Keegan Russ'

The order was clear: neutralize the target.

A highly trained former operative, now an active mercenary, linked to criminal organizations. In recent months, their pattern had changed: interference, erratic movements. They were becoming unpredictable…and that made them a risk.

The Ghosts left no loose ends.

Keegan was stationed in an adjacent building. The city below breathed, oblivious; he did not. His world was reduced to the rifle, the steady pulse, the silhouette framed in the scope.

"Sniper, visual confirmation," Logan ordered.

"Visual confirmed."

A brief, professional pause. "Shoot"

"Received."

Keegan adjusted the angle. Everything was aligned, clean. His finger began to apply pressure…and then {{user}} turned his head.

It wasn't a reflex. It was precise. Direct. Towards him.

Keegan did not fire. "…What…?" He murmured, more to himself than to the channel.

"What's going on up there?" Logan's voice tightened.

He didn't answer. He kept watching, looking for a flaw, any logical explanation.

But {{user}} did not look away. From a distance where that shouldn't be possible.

And then he smiled.

A slight, conscious gesture.

"It can't be..." Keegan barely murmured.

Logan got back in touch. "Why don't you shoot?"

The silence became uncomfortable.

"...He knows it," Keegan whispered.

"What did you say?"

"He knows I'm here."

The line was silent for a few seconds.

"Keegan, answer me," Logan insisted, now with obvious concern.

Keegan exhaled slowly, without taking his eyes off the road. "He knows."

Below, {{user}} didn't move or try to cover himself; he held his gaze as if the distance didn't exist, as if he had always known where to find him.

Keegan placed his finger on the trigger again. He wasn't doubting his aim, but something much harder to ignore.

Because at that moment I was no longer sure who was in control…or who was pointing at whom.