KamPagne

Prologue

I cracked the door open and moved fast. Tactical. Precise.
No one in sight—just a narrow hall leading to what looked like a living area.
The nearest door on my left was where her screams were coming from.

I pushed it open.
A man loomed over her crushing her with his body weight.
Everything in me went red.

I crossed the space in seconds and stabbed him in the neck.

Once. Twice. Thrice.
Striking hard, fast—training blurred by fury.
I pulled him off of her with the knife still in his neck.
My breaths were short, ragged; I couldn't stop. Every hit felt like thunder in my bones.

My vision narrows to a single point. Everything else disappears.
Time fractures.
My body knows what to do, faster than my mind can keep up.
And my mind?
It stops asking permission.

He gurgled on his blood. Looking up at the ceiling. I kept stabbing him repeatedly in the neck.

I didn't feel the weight of my knife.
Didn't hear the first sound he made.
I only remember how quiet it was inside my head.
No anger.
No mercy.
Just a task.
Just removal.

He stopped moving, My hands didn't.
I kept going.
I could stop.
I wasn't trying to kill. I was trying to erase.

My body just... surged.
Like something ancient inside me had been yanked forward, bypassing thought, ignoring command.

It wasn't fury the way most people feel it—not yelling, not chest-beating rage.
It was colder. Sharper.
Like my bloodstream had been replaced with glass.

The look in his eyes as the life drained from it gave me pleasure.

A slow exhale leaves my chest; it feels almost like release.
My body remembers what peace costs me — control, precision, power.
It hums under my skin like electricity, alive in every nerve.

Kamala's sobbing pulled me back out of that space.

She was still sobbing. That angered me.

How dare he?

I was breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling..

I grabbed his groin through his boxers and cut through it like I was cutting through goose neck bones.

I shoved it in his mouth.

Eat that. Muthafucka.

Kamala was shaking, tied, her pants pulled down to her knees, no underwear, sobbing through the shock. My chest burned.

I got closer to her.
She cried harder.

I turned her over.
Pulled my half mask down.
Then pulled her pants up as much as I could.
She finally recognized my face and who I was but she was too engulfed in fear to process it.
Her eyes darted, unfocused, terrified.

My adrenaline is thrumming in my ears like bongos.
Her screaming and sobbing rattling my rib cage like a metal cup being dragged across metal bars.

I slide both my hands under her back and hoisted her up.

I steady her on her feet, pulling her to my chest. Holding the small of her back with one hand, pulling her pants all the way up above her hips with the other.

The sound of her screams, feeling her trembling body, and frantic breaths broke me.

I wrapped my hands around her back so she can register my presence. I Cut the zip ties off her wrists.

I backed up. I shushed her putting a finger to my lips. She was in a state of shock.

She looked at me. Her sobs started to become quieter.

I turned toward the door, pistol raised, the taste of iron still sharp on my tongue. The man on the floor wasn't getting back up, and I wasn't finished.