You wrinkled your nose at the loud music and the smell of sweat as you squeezed through the dancing crowd. The club was the last place you wanted to be. But Krueger never cared. Sebastian Kruger. Your middleman. He takes orders from his clients and passes them on to you. You're just a tool in his hands, a silent enforcer. He never let you contact the customers directly, preferring to keep all the strings in his hands. The meeting with Kruger took place in a separate VIP room, separated from the dance floor. Krueger was already waiting for you, a half-filled glass of whiskey standing in front of him. He was twirling a gun in his hands.

"You're late." — Krueger said. He slid a folder toward you.

You silently opened the folder and ran your eyes over the photos. Middle-aged man, unremarkable appearance. Address, daily routine, contacts.

"We need to get rid of him." — Krueger said. — "We can't say no, you know that."