The Win

The night was thick with tension as Fadel and Bison made their move. Everything had been planned to perfection—every detail accounted for. The cartel's key player was in their sights, and there was no turning back. They moved with precision, the shadows their allies, their every step calculated as they infiltrated the heavily guarded compound where the cartel's leader had been hiding.

They didn't need to make a spectacle of it. A quick strike, a lethal blow, and the cartel's most dangerous figure was gone. With the leader eliminated, the chaos that followed was inevitable, but they had already prepared for that. The system had a gaping hole in it, and without the head, the body was weak. The cartel would fall into disarray, at least for a while.

Fadel's chest heaved as he stepped back into the shadows, his heart pounding with the raw adrenaline of the moment. There was no time to savor the victory. They couldn't afford it. The job was done, but they had to disappear, vanish before anyone noticed.

Bison stood next to him, bloodied but unbroken, his expression grim but satisfied. "It's over," Bison said, his voice quiet but full of finality. "For now."

Fadel didn't say anything, his thoughts already on the next phase. They had done it—taken the cartel's leader down—but now it was time to disappear. The plan had always been for them to vanish into the wind, to leave no trace of themselves behind. They couldn't afford to linger in the chaos they'd just caused.

Together, they made their way back to the safe house, where Kant and Style would be waiting, their departure already set in motion. But the flight plans were set to go through different routes, different countries, to ensure no one followed them.

Several hours later, at the safe house

Kant and Style were already packed and ready to go, the tension between them palpable as they prepared to split up. Style's bag was slung over his shoulder, his eyes distant as he checked the door one last time.

Kant, who had his own bag packed tightly, turned to Style with a soft, reassuring look. "We'll be fine," he said, though even he felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. It was one thing to survive, but disappearing wasn't always easy, especially with people like the cartel on their tail.

Style nodded; his expression unreadable. "I know." He glanced over at the door again. "It's just... we're really doing this, huh? This is it."

"Yeah," Kant replied, adjusting his bag. "It is. We'll meet up once we're all on the other side. Just stay low, and keep your head down."

"Always do," Style said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk, though there was a sense of unease behind his eyes.

They shared a quiet moment, each of them reflecting on the lives they were leaving behind. After everything they'd been through—after the betrayals, the fights, the blood—they were walking away from it all, heading to a new life. It was the only option they had left, even if it felt like everything they knew was being torn apart.

Meanwhile, Fadel and Bison had made their own arrangements. With their faces changed, new identities in hand, and the weight of their recent actions still on their minds, they boarded separate flights, each of them taking different routes. Fadel's flight was set to depart from a remote airport, Bison from a different terminal altogether. Their goal was simple: do not be followed. They were shadows now, ghosts in the system.

Cambodia – A few days later

The group reunited in Cambodia, the silence between them thick with the reality of their new lives. The city was a world away from the chaos they had left behind. The humid air and vibrant colors of the streets offered a sharp contrast to the dark, deadly world they had just escaped.

They had kept their distance from each other during their travels, all of them taking separate flights to avoid detection. Bison and Fadel arrived first, the two of them slipping into the shadows of the city like they had done so many times before. Their new looks were different—Bison with his hair longer, curly and a more casual and laid-back demeanor that was almost unrecognizable. Fadel, too, had changed; his dark hair now a shade of light brown, his attire more relaxed, fitting into the atmosphere of the new country.

Kant and Style arrived soon after, both adjusting quickly to their new surroundings. Style wore his hair slightly longer, the wild, untamed look helping him blend in with the local crowd. Kant, ever the meticulous planner, had opted for a more subtle change—his hair cut short, his clothes simple, but the sharpness in his eyes was the same as ever.

They all came together in the heart of Phnom Penh, the city feeling both foreign and familiar. The air was thick with heat and the hum of activity, and the streets seemed alive with the energy of a place where people could lose themselves and start anew.

Fadel surveyed the group, his eyes softening when they all finally came together. Despite everything that had happened, despite all the bloodshed, all the loss, they had survived. They were together.

"We made it," he said quietly, his voice thick with both relief and a sense of finality.

Bison clapped him on the shoulder. "And we're not done yet," he said, his voice low but steady. "But for now, we're safe."

They shared a brief, knowing glance. This was the beginning of their new lives, a chance to rebuild, to heal, and to leave the past behind. But one thing was clear: no matter how far they ran, no matter how much they changed, the bonds they had formed—through all the pain, the betrayal, and the blood—would remain.

For better or for worse, they were in this together. And nothing—not even the cartel—could take that away from them.