The midday sun burned down on the white concrete walls of La Esperanza International School, where students bustled in and out of classrooms with the usual chaos of a weekday. But inside the echoing corridors of this private fortress, something else stirred—a quieter war.
Rael, dressed in his crisp blazer and untied red tie, leaned against a pillar outside the cafeteria, pretending to scroll through his tablet. His eyes, however, remained fixed on a group across the room.
Dario Velazquez, loud-mouthed, entitled, and heir to a narco empire, was reliving his recent humiliation.
"Bro, that ghost kid? Total freak. You saw it. He cheated. Slid past my punch like wind!" Dario slammed his hand on the table, causing his group of cronies to chuckle and nod nervously.
Rael allowed himself a faint smirk.
"Maybe," he said calmly without looking up, "he just studied harder."
Dario turned toward him, but Rael's face was unreadable.
Rael covertly tapped a side-button on his tablet. A hidden mic synced.
> "Target remains unaware. Mission shield intact."
—
Meanwhile, miles away from adolescent drama, in the lush outskirts of the Sonoran Valley, a different game was in motion.
Villa Velazquez, a cartel estate masquerading as a vineyard, stretched across rolling acres of wine trees and marble fountains. But underground, it was all steel doors and black-market syndicates.
Kenny, disguised as Alejandro del Sol, a supposed Colombian investor, arrived in a black armored SUV. His appearance was calculated — tailored charcoal suit, matte black tie, short beard, hair slicked back to look older and unrecognizable.
He was escorted into a candle-lit chamber decorated with oil paintings and animal heads. At the far end sat Don Velazquez, swirling a glass of wine.
"So," the Don said, "you want to invest in the street circuits?"
Kenny's voice was deep, deliberate. "Not invest. Amplify."
The Don chuckled. "A man of appetite."
They shook hands. The moment lingered.
Behind them, two cartel guards scanned Kenny's wine glass.
No fingerprints. No ID matches. Silence.
Guard (whispering): "We caught a cockroach."
Don Velazquez's eyes narrowed.
"You're not Alejandro del Sol."
Kenny stood slowly. "I'm better."
—
5.5 Minutes of Hell.
The room exploded into action.
First guard lunged. Kenny sidestepped and drove a silver cufflink blade into his throat. Blood sprayed onto the wall.
Second guard tackled him. Kenny flipped him over his back and stomped his knee backwards, breaking it sideways.
Third tried to fire — Kenny threw a fork that landed in the man's eye. Screamed. Dropped.
Fourth ran for the alarm. Kenny launched a garrote wire from his watch. It wrapped, choked, and dropped him within seconds.
Fifth—well, he never had the chance.
5.5 minutes. Five bodies on the floor. One man standing.
Kenny calmly approached the stunned Don Velazquez. He fixed the Don's collar with a subtle pat and whispered:
"You'll hear from me again... Señor Snake."
Unseen by the Don, Kenny had slipped a micro surveillance chip right beneath his coat lapel.
—
Back at the makeshift Farflame hideout, Rael was finishing classwork when the feed went live. The Don, panicked, barked over encrypted lines:
> "Eliminate the Ghost kid. Clean the school. The investor was a ghost—find him!"
Kenny stood in the corner, arms crossed.
"Next mission," he said. "Remove the snake... and his son."
Rael looked up slowly, a faint glint in his eye.
"I'm ready."