Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

From Tristan's observation spot on a small hill, the shipyard looked deceptively small. There were only ten ships in various stages of completion bobbing on the waves; on the shore stood a couple dozen one-floor buildings and some machinery.

There were no lights there, except for the searchlights of the night guards. The owners of the place had built it to be hidden from the sea and from the air. Tristan would've had a hard time finding it in the dark if he wasn't using his heat vision and binoculars.

Cooler air leaking through the seams of buildings drew contours of them—like a watercolor drawing. Unlike them, the sun-warmed ships were slightly yellower than the surrounding water.

"I see four pairs of guards from here, patrolling the perimeter," Tristan said, then listed their positions and routes. "We will have a couple of bombs to spare. I want one to be planted at their radio tower, and the other…"

He paused, thinking.

"Barracks? To cull them," Cutout suggested.

"Their car park," Sam said.

Tristan clicked his tongue.

"Right, the car park. It's safer—and I want you to steal their gasoline."

Sam grinned.

"Oh, we will light up the place, boss. It will be a fucking party."

Tristan looked at his subordinates, mentally checking with himself that he had prepared everything right.

Each of them had three bombs in their backpacks, along with the supplies to make the trek from and to their car, which was hidden in the forest. Tristan, instead of bombs, was carrying an assembled sniper rifle. Find your adventure at empire

"I'm assigning targets to all of you. Use our protected network to send me messages when you are done with each. If you are spotted and need cover," Tristan patted his rifle, "signal with your flashlights. If they call the alarm, don't engage. There are at least forty of them, and only five of us. Retreat with however many bombs you have planted."

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A chorus of nods and "Yes, boss" followed.

"Our target is chaos and destruction. After the bombs are blown, don't bother killing every Angulos here. Be my guests, though," Tristan smirked. "But our priority will be retreating. Remember that each of these boats costs at least a hundred thousand dollars. Angulos weren't just planning to attack us, they were going to really earn money with piracy."

His men exchanged glances and smirks.

"I bet the Sea Prick wishes he was here," Sam joked. "I bet he'd love those boats. Huh, Kund?"

"Show some respect for my boss, asshole," Kund threw back, but without malice. "I bet you'd love to have a cool nickname like that yourself."

"Cool? Only if I was 14-years-old!"

"Then what IS a cool nickname, Sam?" Decker asked.

Tristan watched his people make fun of each other, releasing pre-mission tension. His own status made joining them awkward, but it was amusing to watch from the side.

They were on a timer here, though.

"Chat later, folks. Check your equipment again, and I'm showing you one more time how to activate the bombs. Set the timer to activate an hour from now—this is your hard time limit."

Although Tristan showed how to set up the bombs ten times already, he did it another time, just to be sure.

Then he checked the time—03:14 AM—and told his people,

"Go."

Tristan himself stayed at the observation point. From here, he could see—and shoot at—most of the shipyard. Tristan propped his rifle on a tree stump and waited.

He was breathing deliberately, doing breathing exercises to stave off the tension of not being down there and doing things by himself. But this was the most effective.

His men, wielding guns with silencers, with eyes adjusted to the dark, sneaked toward the buildings.

They would inevitably meet the patrols. Then, while Tristan's subordinate shoots or shanks one guard, Tristan could shoot the other before they raise the alarm.

The half-full moon gave enough light to not stumble on tree roots too often, but it was almost impossible to see four figures crawling through the forest. Unless Tristan used heat vision.

He traced four glowing figures and eight enemy guards. Almost like dots on an imaginary blue map. From above, through the rifle's scope, he could see things no one else could.

'Cutout is being too slow and careful… That patrol is going to turn a corner and spot him.'

With a slight frown, Tristan aimed his rifle at one of the two guards.

He pressed the trigger as soon as Cutout got in his line of sight.

The silenced shot stayed unheard by anyone in the camp, but the guard fell dead with a hole in the side of his head.

Cutout noticed the sound and spun on his heels. With reflexes that brought him so high in the ranks, he threw his knife at the second guard, hitting his throat.

A moment later, Cutout ran up to the gurgling guard and finished slitting his windpipe open. Then he stood and showed a thumbs up.

Tristan chuckled to himself. That wasn't a part of their signals.

Cutout moved toward his targets. Tristan resumed watching over other subordinates.

Sam, Kund and Decker went to take out a guard patrol together before it noticed them. They had to—this pair walked next to the ships, and it was almost impossible to get to them without being noticed by them.

Kund rustled the bushes a little as a distraction, and Sam with Decker lunged for the pair. Decker was a little slow, so just to be on the sure side, Tristan helped.

When Sam planted a knife in one guard's neck, Tristan shot the other.

'Another clean elimination. I hope the rest of the mission goes as smoothly.'

It seemed to be. The other two patrols were going to stay blissfully unaware of anything bad going on. Tristan's people began planting the bombs and spilling gasoline around without waking anyone.

There were still thirty minutes of time left when Tristan heard a car driving down the road to the shipyard.