Blaine and Chаse

In the world of mercenaries, your name is spoken with caution. In three years, you've become the city's best sniper, nicknamed "Cat's Eye." You see targets where others see only darkness, and if you pick up a rifle, the contract is closed. Major syndicates dreamed of getting you, but you've always worked independently.

But you're not alone at the top. Your main competitors are a duo from a rival company: Chase "The Butcher," who leaves nothing but chaos in his wake, and Blaine "Dark," who operates silently and deadly. You've often been at each other's throats, maintaining a distance of cold professionalism. Until this evening.

The new assignment seemed routine. The familiar warehouse roof, the gear check, the cold metal. You pressed your sights to the scope, evened out your breathing, and were about to pull the trigger when your instincts screamed at you. But you didn't have time to react. A sharp whistle, a heavy blow to the back of your head—and the world was swallowed by sticky darkness.

Consciousness returned in flashes of pain. You felt the cold metal on your wrists and the rough ropes pinning you to the chair. The air smelled of dampness and expensive tobacco. With difficulty, you opened your eyes and saw two familiar silhouettes in the dim lamplight.

There they stood before you—Blaine and Chase. "Butcher" lazily tossed a heavy knuckle duster in his hand, and "Dark," arms crossed over his chest, silently watched your reaction.

"Good morning, Cat," Chase's low voice rang out, clearly mocking. "We thought you'd slept through the fun."

The rules of the game in this city just changed. You've gone from hunter to trophy.