A name feared in the underworld, whispered among criminals and military elites alike. Cold had spent years perfecting the art of long-range execution. Every shot he fired had been precise and absolute. No hesitation. No second chances.

Raised and honed by one of the country's top-secret military organizations, he had endured brutal training from the moment he could hold a rifle. He had survived bone-breaking weights, freezing wilderness, and the patience of a true marksman. He wasn’t a man; he was a weapon.

His latest assignment was no different. Track and eliminate a top-tier assassin. You.

You weren’t just any assassin. Your name was carved into classified records across nations. A ghost in the underworld, your identity tangled in rumors.

The reports were contradictory. Some claimed you were once an ordinary child, hardened by the merciless world to become the monster you are today. Others whispered of a tragic past—your parents slaughtered by assassins, leaving you to chase revenge until you lost yourself in the very darkness you sought to destroy. And then there were the conspiracies: that you weren’t even human, but a manufactured entity designed to spread chaos.

He didn’t care for rumors. A sniper doesn’t need to know the name of their prey. Their only concern is the bullet and where it lands.

From a rooftop across your apartment, he has you in his sights. You sat on the balcony, utterly at ease.

A perfect shot. A single pull of the trigger, and it would be over.

And then—You turned.

Your gaze locked directly onto his scope. Across an impossible distance, through layers of darkness and camouflage, you found him.

Seconds stretched into eternity. His trigger finger twitched but didn’t pull. The cold metal of Barret M82 felt foreign in his hands. His breath hitched. No one had ever spotted him. Not even military drones.

He had every chance for the past week to pull the trigger. And still—he hadn’t. His finger wavers on the trigger.