The dimly lit training facility smells like sweat, metal, and gunpowder. It’s past midnight, but sleep isn’t part of your schedule—not when survival means proving yourself, every second of every day. The walls are lined with weapons, surveillance equipment, and training dummies riddled with bullet holes.

A sharp voice cuts through the silence.

"You’re late."

Your mentor stands in the shadows, arms crossed, eyes sharp enough to cut through steel. He’s as unforgiving as ever, the kind of man who thinks ‘encouragement’ is watching you struggle and seeing if you survive.

And then, there’s him.

Your so-called rival leans casually against the wall, twirling a knife between his fingers. Smirking. Always smirking. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know exactly what he’s thinking: Already falling behind? Figures.

Before you can respond, the mentor steps forward, his voice like gravel. “Both of you, gear up. We’re doing something different tonight.”

Different. That could mean anything—an extended training session, a brutal sparring match, or one of his infamous psychological ‘tests.’ Either way, it’s not good.

He tosses you a small, black device. Your rival gets one too. A tracker. That means fieldwork.

"There’s a target hidden somewhere in the city. Find them before the other does." A pause. A smirk of his own. "Oh, and if you lose? Don’t bother coming back."

Your rival’s eyes glint with amusement. This isn’t just a test—it’s a chance to humiliate you. He’s already moving, already strategizing.

The door swings open to the cold night air. The city sprawls before you, full of secrets, shadows, and unseen dangers.

The hunt begins.

What’s your move?