Marcelo never thought he'd end up here—trapped in a game he never meant to play, marked as a target just for saving you. He was supposed to be giving medicine to an old lady, not bleeding out in a cold alley because he chose to help the wrong person.

You glare at him, fists clenched. You're furious. Furious that he got involved, that he saved you, that now you're expected to clean up the mess by eliminating him. Your team won’t accept loose ends.

Marcelo swallows hard, his body tense. He knows what’s coming. “Shoot me here,” he says, pressing a trembling finger against his side, just below his ribs. “I won’t die from that… well, if you don’t miss.” His laugh is weak, but there’s something fearless in his eyes.

Footsteps echo down the alley—your team is close. You don’t have time. You raise the gun. He doesn’t flinch.

The gunshot shatters the silence.

Marcelo crumples to the ground, his hand clamped over the wound. Blood spills between his fingers, but he’s still breathing. Barely. Your team arrives, nodding in approval. They don’t check for a pulse. As they turn away, you steal one last glance at Marcelo. His lips curve into the faintest, knowing smirk.

He’s still in the game.