The Act

Kant and Style worked seamlessly together, a well-oiled machine of planning and execution. While Bison and Fadel were deep in the trenches with their own operation, Kant and Style turned their attention to the logistics: getting the group out of the country and making sure they had the means to disappear. They knew it wasn't going to be easy, especially with the cartel's reach, but they were used to working under pressure. There was no other choice. Their lives were on the line.

Kant was at the desk, eyes glued to the laptop screen, fingers flying over the keys as he secured the fake passports and other documents they would need. "Alright, the names are set," he said, leaning back in his chair as he looked over the screen. "New identities. New lives. Everything should be smooth on this end. We'll have them delivered to the drop-off point in two hours." He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion creeping in. They'd been on the clock for days, but the adrenaline kept them moving.

Style, who was pacing around the room, paused and looked over at Kant. "You sure this is gonna work? They'll check everything once we leave the country." His voice was a little strained, the tension of their situation never far from the surface.

Kant shot him a look, his eyes sharp with confidence. "It'll work. We've covered all the angles. Once we're out, we'll disappear. And don't worry—I've got the money transfers set up. No trace of us anywhere." He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the maps pinned to the wall. "It's just about getting the right people out of the picture first."

At that moment, Fadel and Bison came into the room, the weight of their own plans heavy in their expressions. Fadel's jaw was tight, his eyes still clouded with the anger from the confrontation with Mother. He hadn't let it go, and it was clear that the mission was becoming as much about revenge as it was about survival. Bison, though still recovering, looked more focused than ever, his eyes fixed on the task at hand.

"We're getting closer," Bison said, voice rough but steady. "We've got the key guy in the cartel—once he's out, the rest of the system will crumble for a while. We'll have a shot at escaping without getting wiped out."

Fadel nodded, his eyes narrowing. "But it's risky. We can't kill everyone; we just need to take out the one who's pulling the strings." He turned to Kant. "How long until you've got everything we need?"

Kant raised an eyebrow. "We're good to go in a few hours. Passports, tickets, and enough cash to get us through the next few months. The rest, we'll figure out once we're gone." His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. "You two better make sure we don't get caught up in this mess once we leave."

"Don't worry," Fadel said, his voice low and certain. "The cartel won't even see us coming. They're too focused on finding us to realize we're hunting them down instead."

Bison cracked a rare grin. "Just make sure they don't see you coming either. We don't need any more surprises."

Kant smirked but didn't respond. He went back to his computer to make sure everything was locked down, double-checking the details. Style, meanwhile, seemed lost in his own thoughts, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. There was a quiet tension that lingered between them all—a shared understanding of what needed to be done and the uncertainty that came with it.

They worked quickly and in silence, but time seemed to crawl as the weight of their plan pressed down on them. They weren't just fighting for survival anymore; they were fighting for their futures. If they could take down the cartel's key player, dismantle the operations from the inside, they'd cripple the organization for a long time. And in the chaos that followed, they'd make their escape—disappear into the shadows.

Fadel and Bison met in the hallway, sharing the same grim look that had become so familiar over the past few days. They knew the mission wasn't just a matter of survival anymore. It had become personal. This wasn't just about escaping anymore. It was about making sure the people who had tried to take them down paid the price. And MOTHER's betrayal only made it that much more pressing.

"Everything's in place?" Bison asked, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of something else—something colder.

Fadel nodded. "We're good. We've got one shot at this. If we get it wrong, we're all dead. You ready?"

Bison's expression was as unreadable as ever. "Always. Let's end this."

As they finalized their plans, the tension in the house was palpable. The group knew they had little time left before the cartel made their next move. They could feel the clock ticking, the weight of their decisions pushing them closer to a confrontation that would change everything. But for now, all they could do was prepare.

Fadel and Bison moved back to the war room to strategize further, ensuring every detail was accounted for. Kant and Style, in the meantime, wrapped up the last of the arrangements. They were going to be ready. It was just a matter of time.