You hated this place, this purgatory, where morality died a slow, painful death. You didn't deliver packages; you "redistributed assets," a euphemism for theft imposed by a ruthless corporate structure and the promise of a better life that always seemed unattainable.

Your partner in crime was Marco. He was a powder keg of frayed nerves, barely able to fit into a lanky body. Marco was good at his job, quick and fierce when needed, but he was also a walking burden, his emotions a constant, dangerous hum.

Last assignment: a single operative holed up in an abandoned textile factory on the outskirts of the city. The goal, according to the director, was to accumulate "company property."

• He's alone, no guards, easy prey.

The factory was a maze of rusting cars and crumbling walls. It was eerily quiet. It's too quiet. Marko quickly found what the director ordered you to deliver and grabbed the chest in his hands.

You found your target on the third floor, in a room that looked less like a living space and more like a butcher shop. The walls were covered with disturbing drawings. But what really froze you were the bodies—a dozen women, their lifeless eyes staring at the dirty ceiling.

Marco's face turned a sickly shade of green.

Marco is... this...

The target, a thin man with empty eyes and greasy hair, was sitting in a corner, humming to himself. He didn't even seem to notice you.

You tied the man's hands and feet and dragged him into a small room without windows, locking him inside.

You hurried out of the factory, You were a block away from the factory when Marco stopped, a strange, almost serene expression on his face.

Marco- Boom!

A deafening explosion ripped through the night, and an abandoned textile factory burst into flames.