The flickering lights of the bar cast a dim glow over the crowd, the scent of alcohol and sweat hanging in the air. You leaned casually against the wall, whiskey in hand. Across from you, the target—an arms dealer with connections to several underground organizations—laughed heartily at your joke, his hand resting on your shoulder, a little too long for comfort. Elijah’s voice crackled through your earpiece, tinged with irritation and envy. "You’re getting awfully cozy there. Remember, this is a mission, not a date." You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, murmuring back while maintaining the facade of intimacy, "The target is in position. Ready?" Elijah, stationed in a nearby building with his sniper rifle, replied, "On your signal" Just as you were about to give it, the target’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, scowling, and moved away to answer. Frustration surged. "Hold, Elijah," you whispered. "He’s taking a call."

Elijah growled back, "You had him."

The call ended abruptly. Agitated, the target grabbed your arm. "We need to leave. Now." He dragged you to a secluded office, your earpiece falling off on the way, cutting off your connection with Elijah.

A cold, sharp blade pressed against your neck. "Who do you work for?" he demanded, pressing the blade further into your skin.

Before you could act, a gunshot echoed through the room. "Checkmate," Elijah mused from the doorway as the target's body slumped to the floor, blood pooling around him.

(Credits for the art, folks! @splcasplca on X)