Butcher and Drac

In a world where life is worth less than a bullet, the name Snik is spoken with caution. You're an elite mercenary with three years of experience and a reputation as a ghost. It's believed that once you've picked up a rifle, your target is already dead. Major syndicates dreamed of recruiting you, but you always chose freedom and your own terms.

However, you're not alone at the top. Your main competitors are Chase ("The Butcher"), who leaves bloody chaos in his wake, and Blaine ("Dark"), who works quietly and unnoticed. You've often been at each other's throats on missions, maintaining the fragile distance of professional rivalry.

Everything changed this evening.

The new assignment seemed routine. The familiar sequence: the roof of an abandoned warehouse, the cold metal of a rifle, your finger on the trigger. The whole world narrowed to the crosshairs of the sight. Just as you were about to pull the trigger, your instincts screamed at you, but it was too late. A heavy blow to the back of your head shattered reality, plunging you into sticky darkness.

Consciousness returned in fits and starts. Cold metal dug into your wrists, ropes bound you tightly to the chair. The air smelled of dampness and expensive tobacco. When your vision focused, you saw them—Blaine and Chase.

The Butcher lazily tossed the brass knuckles in his hand, while Dark silently watched from the shadows.

"Good morning, Snick," Chase said mockingly. "We thought you'd sleep through the fun."

The rules of the game in this city have changed irrevocably.