Reincarnated Mercenary on Duty

Talia's eyes darted between Zoey and the nurse before she quickly composed herself. "Liz, this is Nurse Zoey. She'll be assisting in case of an emergency."

Liz gave Zoey a skeptical glance but nodded. "Whatever you say, Doc," she replied before leaving the room.

Talia turned to Zoey, her voice low and desperate. "Please help me. I don't know what I'll do... I don't want to do something I'll regret."

Zoey reached out and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "We've got this. Trust me."

Talia gave a hesitant nod before heading into the operating theatre. As she walked through the door, she discreetly sent a text to Frank: "Whatever you're doing, do it fast."

Back with Frank and James, their car screeched to a halt outside a run-down warehouse.

"This is it," James said, cutting the engine.

Frank glanced at the crumbling structure, then back at James. "You ready for this?"

"Not really," James muttered, checking his weapon.

"You just need to keep an eye out, while I go in and bring the kid" Frank said

"Sure you don't want me to come in?" James asked.

Frank smirked. "I'll be fine. You just keep an eye out here. I'll call if I need a hand."

James nodded. "Don't take too long."

Frank moved swiftly toward the side entrance, sticking to the shadows. A dim light flickered above the door, which was propped open by a brick. He peered inside. A man sat near the entrance, scrolling through his phone, oblivious.

Frank picked up a wooden plank lying nearby. In one fluid motion, he swung it, knocking the man unconscious. The thug slumped forward onto his phone.

"One down," Frank muttered, dragging the body into the shadows.

Deeper inside, the hallway reeked of oil and stale smoke. Frank heard voices from around the corner.

"You hear about the new shipment?" one thug asked.

"Boss doesn't tell me crap. I just do what I'm told," the other replied.

Frank crept closer, spotting two men standing near a stack of crates. He picked up a metal pipe and tapped it on the floor, creating a sharp clink.

"What was that?" one of them asked, moving to investigate.

As they stepped closer, Frank lunged. He smashed one man's head into a crate, knocking him out cold. The other reached for a knife, but Frank swept his legs out from under him and delivered a precise chop to the neck.

"Two and three," Frank whispered, continuing down the corridor.

In the next room, a man was leaning against a table, cleaning his gun. Frank crouched behind a row of shelves, waiting for the right moment.

The man placed the gun down to light a cigarette. That's when Frank struck. He darted forward and grabbed the man in a chokehold, cutting off his air. The gangster flailed, but Frank held firm until the man's struggles ceased and he passed out.

Frank entered a large storage room filled with stacked barrels and boxes. Two gangsters stood near the center, laughing as they played cards.

Frank grabbed a loose rope from the ground and tied it between two stacks of barrels at ankle height. Then, he picked up a rock and tossed it toward a far corner.

"What the hell was that?" one of the men said, getting up to check.

As he walked toward the noise, his foot caught on the rope, and he tripped, crashing to the ground. Frank was on him in an instant, delivering a quick punch that knocked him out cold.

The second gangster jumped up, startled, but Frank hurled a crate lid at him like a frisbee. It struck him in the chest, sending him tumbling into a stack of boxes. Frank followed up with a kick to the man's head, rendering him unconscious.

The hallway opened into a room filled with crates marked Fragile. A lone gangster stood near the center, inspecting a box.

Frank grabbed a length of chain hanging from the wall and tossed one end around the man's legs. With a sharp tug, he yanked the man off his feet. The gangster hit the ground hard, and Frank delivered a quick blow to the head with the chain, ensuring he stayed down.

Frank approached the final door, hearing the faint sound of whistling. Inside, a man stood alone, leaning against the wall with a bat in hand.

Frank slipped through the door and crouched behind a stack of barrels. He picked up a small wrench and tossed it across the room.

The gangster turned toward the sound. "Who's there?"

As he stepped forward, Frank emerged from behind him and kicked the bat out of his hands. The man swung a fist, but Frank ducked and countered with a jab to the ribs. A final uppercut sent the man sprawling to the floor, unconscious.

With all the gangsters neutralized, Frank pushed open the door to the innermost room. A boy sat on a chair, bound with ropes, his head slumped forward.

Frank approached cautiously, his gaze darting around the room to ensure there were no more surprises. He knelt beside the boy and began untying the ropes.

"You're safe now," Frank said softly.

But just as he loosened the last knot, a cold voice rang out behind him.

"You shouldn't have come here."

Frank turned to see a scar-faced man standing in the doorway, a gun pointed directly at him.

"Now die," the man growled, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Frank closed his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Man, it's not even a day since I transmigrated, and I'm dying again."

A gunshot echoed through the room, but Frank felt no pain. He opened his eyes to see the scar-faced man lying on the ground, a bullet hole in his back.

James stood in the doorway, gun in hand.

"Nice timing," Frank said, grinning.

James smirked. "I know. Now hurry up and get the kid out of here."

Frank untied the boy completely, sprinkling some water on his face to wake him. As the boy stirred, Frank pulled out his phone, snapped a quick photo, and sent it to Zoey with the message: Kid's safe. Mission done.