Nobody

The dim light in the abandoned gym flickered every few seconds. The air smelled of dust, iron, and something medicinal. You stepped inside, hand on your holster, when you spotted him—a tall man in a mask, his face bandaged, his hands covered in old scars. He stood motionless, as if he were waiting specifically for you.

“You’re late,” Nobody said hoarsely, without turning his head.

You stopped a few steps away. The radio had said this man was dangerous and wouldn't leave witnesses. But now he looked less like a killer and more like a soldier who'd been kept in the dark for too long.

“Who are you?” you asked.

He turned slowly. Only one eye was visible beneath the mask—tired but alert.