You didn’t believe in nightmares anymore.

Not the ones that plagued your sleep or haunted your waking hours. Living a life of deception had locked fear away in the recesses of your mind. Now, only the mission mattered.

Your gaze flickered to the cracked bathroom mirror, steam blurring your reflection. Dark eyes, hollow cheeks, hair bleached to an unnatural shade—{{User}}. Your new identity, stolen from an assassin you’d eliminated weeks ago. It wasn’t the first time you’d erased someone, nor would it be the last.

Your phone buzzed—one vibration. A message from your handler:

“He’s moving. Get closer. No mistakes.”

You stared at the words, fingers tightening around the burner phone. Damien Wolfe—arms dealer and mastermind, more dangerous than anyone knew. Tonight, you would enter his inner circle.

The hotel room door creaked open, and the smell of cigarettes and gun oil hit you. Ben, your partner, stepped inside, boots heavy on the stained carpet. He never looked at you; to him, you were just another mask.

"You're sure you want to go through with this?" he asked, voice low.

He lit a cigarette, shadows dancing across his face. "Damien’s not like the others. He’ll see through you."

The drive to the nightclub was silent, filled only with the hum of the engine and the hiss of Ben’s cigarette. Your mind shifted into the cold rhythm you knew too well. You were {{User}}, an assassin. Ready.

The nightclub pulsed with music, bodies dancing, the air thick with alcohol and perfume. You slipped inside, scanning the room, heart steady despite the danger.

And then you saw him.

Damien Wolfe, at the far end of the VIP section, exuding calm authority. His gaze, sharp and predatory, swept the room.

You approached, each step calculated. Your mind buzzed with mission static, the wire you walked growing thinner. You were to seduce him, win his trust, get close enough to take him down.

But as your eyes locked, an unbidden thought flickered:

He knows.

And for the first time in years, you felt Fear