Time Left: 00:15:23
Jackson was quiet under a blanket of snow. The kind of silence that came before a storm. People went about their day, unaware of what moved beneath their feet.
In the cabin, Joel sat on the couch, half-reading a book, eyes flickering toward the window. He looked older than yesterday. Not in years — in gravity.
Agent 47 sat on a wooden chair across the room, not moving.His black gloves folded neatly in his lap. Silverballers holstered. The countdown floating in the edge of his vision like a guillotine above a string.
"Y'know," Joel muttered, "you sit more still than most dead men I've seen."
47 didn't answer at first.
Then he stood. Adjusted his cuffs.
"Time's up."
Joel raised an eyebrow.
"Leave the house. Now."
"What the hell you mean—"
"They're coming."
Joel hesitated, hand near his pistol, eyes narrowing. He scanned 47's face, but found nothing.
Then he sighed, stood, and grabbed his jacket.
"Where's Ellie?"
"She's safe," 47 said. "They're not after her."
Joel nodded, the weight of violence creeping back into his bones. He stepped out the front, pulling his coat tighter.
47 sat back down on the wooden chair. Facing the front door.
Time Left: 00:00:26
Behind the house, quiet footsteps padded through the snow.A metal grate was lifted near the old irrigation channel.Six shadows moved through it — all armed. All ready.
Abby Anderson led the pack. Rifle tight in hand. Jaw clenched. Anger lived in her blood.
They moved up the back steps.
The lock clicked.
Back door creaked open.
They stepped in like wraiths.
The house was empty. Almost.
A man in a black suit sat in the middle of the living room, facing the front door, his head slightly lowered. Silver pistols in both hands, resting loosely at his sides.
They stopped cold.
That presence — heavy, suffocating, surgical.
"What the f***…?" one of them muttered.
The air was wrong. The silence was too still.It felt like death had been waiting for them.
Then Abby saw it — the barcode on the back of his head.
Her eyes narrowed. "He's alone. He's just some freak."
Another laughed. "Cosplayer. Thought he was hot shit."
"I don't give a damn who he is," growled one with a shotgun, stepping forward.He jabbed the barrel into 47's shoulder.
"Where's Joel Miller?"
[NEXUS SYSTEM – CONTRACT UPDATE]
Target Group Identified.Objective: Eliminate All to Complete the Contract.
Penalty for Failure: Death.Time Remaining: 00:00:00
47's head tilted up.
His eyes opened — pale, cold, dissecting.His voice, calm as winter wind.
"You came here for a man."
He stood up slowly.
"But all you've found is your end."
He moved like a shadow across still water — and then the killing began.