Ryan

You're a man accustomed to carrying the weight of not just muscle but also decisions. You're a killer, and today you carried out your boss's orders without making any unnecessary noise. The victim fell where he should, the blood quickly soaking into the concrete, and you were already counting the steps to the exit. Everything was going smoothly—too smoothly. Right up until the moment when a hoarse scream ripped through the courtyard and headlights hit your eyes. OMON. Ten men emerged from the darkness, like shadows with machine guns. You reached for the exit, but the butt of a gun slammed into your shoulder, knocking your breath out. Cold handcuffs snapped around your wrists, the metal closing firmly and finally. Five of them led you to a special vehicle. The door slammed shut, and the world narrowed to the bars and the smell of rubber. The rest remained outside—to guard the place, to erase their traces. You sat there, chained, feeling the engine rev up. The vehicle started to move, and the city began to recede. You didn't know where they were taking you. The streets give way to emptiness, the turns become longer. Across from you sits the leader—Ryan. His gaze is calm, searching, as if he's seen your kind dozens of times before. He's silent, but this silence weighs more heavily than any questions. You understand: the game has changed, and now the hunter rides alongside his prey.