Four ck vans thundered onto the street like a posse riding in at high noon.


    They skidded to a stop, pinning Jasmine''s limousine from the front and rear.


    About twenty men poured out, each one armed to the teeth and hiding behind masks.


    Their leader-burly, tatted up, and mean as a rattlesnake-stepped right up to the window, pounding on the ss with his fist.


    "Both of you get out, or we''ll blow this tin can to pieces!" He snarled.


    Inside the limo, Jasmine''s face went pale. The driver looked just as rattled.


    "Driver," came Alex''s calm voice.


    "Y-yes?" the driver stammered, too stunned to keep his voice steady.


    "I hear this car''s sound system can rattle bones. Mind turnin'' it up to full st?" Alex leaned back, eyes half- lidded like he hadn''t a care in the world.


    The driver blinked. "What?"


    ''Is this fe crazy?'' he thought. ''Bullets are spraying outside, and he wants music?''


    "ssical, if you''ve got it," Alex added, letting his eyes fall closed.


    Jasmine watched him, her own fear momentarily reced by curiosity.


    Then she looked at the driver, speaking softly but with iron in her tone. "Well? You heard the man. y it."


    Outside, gunfire echoed like a hailstorm on a tin roof.


    The driver''s heart nged in his chest like a broken bell.


    ''First the crazy man, now Miss Jasmine? They both lost it, or what?''


    But something in his gut told him to follow orders.


    Swallowing hard, he reached for the stereo.


    The speakers roared to life, pouring out a grand symphony, each note sweeping through the cabin like a warm wind across the ins.


    His fingers trembled, turning the volume to the max.


    He shot a nce in the rearview mirror.


    Alex sat there with azy smile, soaking in the melody.


    Jasmine smiled, resting her head on his shoulder as her eyes gently closed.


    With Alex, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace, safety, and belonging. ''Courage isn''t about not being scared; it''s about seeing something else as more important than fear,'' the driver reminded himself.


    Despite the bullets pinging off the armored ting, he found himself rxing ever so slightly.


    He let out a breath he didn''t know he was holding and muttered, "If I''m goin'' down, might as well do it in style."


    Closing his eyes, he whispered a final curse at fate.


    Outside, the masked gunmen paused, uncertain.


    The limo they meant to pepper with bullets was sting orchestral music like it was a private concert.


    One of the hitmen lowered his weapon, flustered.


    Another spat on the ground. "What in tarnation...?"


    Their leader bared his teeth in a cruel grin.


    "They''re beggin'' for an early grave." He raised his voice.


    "Keep at it! Bust open that car! Afterward, you can have your fun with the woman before we finish her off."


    A sick chuckle came from somewhere in the group. "And the man? Can I enjoy him too?"


    The leader shrugged. "Hell if I care. Just do what you''re paid for!"


    Suddenly, the tension shattered.


    One of the masked men spun around and drew his gun-painting it dead at the leader''s head.


    "What the hell''s gotten into you?" the leader roared, eyes narrowed.


    The would-be gunman was shaking, sweat pouring down his temples. His finger twitched like he had no control.


    Inside, Alex''s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.


    ''Ordinary folks are no more than puppets once the strings are in the right hands.''


    The shot came fast.


    The leader''s head jerked back, blood spraying onto the pavement in a gruesome


    arc.


    He toppled with a thud, eyes vacant.


    "What... what are you doing?!" one of the others cried, terror in his voice.


    Before anyone could blink, another mercenary turned his weapon on the man


    beside him, squeezed the trigger, and dropped him cold.


    The gunfire ceased as if the world itself had gone mute.


    They stood there-blood on the ground, confusion in the air.


    "What..." One of them opened his mouth, trying to speak, and another bullet cut him off forever.


    The unspoken rule was clear: whoever spoke... died.


    A bold one among them hefted his machine gun, aiming for the limousine.


    But the fellow next to him spun, barrel pressed against his skull, hands trembling like a stallion that wouldn''t be tamed.


    "No-"the gunman whispered, his eyes pleading.


    The other man''s face twisted in horror, as though silently apologizing: ''I can''t help


    it."


    And the gun exploded.


    Nobody dared to move.


    The only sound drifting across that battlefield was the haunting wail of violinsing from inside the car.


    The hitmen eyed each other, fear skittering across their gazes.


    Some of them stepped back, inch by inch, while others dove for whatever cover they could find.


    But a handful refused to give up, they still clung to their guns.


    The money they stood to lose was too great-like a feastid out before a starving man. They just couldn''t turn


    away.


    Then, almost in unison, some of their hands twitched, turning their own firearms on themselves.


    Shock bled into every face as the cold metal touching their Heads.


    The fight drained out of them as they realized no paycheck was worth this.


    And in the limo, Alex just sat there, calm as a sleeping cat, his smile the smile of a conductor leading an orchestra of doom.


    The stage was set, and each assassin felt the cold de of fate across his neck, knowing there was no fighting the puppet master who held their strings.


    As the ssical music reached its peak, the rhythm synchronized with the drumbeat, creating an electrifying


    surge.


    Then, eight gunshots rang out in unison, each shot reverberating through the air, seamlessly blending with the pounding rhythm.


    One by one, the hitmen fell to the ground, their lifeless eyes staring up at the vast blue sky, as though questioning. "What in the world are they facing?"