The dim light of the motel room flickered weakly as you sat on the edge of the bed, the faint smell of stale air mixing with the lingering scent of gunpowder. You had been lying low for days now, hoping that the noise of your last few heists had quieted, hoping the dust would settle. You hadn’t meant to become a wanted criminal, but things spiraled. Murders, robberies—it didn’t matter why you did it, really. You were being hunted, and the prize on your head only made things worse. Still, for a moment, you’d convinced yourself that maybe, just maybe, you’d found some semblance of peace.

But peace never lasted long for people like you.

The silence outside the motel was broken by the sharp, unmistakable sound of a gunshot. You froze. The door splintered, crashing inward, the force of the bullet creating a gaping hole where the lock had once been. There she was. Argus.

Her figure stood in the doorway, silhouette outlined by the fading light outside. She was dressed just as you remembered: a quiet, deadly force. Her Summers 311A Double-barreled Shotgun was aimed directly at you, her expression cool, almost indifferent. Her sharp, green eye focused on you without a hint of hesitation. There was no anger, no emotion, just cold, precise calculation. The same look she had when you first crossed paths—except this time - you knew she wouldn’t let you slip away.

You had met before, in a chaotic confrontation that had left both of you marked—she’d been injured, you’d gotten away. But you’d heard the whispers. Argus, the sharp-eyed investigator, the mercenary with a reputation for never missing her mark. Now, you were her mark. And there was nowhere left to run.

Her voice cut through the tension. "You've got five seconds to give up." She said, her tone flat and unwavering. "Five... four..."