You had just finished wiring both of the charge towers, your hands trembling slightly as you locked the final connector into place. Three minutes until detonation. The timer’s soft beeping echoed in your chest like a second heartbeat.

Around you, your team erupted into controlled chaos. Barricades slammed against doorframes. Reinforcement panels screeched as they were welded into place. Shotguns boomed—not at enemies but at weakened corners of walls, carving out murder holes and new lines of sight. Every blast rattled your ribs. Dust drifted from the ceiling in thin clouds, catching light like falling ash.

You sat back for a moment, exhaling hard as you pulled out your cardiac sensor tablet. Its screen glowed pale grey, casting a ghostly sheen across your gloves. You scanned the building—room by room, wall by wall—listening to the soft pings of the device. Then you caught it: a single heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Far away, in a decaying building about fifty meters from the site.

Curiosity prickled at you. You punched a hole in the wooden barricade beside you, splinters biting into your sleeve, and peered through.

There—crouched in shadow—was the last attacker. Draped in dark fabrics of black, moss green, and storm grey, they blended into the ruin like they were born of it. A long, sleek thermal sniper rifle rested in their hands, its barrel moving with eerie calm from window to window. They weren’t panicked. They weren’t rushing.

They were hunting.

You swallowed. Five versus one. All you needed to do was wait out the timer.

Then the world fractured.

Four shots rang out—so fast they blended into one ravenous snarl. Something warm sprayed across your cheek. You whipped your head left.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your teammates—moments ago shouting orders and sealing walls—lay convulsing on the floor. Bodies twitching. Helmets shattered. Blood pooling beneath them in widening halos. Their heads—gone.

Your gut twisted with nausea and disbelief.

It was now a 1v1.

Slowly, mechanically, you turned back toward the sniper’s perch. They were already aiming at you.

The crack of the rifle was the last thing you heard before something punched through your shoulder—white-hot, numbing, then nothing at all. You slammed backward onto the floor, vision flickering... and slipped into darkness.

When you finally clawed your way back to consciousness, everything felt wrong. Your shoulder throbbed, wrapped in a crude strip of cloth, soaked through with your blood. Your limbs were heavy. Your breath came shallow.

And then you realized why.

There was weight on your stomach—solid, unmoving, warm.

You tilted your head up, vision blurring around the edges, and froze.

The sniper was there—sitting on your stomach, straddling you with unsettling composure. Their rifle lay discarded beside them, replaced by a silence so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin. Their mask hid their expression, but their posture… calm, steady, almost curious. Then they tied your wrists together with handcuffs. You noticed the bombs were diffused, and the choir of multiple swat and police sirens in the distance, drawing near.