Life went on as usual the next day, as if nothing had happened. But no matter how much Ash tried to push it to the back of his mind, the weight of yesterday's events pressed down on him, making each breath feel heavier than the last.
His boss had always trusted him with the toughest jobs—after all, he was one of the best in the business. Ash had known this world for as long as he could remember. In many ways, he was little more than a form of payment, a living ransom for his father's sins. He didn't really have a choice in the matter. As a marksman, his father had trained him from childhood. He'd always been a natural, meant for great things—or at least, that's what Victor believed when he started his private business.
At first, everything went smoothly. Ash handled the dirty work. It's hard to say how much he understood back then—whether he truly knew what he was doing wasn't right. But in the end, this was what he'd been trained for. The first time was the worst. He went into shock afterward, struggling to catch his breath, the weight of the trigger pull still hanging in the air. Sure, the blood never directly touched his hands, but the final decisions had always been his. And the muffled screams—they never stopped haunting him, making his sleep more difficult every day.
It was simple business. Wealthy people could make anyone disappear for the right price. Who they were didn't really matter. Work was work. At least, that's what Ash kept telling himself.
However, now something was off about the whole thing. The weight of the job, the pressure to be perfect as always, was suffocating him. He had to take his jacket off to get some fresh air—it was all too much. He'd told himself for years that he was just doing what he was supposed to do, that it was all part of the game. But the longer he stayed there, the line between right and wrong started to slowly burn out. His father believed in the business more than anything—the power, the money, the control. Ash loved the control of his own life as much as he loved the control he had over others' lives as well. Every mission, every kill, came with its own set of nightmares.
The previous job seemed the hardest one yet. He had to eliminate the eldest son of some drug dealer, maybe. He wasn't always good with the details—not because he wasn't paying attention, but because he didn't want to be sentimental about the victims. But there was something about this one that gnawed at him, a familiarity he couldn't explain. Although he'd never met the man before, it was more than difficult to put into words.
He hadn't slept much before the mission—he just couldn't, as usual. There was something else now, something that unsettled him even more. It was the feeling that perhaps—just perhaps—he was the one being haunted this time. It felt like he was being watched in every corner of the building. The sense that someone knew what he was doing. Nothing was really there; it was just in his mind, some kind of defense mechanism. Victor always warned him about weakness. He had to kill his emotions as well in that moment. Right now, he was nothing more than a machine. No choice, no mercy.
Lately, Ash had started to question that. Was it really for the best? The thought lingered as he prepared for the mission ahead. His rifle felt heavier than it ever had before. His hands, though steady, were shaking at that moment.
"Come on, don't fucking mess this up. Just get it done," he said to himself for the second time as he peered down the street.
The street was empty, silent—no soul in sight. Darkness had swallowed everything, concealing what needed to remain hidden. Ash crouched on a nearby rooftop, scanning the area. He was waiting for the right moment. According to the informants, his target would be passing this way tonight. There was no room for mistakes. His breath was slow as he adjusted his scope, his fingers dancing over the controls with ease now. Every part of him was tuned to the rhythm of the job. His mind wandered for a moment, his gaze drifting to the night sky. Was it the weight of the mission?
He scanned the street again. Nothing yet.
Then, a figure emerged from the shadows, walking with purpose, head down as if completely unaware of the situation. Ash's breath caught. There it was. His target. Everything was right—the man was alone as expected. A simple route. It was almost too perfect.
Ash shook his head quickly and started positioning for the shot. Just as he lined up the target, he noticed slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was walking on the sidewalk, not far from the target. Ash's eyes darted toward the figure.
It was a man. Tall, his features shadowed by the night, but his posture confident and purposeful. Ash's annoyance grew, a knot forming in his stomach.
"Fuck. He wasn't part of the plan," he cursed quietly as the figure moved closer, coming into the light of a passing car.
Ash's stomach dropped when he finally saw the man's face.
It was Lucian.
Ash's pulse jumped immediately. "What is he even doing here?" He hadn't seen him since that night—they hadn't spoken a single word after. He was… a distraction. The last thing Ash needed was Lucian showing up in the middle of a job.
Lucian walked with his hands in his pockets. Ash's grip tightened on the rifle. The perfect moment was within reach, but Lucian was too close. If he took the shot now, there was a good chance he'd be exposed. Or worse, recognized.
Time passed, and Ash knew he couldn't afford to wait any longer. He had to act, sooner or later. He could still take the risk—there was enough time if he moved quickly. If he took down the target fast enough, Lucian might not notice. But to pull this off, Ash had to get himself together as soon as possible. Lucian's presence complicated everything, but there was no way around it. The job still had to be done. That was just the way things worked.
He couldn't let distractions—no matter how close or familiar—get in the way.
Just as he was about to pull the trigger, a sudden flash of movement caught his eye again. Lucian stopped in the middle of the street. His sharp gaze swept over the shadows around him, making Ash's blood run cold. Lucian had to know something was wrong. His instincts were too good.
It didn't matter now.
Ash didn't have the luxury to wait any longer. He squeezed the trigger. As the rifle kicked back, the bullet tore through the distance, striking the target with a sickening thud. The man's lifeless body hit the ground instantly.
There it was. Job done.
Ash didn't waste a second. He rushed back from the rooftop's edge and disappeared into the darkness. His heart hammered in his chest, but he couldn't stop now. He had to get out before Lucian had any chance to figure out what just happened
Ash hit the ground silently, his boots barely making a sound as he moved toward the closest alley. He could hear Lucian's voice in the distance, calling out to someone. But that was nothing Ash needed to concern himself with. He had to get away. Now.