Reincarnated Mercenary on Duty

The nurses moved swiftly, transferring the woman onto a stretcher. Another team rushed to the police car, carefully lifting the unconscious officer.

One of the nurses glanced at Frank. "Are you coming in?"

"No, I'll wait here," Frank replied, his eyes scanning the area. "Just make sure they both survive."

Inside, the ER doors swung open, and the staff rolled the stretchers through. A doctor barked orders. "Prep for surgery! Notify the OR team—now!"

Frank stood just outside the entrance, hands on his hips, his eyes darting around the parking lot. His instincts were on high alert. "I didn't get the mission completion notification," he muttered under his breath, his voice low but taut with tension. "Which means there's still danger. Someone might come back to finish the job."

He paced the pavement, his thoughts spinning. What kind of mess have I walked into?

Reaching into his pocket, Frank pulled out his phone and dialed Zoey. The phone barely rang twice before her familiar voice answered.

"Yes, Frank?" Zoey said, her tone neutral.

Frank didn't waste a second. "Zoey, I need your help," he said, his voice steady but urgent.

Her tone shifted instantly, sensing the gravity in his voice. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he assured her, though his tone left little room for comfort. "But I'm at the city hospital near 140 Golden Vineyard Road. Two people have been shot—an on-duty officer and a woman. They're both in critical condition and undergoing treatment."

Zoey's voice tightened with concern. "What happened? Who's behind it?"

"Details are sketchy right now," Frank replied, glancing around the parking lot again. "But when the woman regains consciousness, I need you here to interrogate her. She might have answers."

"Understood," Zoey said firmly. "I'm on my way."

The call ended with a sharp click, and Frank slid the phone back into his pocket.

Somewhere Inside a towering glass skyscraper, in a lavish office adorned with modern art and sleek furniture, a middle-aged man stood near a grand window overlooking the city. His tailored suit spoke of refinement, but his furious expression betrayed any elegance. He was pacing, his fists clenched, his piercing gaze locked on the man standing before him.

The other man, Henry, stood awkwardly, favoring his injured leg, a fresh bandage wrapped tightly around it. He winced slightly under the weight of his boss's rage.

"What were you thinking, Henry?" the man in the suit snapped, his voice sharp and biting. "You shot a cop? Have you lost your damn mind?"

"Mr. West," Henry began, his voice low but defensive, "I didn't have a choice. Subject 23 had already spoken to the officer. He started getting suspicious and wasn't letting us leave."

Mr. West exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to suppress his growing fury. "Do you even realize what you've done? Shooting a cop puts us under a microscope we can't afford. But fine, what's done is done." He turned sharply, fixing Henry with a cold glare. "Tell me you silenced her."

Henry hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally muttered, "Yes."

The room fell silent for a beat. Mr. West's sharp instincts caught the hesitation in Henry's voice. His eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me…" his voice dropped dangerously low, "she's still alive."

Henry swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably. "I—I shot her in the chest. She's most likely dead," he stammered, avoiding eye contact. "But before I could confirm, someone else showed up and shot me." He gestured vaguely toward his bandaged leg.

Mr. West's composure snapped. He stepped forward and slapped Henry hard across the face, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet office.

"You idiot!" he roared, his face twisted with rage. "You should've made damn sure she was dead, even if it cost you your life! Do you understand what's at stake here? If she's alive and starts talking, we're all finished—every last one of us behind bars!"

Henry bowed his head, a flush of shame and fear creeping up his neck. "I'll fix this, boss. Don't worry. I'll make sure she's dealt with."

"You'd better," Mr. West snapped, his voice icy. "Take every man you need, every resource. I don't care what it costs. Just get it done. I want her dead—no loose ends."

Henry straightened, nodding resolutely. "Understood, boss." Without another word, he limped out of the office, leaving Mr. West behind.

As the heavy door clicked shut, Mr. West let out a growl of frustration, running a hand through his perfectly combed hair. "Useless piece of trash," he muttered, staring out the window. "Can't even kill a defenseless woman properly."

A little over thirty minutes had passed since Frank had rushed into the hospital. The chaos had settled somewhat, and the quiet hum of medical equipment filled the hallways. Frank leaned against the wall near the waiting area, his arms crossed, his mind racing with unanswered questions.

Zoey arrived, her brisk footsteps echoing through the corridor. Spotting Frank, she walked straight to him.

"So, care to tell me what happened?" Zoey asked, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp, scanning his face for any signs of hesitation.

Frank sighed, his expression grim but composed. "I don't know exactly," he began, lying with practiced ease. "I got a call from an informer to meet at Vineyard Road. He said he had some intel on a case I've been working on. So, I went there."

Zoey raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"When I arrived," Frank continued, "I saw a man grabbing a woman roughly. He had a gun. Before I could do anything, he shot her. I managed to shoot him before he could fire another round, but he got away. Luckily, she was still alive when I got to her. The rest…" He paused, glancing at Zoey, "...we'll have to find out when she wakes up."

Zoey's brows knitted together. "What about the other person? On the call, you said two people were shot."

"Yes, the other was a patrol officer on duty. He's alive too, but he's still undergoing treatment."