiet satisfaction of a clean takedown... none of it had left her.
This was the first target of her new list. Her fresh start.
Lina changed into sleek black gear, fitted her boots, and tied her hair back into a low braid. Her weapon, disassembled and stored in her duffel bag, clicked softly as she assembled it piece by piece. She didn't need anything loud. A compact silencer, a spring-loaded dagger, and grappling cord were enough.
She opened the balcony window and climbed out. In a single swift motion, she dropped down into the night, landing soundlessly in the alley behind the house. The Tang family remained unaware, dreaming peacefully inside.
The Grand Orchid Opera House was an architectural marvel—pillars of marble and silver filigree, red carpeted staircases, and glass chandeliers that glittered like stars. High society figures drifted through its wide doors, bathed in golden light. Limousines lined the circular driveway.
Inside, the grand hall was alive with whispered conversation, gloved hands clutching champagne flutes, and the swell of strings warming up on stage.
Lina moved like a shadow through the velvet-covered corridors above the main auditorium, her presence masked by the chatter and echoes of rehearsal. Her access came from a forged backstage pass and the confidence of someone who belonged.
She slipped into the upper balcony—a dark, forgotten section near the lighting rigs—and crouched near a utility box. From her bag, she pulled out a scanner and synced to the private security feed. One camera angle caught her attention.
Box 7. VIP seating.
The Education Minister, surrounded by two ladies, leaned back in his chair, enjoying the pleasure.
The scent of expensive cologne hung in the air, laced with the floral perfume of the two women who now draped themselves around him like silken shadows.
The woman in crimson perched gracefully on his lap, her qipao riding high along her thigh, her fingers trailing lazy patterns down his chest The minister's hand traced along her shoulder, slipping gently into the parted fabric of her upper garment, caressing her skin with deliberate ease. Her laughter—low, sultry—mingled with the distant swell of the orchestra. The one in black knelt gracefully beside the minister, pouring him another glass of wine with slow, deliberate allure. Her free hand trailed over his thigh, circling with a provocative familiarity around the growing tension beneath the fabric.
A satisfied hum escaped his throat as he sipped from the freshly poured glass. The soft glow of the chandelier above cast golden light across his face, highlighting the indulgent calm in his expression.
He basked in the attention, one hand still tangled in silk fabric, the other idly stroking the arm of the woman at his side. The laughter from the stage below faded into background noise—nothing mattered beyond the warmth of their bodies and the luxurious scent of perfume clinging to the air.
By the side, his assistant stood stiffly, eyes averted yet trained, as if he'd mastered the art of being present without truly watching. His posture remained composed, professional—only the subtle twitch of his gloved hand around the data tablet hinted at the discomfort lurking behind the neutral expression.
He neither interrupted nor reacted.
This was routine.
The minister, after all, had earned his indulgences.
The scene was private by design—decadent, hidden behind thick velvet curtains and gilded gold railings. Behind that curtain, the atmosphere pulsed with suggestion, and the minister, lulled by wine and soft touches, let his guard fall.
But someone was watching.
From above, cloaked in the rigging shadows, Lina observed silently. Her expression never wavered. This was no longer a matter of right or wrong. It was a target in the open, drunk on power, dulled by distraction.
And distraction, as always, was the perfect moment to strike.
Perched within the upper rigging, clad in black like a shadow stitched into the ceiling, she watched the minister—his every movement, the flirtatious glances of the women beside him, the slow way he sipped his wine. He was distracted.
Perfect.
Her gaze shifted. A glint. Across from Box 7, one level higher, nearly hidden behind thick drapes in Box 13.
She narrowed her eyes.
Most boxes had their curtains wide open or half drawn. But Box 13 was too quiet. Too still. Her hand reached for the compact scope strapped to her thigh. In one fluid motion, she clicked it into place on her monocular lens.
Click.
She scanned the dark interior—and saw it.
A rifle barrel, slowly emerging through the parted curtain. Matte black. Suppressed. Long-range.
The figure behind it wore theater staff garb, but no staff carried that kind of weapon.
He's not going to stab. He's going to shoot.
And his target?
Her eyes snapped back to Box 7. The minister had tilted his head back, laughing as the woman in crimson leaned in, whispering against his neck.
Wide open.
The assassin in Box 13 was setting up for a kill shot. Steady. Calm. Trigger finger ready.
Not on her watch.
Without a sound, Lina pivoted on the beam and dropped into a narrow crawlspace beside the lighting rig. She sprinted along it with practiced agility, heart steady, breath even. Her hand reached for her own weapon—a sleek black pistol with a suppressor.
She reached the edge of the crawlspace and leapt.
The crowd gasped as the soprano on stage hit a high note—covering the faint thud of her boots landing against the pillar beam just below Box 13.
She raised her gun.
The assassin's eye aligned with his scope.
Click.
Lina fired.
The silenced round tore through the side of the man's face just as his finger tensed on the trigger. The force knocked him sideways, and the rifle discharged into the ceiling with a muffled crack.
Screams exploded in the hall below. Chaos bloomed instantly.
She didn't waste a second. Lina swung herself into Box 13 through the now-open curtain. The assassin was still alive—barely—gurgling through the blood seeping down his collar. He reached for a knife on his boot.
She kicked it away.
Then drove her elbow into his throat with precision. He dropped like a stone.
Down below, security was scrambling. Guests were ducking. The minister had been dragged from his box by his aides, now wide-eyed and terrified.
Lina scanned the room and then vanished into the backstage stairwell just as a cluster of guards stormed the upper balconies. She took the VIP box from a trash chute just outside the building and left.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Cameras spun in every direction. Spotlights from patrol drones bathed the front of the Opera House.
But she was already blocks away, walking casually in a pale gray hoodie, blending with the crowd like mist.
Back in Box 13, security found a dying man, a sniper rifle, and a forged staff badge.
In a distant room hazy with smoke and lined with glowing screens, a man reclined in his chair, a cigar holder between his lips, his gaze locked on the figure retrieving the box from the trash.
"The job's done. Clean and quick. No evidence left behind, and the payment's been handed over," another man reported as he stepped inside.
"Interesting."
"Prepare the next mission."