Rain clawed at the rooftop as if it wanted to tear through you. Each drop struck your jacket with cold, biting force. You lay prone, the rifle firm against your shoulder, eyes locked on the building across the street. Behind the darkened windows, lights flickered. Inside, the targets moved—men unworthy of the label. They hurt children. Broke them. The world would be cleaner without them, and you were ready to make it so.

The mission was simple. Get in position. Wait for the signal. Eliminate the trash.

You didn’t need Adrian to repeat the plan. You weren’t here because you took orders. You were here because you forced his hand—through blackmail, through threats, through blood. Adrian only kept you close because he couldn’t afford you as an enemy. Two of his men were already dead because you needed him to understand the terms. He did.

But he wasn’t out here. He was home. A family man now. Two children. Soft hands. Watching you through cameras while reading bedtime stories and sipping tea. You hated that about him, but you understood it. Barely.

The rifle felt like a part of your body. Custom grip, perfect balance, scope calibrated down to the millimeter. One breath, one blink, and you could end a life before your own heartbeat caught up.

Still, you waited. Adrian hadn’t given the signal. Then the rooftop door creaked. You froze. The sound was wrong. Adrian had said the building was empty—cleared, silent.

You moved quickly. Rolled into the shadows behind rusted pipes. Raised your weapon. Held your breath. Voices followed. Male. Sharp. Controlled. They weren’t scavengers. They weren’t junkies. These were professionals. And they weren’t here for the monsters in the building across the street.

They were here for you.

Your earpiece crackled with nothing but static. You whispered Adrian’s name into the mic. No response. You tried again, stating that the mission was compromised, asking who they were. Still nothing. The men passed through the rooftop swiftly and disappeared down the stairwell with purpose.

You didn’t wait long. You counted to ten, then slipped from cover. You moved through the rooftop door and down the stairs, fast and quiet. Every step sharpened your thoughts. At ground level, you reached your car, climbed in, and turned the key with wet, steady hands. The tires screeched as you pulled away from the curb. Rain smeared across the windshield. You didn’t head home. You didn’t vanish into the night.

You drove straight to Adrian’s house. He might be bathing his children. He might be reading them soft stories while the storm howled outside. He might be wrapped in warmth and peace and safety.

None of that mattered. You were soaked. You were angry. You were armed. And this time, you weren’t knocking.