Page 51 of Dark King Daddy

Then he dropped. I stared at the small figure on the screen.

A man had died.

The footage kept moving because cameras did not respect death.

Shooters split around the trucks. Two fired at the cabs. Another covered the rear. Two more carried fuel cans.

Prepared.

Fast.

They poured accelerant along the trailers and lit them. The flames rose almost at once. One driver crawled from the far side of a cab. A shooter turned toward him.

The driver lay still. The man did not fire again.

“They weren’t there to maximize casualties,” I said.

Nikita stood beside the table, one hand braced against its edge. “No. They wanted witnesses.”

“And fire.”

“Fire photographs well.”

The shooters returned to the van. The entire attack took less than three minutes. The municipal truck stayed behind.

The footage ended with black smoke rolling beneath the overpass.

“Again,” Daniil said.

We watched it again.

The second time, I studied the attackers instead of the dead escort.

They moved with discipline. No unnecessary shots. No one chased fleeing drivers. Their purpose had been fixed: stop the convoy, kill enough people to establish danger, burn the cargo, leave survivors.

The third time, Daniil paused the image as the first shooter emerged.

“Military training?” Anton asked.

“Possibly,” Nikita said. “Or practiced crews. They rehearsed the positions.”

Daniil pointed at the utility truck. “Stolen where?”

“Municipal lot in Sunset Park. Reported missing this morning.”

“Cameras?”

“Being collected.”

The operations-room door opened. One of the Orlov men handed Anton a folder and left.

Anton read the first page.

His face hardened.

“What?”

He passed the folder to me.