Copy & Paste Power in Modern World

Maren Voss did not like sending men to do a first job without him.

That was why he stood in the warehouse yard while the boxes were loaded.

The shipment had arrived before noon in plain crates with false labels. Inside were parts, small weapons, phones, and other things World Zone wanted moved through the black market. Nothing was marked with a real name. Nothing could be tied back easily if the wrong officer opened the wrong box.

Maren watched two men lift a crate into the truck.

"Careful," he said.

One of his men came near. "Boss, are you going with it?"

"This is the first assignment," Maren said. "If it goes wrong, I want to know whose fault it is."

No one argued.

The truck was old but strong. One car would move ahead for a short distance, then fall back. Another would stay behind. The route avoided the main checking points and used a forest road that cut toward the storage side of North Mill.

Tobin Rell sat in the rear car.

His phone rested in his hand. He typed without lifting it too high.

The message was short: the truck was moving now, Maren was inside, two cars were escorting it, and they were taking the forest road.

He sent the message and locked the screen.

His mouth felt dry.

The men around him were talking, but their voices sounded far away. One joked about the driver. Another complained about the road. Tobin nodded once without hearing the words properly.

He kept telling himself that he had not pulled a trigger. He had only sent a route. But the more he repeated that line, the less it helped.

Across the city, Bruno received the update, checked it, and sent it forward.

Adam got the message while standing near a public phone.

He read it twice.

Then he used Rovan’s email trail to send the clean details: three vehicles, route, target vehicle, and timing. After that, he called from the booth.

Rovan answered faster than before.

"I am giving you extra help," Adam said. "Three vehicles. Do not touch the rear car unless you have no choice. Handle the truck and the other escort. Make it look like a gang hit. Your name does not appear. My name does not appear."

Rovan’s breathing was tight.

"You want it outside the city?"

"Yes."

"That is better," Rovan said before he could stop himself.

It was better.

If Adam had ordered a public police encounter in the middle of a crowded lane, Rovan would have had to pull in uniforms, files, and signatures. This was different. A forest road, illegal goods, gang vehicles, and men already carrying weapons could become a story by the time the first report was written.

He could use off-record men, one fake tip, and two constables placed far enough away to arrive after the killing stopped.

The men doing the shooting did not need to wear uniforms. They only needed to be the kind of men Rovan could later call unknown attackers. After that, the report could speak about rival gangs, illegal cargo, and a chase that began before police arrived.

"Do it," Adam said.

The line went dead.

Rovan lowered the phone.

He hated that he felt relieved.

On the forest road, the convoy moved under uneven sunlight.

The road was narrow, with trees pressing close on both sides. Dry leaves covered the edges. The truck shook whenever the tires hit broken patches, and the escort cars kept enough distance to avoid looking like a proper convoy.

Maren sat in the passenger seat of the truck, one elbow near the window.

"Faster after the bend," he told the driver. "Do not crawl."

The driver nodded and pressed the accelerator a little harder. The engine complained, but the truck moved faster.

Behind them, Tobin watched the road through the windshield of the rear car.

Every turn made his stomach tighten.

Nothing had happened yet.

That made it worse.

Then a small white car rolled out from a side path and stopped across the road ahead.

The truck driver cursed and slammed the brakes.

The truck jolted.

The first escort car nearly hit its rear before stopping at an angle.

For half a second, everyone stared at the white car.

Its doors were open, but no one was inside.

Then men rose from the bushes.

Gunfire cracked across the road.

The first shots hit the truck’s windshield and front door. The glass broke inward. The driver jerked back against the seat. Maren reached for his weapon, but another burst struck the side of the cab before he could aim properly.

The escort car tried to reverse.

More men fired from the left side.

Bullets hit the hood, the window, and the door. One of Maren’s men fell out halfway and did not stand again. Another crawled behind the wheel, shouting for cover, but the shouting disappeared under more shots.

Farther behind them, a civilian motorbike turned so hard it almost fell. The rider dragged it into the bushes and ran. A small delivery van reversed until it hit a tree, then the driver jumped out and fled without closing the door.

The rear car stopped hard.

Tobin’s body locked.

For a moment he did not understand the scene even though he had helped create it. The truck was being torn apart. The men near Maren were screaming. The white car still blocked the road, and the shooters kept their distance as if they had practiced where to stand.

No one was firing at the rear car yet. That told Tobin the warning Bruno had given him was true. They were leaving his side a path.

The driver beside Tobin grabbed his pistol.

"Move!" someone shouted.

Tobin looked ahead and saw Maren through the broken side of the truck cab.

Blood covered one side of his shirt. His hand was still trying to reach for the gun near his belt, but his body was not moving right anymore.

Tobin felt fear first.

Then the other thought came behind it.

If Maren died here, the chair would be empty. If Tobin froze too long, someone else would take it.

The men in the rear car started jumping out.

Tobin opened his door with them, his legs shaking as they hit the road.

Gunfire filled the trees while he ran forward with the others.