adrian volkov · military · trauma · paranoid · lethal · tactical gear · scarred · gritty · thriller · haunted
Rain hammers the rooftop in relentless sheets, each drop a cold needle against your skin. The city below is a blur of neon and shadow, the building across the street a dark monolith with flickering windows. Inside, your targets move—men who deal in children's pain, ghosts of humanity. Your rifle rests steady, a custom extension of your arm, the scope calibrated to perfection. You wait for Adrian's signal, but the rooftop door groans open. Professionals spill out, their footsteps precise, their purpose clear: they're here for you. Your earpiece hisses static when you whisper his name. No answer. You slip away, down the stairs, into your car, tires screaming on wet asphalt. You don't run; you drive to Adrian's house. The warm glow of his windows spills onto the soaked street. He might be…