"Don’t kill me... I don’t wanna die... Please let me live..."

  My eyes shot open.

  The dim, flickering light above barely cut through the darkness. Cold sweat clung to my skin. My breath came in short, ragged gasps.

  A dream.

  No—a nightmare.

  The screams still rang in my ears, raw and desperate, echoing like ghosts in the back of my mind. The weight of choices. The moral dilemma. The hunt for Marcus Farhide.

  Who is he?

  Why do I have to kill him?

  Will I even be able to do it?

  My fingers curled into the thin sheets. There had to be a way out of this. Maybe Desire was right. Maybe I really was special. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hurt anyone.

  A sudden bang on the metal door jolted me upright.

  "Hey, Mari! You awake?"

  Zara’s voice cut through the haze, full of her usual reckless energy.

  The room felt smaller, the shadows clinging to the corners, reluctant to let go of the nightmare.

  I swallowed hard and forced myself to move. My legs felt stiff as I shuffled toward the door, pressing my palm against the cold surface before finally opening it.

  Zara’s grin faded the second she saw me.

  "Shit, kid. You’re pale as a motherfucker. Had a nightmare?"

  My bracelet caught her eye.

  Her expression shifted—understanding, maybe even sympathy.

  "Oh... First job."

  She nodded like she knew exactly what I was feeling. Like she had stood in this same spot, just as afraid.

  "I get it, kid. Had the exact same face during my first time."

  She didn’t give me a chance to respond before clapping her hands together.

  "Alright. No time to mope around. We got a job to complete!"

  Zara sprang to her feet, extending a hand toward me.

  I hesitated, then reached for it. Her grip was strong, steady—like she was trying to pass me some of her energy.

  "But first!" She grinned, eyeing me from head to toe. "We need to go shopping."

  I blinked. "Shopping?"

  "Hell yeah. Your outfit might be cute, but it’s all messy and bloody. That ain’t gonna protect you from anything."

  I glanced down at myself—stained fabric, torn edges, dried blood.

  Embarrassment crept up my neck.

  I looked back at Zara.

  She was already marching forward, grinning.

  I followed.

  For the first time since waking up, I smiled.

  The air changed the moment we stepped outside.

  The dim, lifeless corridors gave way to something else.

  Vibrant neon lights. The hum of machinery. The restless murmur of the city.

  People moved with purpose—some fast, others slow, some with weapons strapped to their backs, others in tattered clothing, scanning the streets like prey waiting to be picked off.

  The nightmare still clung to the edges of my mind, but with every step, it faded just a little more.

  A fresh start.

  Zara led the way, her energy undeterred by the world’s cruelty.

  I envied that about her.

  This wasn’t just about getting new clothes. It was about reshaping myself. A small act of rebellion against the system forcing me into something I didn’t want to be.

  The first store loomed ahead, its bright LED sign flickering in and out. Zara pushed the door open with zero hesitation.

  She barely made it five steps inside before grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward the racks.

  "Here, Mari! Look! They’re pretty cute, right?"

  I glanced over.

  Combat gear.

  Full armor. Reinforced plating. Tactical vests lined with ammo slots.

  My fingers twitched.

  The nightmare wasn’t gone.

  It was just waiting for me to wake up again.

  "Don’t worry about the price! The cool big sister Zara's got you!"

  She bolted toward the counter, waving a piece of gear like a kid on a shopping spree.

  "Cashier boy! I want this!"

  Despite her weird interests, I couldn’t help but smile. Spending time with her like this made me forget. Even if it was just for a second.

  The initial embarrassment faded.

  Instead, there was… something else.

  Camaraderie.

  A sense of shared purpose.

  We moved from store to store, the city’s pulse wrapping around us.

  The vibrant lights. The hum of voices. The endless racks of clothing, armor, and weapons.

  For a fleeting moment, it felt familiar.

  I missed this. I missed going to the mall with Mom and Dad. The fitting rooms, the quiet excitement of picking out new clothes, the simple joy of trying something new.

  But this wasn’t the same.

  Each piece of clothing I tried on was a decision. A step toward something I didn’t want to be.

  Yet, somehow, it felt like a small rebellion.

  Like I was claiming something for myself in a world that wanted to take everything away.

  "Alright, kid. We got the new clothes, full set of light armor. All we need now is a knife or something to complete the look."

  Zara’s voice yanked me back to reality.

  Reality.

  The jobs.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Marcus Farhide.

  His name crashed back into my thoughts like a stone sinking into dark water.

  And with it came the screams.

  The knife was placed in my hands.

  Small. Light. The blade glinted under the artificial store lights.

  It barely weighed anything, but it felt heavy.

  This might be the weapon I wield to “hunt” Marcus Farhide.

  The word sat like acid on my tongue.

  Then—my bracelet flickered to life.

  The screen pulsed with cold, glowing text.

  TARGET: MARCUS FARHIDE

  WITHIN 5 MILES

  BOTH LOCATIONS WILL BE REVEALED IN 10 SECONDS

  HUNT HIM DOWN

  The words burned into my vision.

  Five miles.

  He was close.

  My breath hitched. My pulse pounded.

  Was he moving? Did he know?

  Was he hunting me too?

  The timer ticked down.

  I wanted to scream.

  My fingers tightened around the knife.

  The cold metal pressed against my skin—a bitter reminder.

  Of what I was about to become.

  Of the fine line between predator and prey.

  And how, in the end—

  I might not have a choice.

  Navigating the bustling streets, every passerby became a potential threat.

  Every alley—a potential ambush.

  Anxiety gripped my chest like a vice.

  The knife in my hands felt heavier with every step, a constant, inescapable reminder of the job I was forced to complete.

  I shouldn’t be doing this.

  I don’t want to do this.

  Zara walked beside me, her usual grin replaced by something quieter.

  Sympathy.

  "It’ll be okay," she whispered.

  We both knew that was a lie.

  There was no turning back.

  I watched in silence as the clock on my bracelet counted down.

  3… 2… 1…

  LOCATION REVEALED.

  MAY THE HUNT BEGIN.

  The words etched themselves into my vision, burning behind my eyes.

  A map flickered to life on my bracelet—two points.

  One was me.

  The other…

  Him.

  The distant hum of the city seemed to separate itself into pieces—cars, voices, footsteps. But one sound stood out.

  Engines.

  The steady, rhythmic roar of an approaching convoy.

  Zara and I ducked into the shadows, watching as a line of patrol cars followed a sleek, black limousine.

  A high-profile target.

  The limo glided to a stop. My pulse pounded in my ears.

  The door opened.

  A man stepped out.

  Expensive suit. Bright jewelry. Confidence in every movement.

  I pointed my bracelet at him.

  TARGET CONFIRMED.

  MARCUS FARHIDE.

  A shiver crawled down my spine.

  This was it.

  The man I was assigned to kill.

  He didn’t look scared. Did he even know he was being hunted?

  The world around me felt narrow, suffocating. The buildings, the neon lights, the distant chatter—it all faded into static.

  Marcus Farhide strode toward a towering building, the shadows swallowing him as he reached the entrance.

  The dreams.

  The screams.

  The nightmare.

  All of it led to this moment.

  Then—he stopped.

  His gaze snapped to mine.

  A smirk.

  His eyes gleamed with amusement.

  Then, he laughed.

  "Is this the hunter they sent me?"

  His voice dripped with mockery.

  "Pffff HAHAHAHA! It’s just a brat."

  The laughter ripped through me, sharp and taunting.

  Like this was all just a joke.

  Like I wasn’t even worth fearing.

  My fingers tightened around the knife.

  My pulse thundered.

  The weight of the task pressed down on me.

  This was no longer a distant nightmare.

  This was real.

  I was here.

  And so was he.

  Zara, ever the steady presence, leaned in and whispered, "Remember, Mari, he's just a target. Focus on the job. Just remember your training."

  I didn’t have any training.

  Marcus Farhide moved.

  Fast.

  His hand shot toward his pocket.

  Instinct took over. I stepped forward, knife trembling in my grip—fear and determination clashing in my veins.

  The air thickened.

  Doors slammed open.

  Muscular men and machines spilled from the patrol cars, weapons drawn, ready.

  Marcus pulled something from his pocket. A pill.

  He popped it into his mouth.

  Then—he collapsed.

  Shaking.

  His body twitched, convulsed. His veins bulged beneath his skin, spreading like cracks in glass. His breath came out in ragged gasps.

  His eyes snapped open—bloodshot, glowing, unnatural.

  NEW RISK LEVEL DETECTED.

  REWARD UPDATED.

  MRE (6 BAGS)

  VISTA HOTEL (2 NIGHTS)

  MAY LUCK BE ON YOUR SIDE.

  I flicked a glance at Zara.

  She flicked one back.

  No words.

  Just understanding.

  This had just gone from bad to worse.

  Marcus writhed on the ground, his smirk never fading.

  "You think this is the end, little hunter?"

  His voice was different. Rougher. Sharper.

  "This is just the beginning."

  The air crackled.

  Then—an explosion of force.

  Marcus unleashed a shockwave, sending enforcers flying like ragdolls.

  The world tilted. People screamed. Metal groaned under the pressure.

  I should have moved. Should have fought.

  But fear took control.

  I ran.

  "HEY, KID! WHERE YOU GOING?!"

  Zara’s voice chased after me.

  I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

  Then—Desire moved.

  A metallic blur.

  "Oh no, that won’t do. Desertion is not good, Mari! SYSTEM OVERRIDE INITIATED."

  Something latched onto my neck.

  Tight. Unforgiving.

  A collar.

  "BATTLE HELMET. TRAUMA PROTOCOL ACTIVATED."

  My vision warped.

  Desire shifted, his form folding, twisting, changing—a machine in constant motion.

  Then—darkness.

  A screen flashed across my eyes.

  RED.

  "SUGAR LAND PRESET."

  The world shifted.

  Bright colors.

  Candy-striped roads. Cotton candy clouds.

  The twisted alleyways melted away, replaced by a landscape of pastel pinks and swirling blues.

  The looming threat of Marcus Farhide was gone.

  All that remained was a giant donut.

  Whimsical candy creatures pranced around it, their laughter light and musical.

  The sweets charged toward me, their tiny, colorful bodies bouncing with excitement.

  A desire—deep, irresistible—took hold of me.

  I wanted to play.

  I needed to play.

  The despair, the fear, the weight of everything—it all faded.

  With pure joy, I sprinted toward one of the sweets, arms outstretched, eager for an embrace.

  The moment I touched it, its body crumbled into tiny pieces.

  Laughter filled the air.

  Not cruel. Not mocking.

  Just cheerful. Happy. Encouraging.

  The other sweets followed suit, breaking apart with every touch, their voices singing in harmony.

  Joy.

  I had never felt happier.

  "Come and eat me! Play with me!"

  The giant donut bounded toward me, giggling with delight.

  It smelled so sweet. So warm.

  My mouth watered.

  I dashed forward, reaching for it, desperate for a taste.

  I opened my mouth—took a bite.

  But it was… chewy. Resistant.

  "JAW DEPLOYED."

  Desire’s voice echoed in my mind.

  A mechanical click.

  Then—power.

  My jaw locked. Tightened. Activated.

  Biting into the donut became effortless.

  A rush of strawberry filling flooded my mouth.

  Sweet. Warm. Crunchy.

  I chewed.

  It was perfect.

  It was delicious.

  And I wanted more.