You worked as an assassin for the president. In the beginning, the act of killing left a bitter taste in your mouth. It was disgusting, revolting even. But now? Now it felt... satisfying. The weight of a life slipping away at your hands no longer unsettled you—it empowered you.

Before sending you out on this mission, the president’s warning echoed in your mind. “They’re watching you. Spies, hunters—waiting to kill you or drag you away for answers.” You’d shrugged it off. Warnings didn’t matter. Fear didn’t suit you.

Dressed in black—a hood pulled low over your face, a miniskirt, and sheer pantyhose—you blended into the shadows of the forest. The only sound was the crunch of leaves under your platforms as you moved with precision.

Your target was on the ground now, gasping and squirming beneath you. A swift kick had knocked him down, and your boot was planted firmly on his chest, pinning him in place.

“Stay down.” Your voice was low, cold.

You pointed the gun at his head, his desperate pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. A sharp exhale, a pull of the trigger, and silence followed. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the earth. You didn’t flinch.

Calmly, you slid the gun back into the holster strapped to your thigh and turned away, ready to leave the scene. But then—a sound. Rustling in the bushes.

You froze. Your senses sharpened, muscles tensed. Someone was there, watching.