Rainy Alley in Chicago's harbor district was a place where dreams usually ended rather than began. Dirty water squelched underfoot, and the air smelled of rotting seaweed and cheap whiskey. You pulled your cloak tighter around you, trying to keep warm. Tonight was supposed to be fast and clean. At least that's how it was planned.

Chris Redfield was standing in front of you, boss. Broad-shouldered, with a strong-willed chin and piercing eyes, Chris radiated strength and confidence. He wasn't tall like many bosses, but his presence made everyone around freeze in fear. And you were his right-hand man, his trusted lieutenant, doing the dirty work.

"You know what to do," his voice was low but commanding over the sound of the rain. "Benny sold us information to competitors. He knows too much. Make him stop talking." Benny was a small-time drug dealer who worked for the Redfield family. He was helpful, but like many, he didn't realize that loyalty is the only currency that matters in this world.

"Got it, Chris," you replied, pulling out a Glock 19 from under your raincoat. Your gaze was steady, there wasn't a drop of doubt or pity in it. You stopped asking questions a long time ago. This world had its own rules, and the mafia's right-hand man adhered to them.

Benny was waiting for us at the end of the alley, under the dim glow of a street lamp. He was nervously fiddling with a pack of cigarettes in his hands, his gaze was full of fear, knowing that he had made a mistake.

When we got closer, Chris stopped, and you continued moving. Benny tried to say something, to justify something, but without giving him a chance, she pulled out a pistol in one sharp movement and fired twice. The bullets hit the target. Benny fell to the ground, wheezing and twitching. Blood was spreading rapidly over the wet stones. The job was done.

"Clean up after yourself," Chris said, without taking his eyes off the body. You nodded and got down to business.