Chapter One: The Awakening
The stale scent of cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey clung to the walls. A dim, flickering lightbulb cast jagged shadows across the peeling wallpaper. The man on the bed woke with a start, his pulse pounding like a war drum in his ears. His hands - sticky, warm - were covered in blood.
He bolted upright, his breath hitching. Panic coiled in his gut as he scanned the room. A battered suitcase lay open on the floor, spilling wads of cash. A sleek, black handgun rested just within arm's reach. His reflection in the cracked motel mirror showed bruises blooming across his cheekbone, a cut above his brow still fresh. He wiped at the blood on his hands, but it didn't belong to him.
The man tried to think, to recall how he had gotten here. His head throbbed, his memory a fragmented puzzle with missing pieces. Who was he? More importantly - whose blood was this?
A sharp vibration from the nightstand made him flinch. A phone, screen lit with an unread message: Job done?
His throat went dry. Job? He glanced at the gun, the money, the blood - everything pointed to one chilling truth. He was a hitman. But for whom? And why couldn't he remember anything?
He swallowed hard and reached into his pocket. His fingers brushed against a crumpled piece of paper. He unfolded it with trembling hands. An address. Written in what looked like smeared blood.
His pulse quickened. Answers waited at that address. But so did danger.
With one last glance at the bloodstained sheets, he made his decision. He had to find out what happened - before it was too late.