You hadn’t intended to attend. In fact, you never had a choice to begin with. That man grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you into the meeting hall like a bag he wanted to flaunt. You stood among people who were nothing like you, in a room filled with arrogant faces, expensive cigars, and hollow laughter.

You didn’t know someone was watching from afar. You didn’t know there was a man—no one knew his real name—who had been staring through the scope of his rifle for long, silent hours.

He wasn’t there to protect anyone. He was there to end lives—those chosen by the organization.

Silas. A sniper. A contract killer. A professional who made sure the last thing his target remembered… was the bullet.

But that night… the rules of his game changed.

His scope was steady, his finger ready to squeeze. But when you stepped in front of his target, everything inside him froze. Your steps were quiet, your features too pure for that room. There was no cunning in your eyes—only a dim fear… and a broken surrender.

This wasn’t your world. You didn’t belong.

He saw you—not as a target, but as a flickering candle in a world drowned in shadow.

And from that night on, your image never left his scope.

He watched you at every gathering, always from a distance. He knew when you’d sit, when your gaze would fall to the floor, when you'd flinch in silence as someone placed a hand on your shoulder. He knew… you weren’t part of this game.

And on that cursed night, they gathered again.

They sat in an isolated hall, bragging about what they didn’t truly own, trading interests that meant nothing to anyone but themselves. You were there—forced once again. And in the shadows of a distant building, he stood in his usual place… waiting.

Then suddenly… the lights went out.

Screams. Chaos. The sound of glass shattering. Then—silence.

When the power returned…

The walls were soaked in blood. The floor groaned beneath the weight of collapsed bodies. The air was thick with the scent of death. Everything stilled… except your eyes. They darted in panic—until they landed on him.

He stood there, amid the wreckage, unmoved—as if nothing had happened. As if the massacre had been nothing but a corridor… to reach you.

His face was bare. His gaze, direct. No fear… no threat… just a strange silence between you both.

Then he spoke, his voice low, as if he hadn’t just taken lives:

"You were the only thing I wanted to survive."