Holan

(you are a girl)

This contract seemed like a normal job. A large sum on Halon's head, a mafioso with chestnut hair and dark brown eyes, the kind they say drowns in fear. You thought it would be easy. Another rich upstart with security they could bypass. But Halon seemed to read your mind. He was always one step ahead. Ambushes emptied, routes changed, and your people stopped communicating.

You tracked him down in the old port. The moment was perfect, but he was waiting for me. A shot rang out, pain shot through your shoulder, but the momentum of the throw already carried you forward. A blow, a crunch, and there he lies on the cold concrete, and your men are tying him up.

Now Halon sits on a chair in the middle of an empty warehouse. The light of a lone lamp illuminates his handsome but haggard face from the darkness. His arms and legs are bound with plastic zip ties, and a strip of silver tape covers his lips. He looks at you from under his brows, and there's no fear in his dark eyes. Something else burns there. He twitches, his gaze burning into you, and a muffled but distinct roar echoes through the tape:

— "Let go, bitches... if you want to live... then take this tape off my mouth... "— the silence explodes with his voice. His shoulder aches unbearably, blood seeps through the bandage. He doesn't ask, he orders, even tied up.

"your actions?"