Chapter 2: The Cleaner Code

  Victor never carried weapons. That was the code.

  A Cleaner didn’t kill. He erased. He unmade the scene, buried the evidence, and disappeared like a ghost with gloves.

  But tonight, he almost broke it.

  It started with a knock on his door at 3:17 a.m.

  No one ever knocked. No one knew where he lived.

  Victor stood still in the center of his warehouse apartment, breathing slow, silent. Eyes scanning. One knock. Then two more. Soft. Too soft.

  He opened a drawer and pressed a button under the false bottom. The lights flicked off. Cameras activated. Silent mode.

  He moved to the monitor on the wall. A single figure stood at the door—hood up, slim build, hands in pockets.

  Not police.

  Not gang muscle.

  No ID match from the black file system.

  Victor opened the door.

  The girl looked up. Late teens, maybe. Pale skin. Hollow eyes. Not afraid. Not surprised.

  She held out a phone.

  “Play this,” she whispered.

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  Victor took it.

  The video began with static. Then a grainy image—Victor, in the club kitchen, cleaning the freezer body. Filmed from above. High angle. Hidden camera.

  Impossible.

  The angle wasn’t security footage. It was handheld. Someone had been there.

  Watching him work.

  And never made a sound.

  He paused the video.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked.

  The girl didn’t answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated, blinking like she forgot how.

  Victor studied her.

  Then he saw it—on her wrist, just above the bone: a small carving.

  "C-1073."

  Same number as his file for the freezer job.

  She was the message.

  The girl turned and walked away.

  Victor didn’t stop her.

  He watched her vanish into the rain, then shut the door. Locked it. Triple-sealed it.

  And broke his first rule.

  He opened the hidden floor panel and pulled out a weapon case he swore he’d never use.

  Inside: a matte-black pistol, three mags, and a silver coin marked only with a “V.”

  He stared at the coin.

  “Cleaner Code Rule 1,” he muttered. “Don’t kill. Just clean.”

  Then he slipped the gun into his coat.

  Because someone was playing games.

  And Victor didn’t like games he didn’t write.

  ---

  By morning, Victor had run facial recognition on the girl.

  Nothing.

  She didn’t exist.

  But the footage she showed? That was real. The timestamp matched the exact moment he cleaned the club kitchen. There were no cameras installed. He had checked twice.

  This was deliberate.

  Calculated.

  Someone had broken into his scene. Not to stop him. Just to prove they could.

  Victor opened a new file.

  Black File 1074: Ghost Watcher

  > Target: Unknown

  Method: Surveillance breach

  Intent: Psychological pressure

  Risk level: Red

  He pinned the silver coin to the board beside it.

  Just below it, he wrote one word in red:

  "Violator."

  ---

  Three nights later, he got another job. Cleaner work. Quiet. Suburban house. Alleged overdose.

  He arrived at midnight. Checked the perimeter. No signs of surveillance.

  Until he stepped into the kitchen.

  And saw the same symbol scratched into the wall, just above the sink.

  "V=I+X."

  This wasn’t just pressure now.

  It was war.

  Victor knew what that meant.

  No more code.

  If they wanted to break the rules—

  He’d bury them in the ones he’d written himself.