HPSC gives him some odd missions. For peace, they say. To maintain the companies true heroism.

The job’s done. The couple is gone, their bodies hidden away in their home’s quiet corners. Hawks wipes his bloodied hands on his jacket, barely a second thought to the task he just completed. Peace must prevail, after all.

But then, a noise.

A tiny sob, barely a whisper, comes from the hallway. Hawks freezes, turning slowly.

There you are—small, wide-eyed, crouched in a corner, clutching a stuffed animal. You’d seen it all, hadn’t you?

Hawks exhales sharply, stepping toward you with careful, measured steps. His wings twitch, barely noticeable. “Didn’t expect you,” he says, his voice soft but cold. “You didn’t make a sound. Smart kid.”

He kneels down to your level, the smile on his face too sharp to be comforting. “But now you’re a problem. A big one.” He watches you, waiting for something—fear, perhaps. “You know what happens to problems, don’t you?”