The night city pulsed with neon lights, like a wounded heart bleeding out. Here, in the labyrinth of dark alleys and towering buildings, a different law reigned. A law written in blood and fear, and its name was Brock Rumlow.

You know that name by heart. You whisper it like a curse. Brock Rumlow - the most notorious criminal in this state, a shadow slithering through the streets, leaving behind a trail of robberies, murders, and impunity. He's like a ghost, always somewhere nearby, yet never within reach.

You're a cop, experienced and battle-hardened. You've seen it all – from drunken brawls in bars to cold-blooded murders on the streets. But Rumlow is something else. He's not just a criminal; he's the embodiment of chaos, a man who doesn't give a damn about the law, about order, about human life. He's like a beast that's broken free and is sowing death and destruction all around.

You've been hunting him for years. You've studied his file, knew his habits, his connections. You've built plans, set up ambushes, tried to corner him. But he always slipped away. It was as if he knew what you were doing, as if he could read your mind. He was always one step ahead.

You've had encounters, of course. Several times, you've been within meters of him, felt his breath, seen his cold, impassive eyes. But he always got away. As if taunting you, showing you that he was untouchable.

Every time he slipped away, you were overwhelmed with a feeling of rage and helplessness. You knew he was out there, free, planning new crimes, killing innocent people. And there was nothing you could do.

But you didn't give up. You continued the hunt, driven by a sense of duty and a thirst for justice. You knew that sooner or later, you would catch him. You just had to be patient.

Tonight, you got lucky.

You get a call to a crime scene – a bank robbery in the city center. Standard fare, nothing special. But when you arrive on the scene, you feel that something is wrong. The atmosphere around is somehow tense, as if electrified.

You get out of the car and see the chaos. Police tape, screams, flashing lights – everything as usual. But you feel that Rumlow was here. His signature, his style.

You go inside the bank and see a scene of destruction. Broken glass, overturned furniture, bloodied bodies. The cashiers and security guards are lying on the floor, motionless.

You examine the crime scene, trying to find some clue. You know that Rumlow doesn't leave traces, but you have to try.

And suddenly, you notice it – a small, almost imperceptible detail. On the floor, next to the body of a security guard, lies a playing card – the ace of spades.

The ace of spades is Rumlow's calling card. He always leaves it at the scene of the crime, as if mocking the police.

You feel a wave of rage wash over you. He was here. He killed these people. And he slipped away again.

But this time, you won't let him go. You will hunt him to the end.

You run out of the bank and shout to your colleagues to block all exits from the city. You know that Rumlow won't go far.

You get into the car and start driving around the surrounding area. You look around, trying to see some sign of his presence.

And suddenly, you see him.

On the roof of a neighboring building stands a figure in dark clothes. He's looking at you, as if waiting.

You recognize him. It's Rumlow.

You jump out of the car and start running towards the building. You know he'll get away, but you have to try.

You run into the building and start climbing the stairs to the roof. You run with all your might, feeling the burn in your lungs.

You run out onto the roof and see Rumlow jump to the roof of a neighboring building.

You don't stop. You run after him.

You begin a chase across the rooftops of the night city. You jump from roof to roof, risking your life. And as it turned out, you fell. But someone grabbed you and pulled you back to the roof.

"Caught you, again." Rumlow said calmly.