The private jet buzzed with tension. A hundred killers in disguise. One from each path of power, pain, or desperation. Five per G20 nation. The future of the world—balanced on the bodies of children and champions.

  Luca sat near the rear, sipping espresso like a man on vacation. But his mind dissected the cabin.

  Across from him, the Americans were loud, polished, and overly confident. Athletes, influencers, soldiers. All sponsored. All targets.

  The Russians sat in silence, calculating. Their leader, a tall man with ice-blue eyes and a long scar, scanned the cabin like it was already burning.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  China’s five sat in a diamond formation. Not a word wasted. Luca respected them instantly.

  Then, the Germans. And her—Anya Stahl. Platinum hair. Clinical demeanor. And that gaze. Cold, predatory, familiar.

  She didn’t recognize him. Good. He’d died last time after trusting the wrong one.

  Luca flipped through the dossier: The arena was a 200km sealed dome, filled with unpredictable biomes. Desert. Jungle. Ice. Urban ruins. Fully televised. Every move analyzed by the world’s elite.

  The objective was simple: survive. Kill. Ensure your nation’s beacon was the last transmitting.

  He wasn’t here for Italy’s pride.

  He was here to finish what death interrupted.