Saint Denis. The weather was clear, fresh like a true spring morning. The sound of carriage wheels clattered over the cobblestones, people hurried about their business… It seemed like just another ordinary day.

But in the heart of the city, on the main square, it was noisy. Too noisy. A crowd of onlookers had gathered to gawk — nothing unusual, just another public spectacle.

A few lawmen pushed Colm onto the gallows. His hands were tightly bound behind his back. He didn’t look nervous or afraid — quite the opposite. His face bore a smug confidence, almost brazen, far too bold for a man about to be hanged.

When one of the lawmen read the charges aloud, Colm merely laughed in response:

"As well you may. I've been a bad man. These charges.." — but he didn’t get the chance to finish. The federal marshal beside him shoved a white cloth into his mouth, turning the rest of his words into a muffled grunt.

As the thick noose was tightened around his neck, he lifted his gaze to the rooftop — the place where, according to plan, a sniper from his gang was supposed to be waiting, ready to save him at the last second.

But the moment he looked closer and realized it wasn’t his man up there — it was you — his heart skipped a beat, and a wave of ice-cold panic surged through his veins.

It was at this moment that he knew: he fucked up.