"Who are you? God?" My voice cut through the night, a strange mix of sarcasm and fear. I couldn't help but chuckle, the absurdity of my situation bubbling up despite the terror gripping my chest like icy chains. Before me stood the embodiment of menace, his shadow stretching ominously across the road, his weapon gleaming faintly under the faint moonlight. Yet somehow, my mind wandered to the woman and the child—their mysterious presence and sudden disappearance.
Where had they gone? Were they angels sent to warn me of impending doom? Or perhaps ghosts who had come to usher me into hell's gates? These thoughts swirled in my mind like a tempest, their strangeness fueling my fear, yet distracting me from the grim reality at hand. My inner voice screamed at me to stop entertaining such nonsensical ideas, its urgency clawing its way through the fog of my thoughts.
*Focus,* I commanded myself inwardly, chastising my wandering mind. A villain stood before me, poised to strike me down, yet here I was pondering unanswerable questions about fleeting apparitions.
As if sensing my mental turmoil, he lunged forward, his movements a blur of aggression and precision. I barely had time to react, my instincts taking control as I evaded his vicious attacks. Each blow he delivered was calculated and relentless, his intentions clear and unwavering. My heart pounded violently against my ribcage as adrenaline coursed through my veins, fueling my desperate attempts to avoid his strikes.
The clash of his weapon against the pavement and the whoosh of air as I narrowly escaped each attack became a deafening symphony of survival. I moved with every ounce of speed and agility I could muster, retreating as much as I dared, knowing that every step backward brought me closer to a dead end—figuratively and literally. Yet finally, he slowed, his breath coming in short gasps. His pause was brief, but it was enough for me to seize the opportunity.
"Man, look—what do you gain by killing me?" My voice emerged shaky and broken, a desperate plea laced with the faint hope of reasoning with him.
His piercing gaze met mine, his answer sharp and deliberate. "You know your family, right?"
In that instant, realization dawned on me like a slap to the face. Of course—it had to be them. My family, the very people I had severed ties with years ago, had found me at last. The weight of betrayal settled heavily in my chest as the truth became clear. "Shit," I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible above the racing thoughts in my mind.
"Well," he continued with chilling composure, "they want you very dead. Or you can hand over the scroll."
The scroll. The word hung in the air like an echo, its significance shrouded in mystery yet undeniably tied to my fate. My mind raced to unravel the implications, but panic threatened to overpower my thoughts. Somehow, amidst the chaos within me, I found a thread of strategy to cling to.
"How much did they offer you?" My voice trembled, but my question carried intent—a desperate attempt to turn the tide of the situation.
He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity flashing across his face. "One and a half million United States dollars," he replied, his tone cold and matter-of-fact.
A laugh erupted from me, uncontrollable and manic. The absurdity of it all overwhelmed me, spilling out as hysterical laughter that echoed into the still night. Tears streamed down my face as I knelt on the pavement, clutching my ribs as my laughter turned painful. My unexpected reaction visibly caught him off guard, his expression darkening with anger.
"Stop mocking me!" he growled, his grip tightening on his weapon as he prepared to strike.
"Just listen!" I shouted, interrupting his fury as I scrambled to my feet. "Do you really think I'm worth that?" My words hung in the air, challenging him, probing at the cracks in his conviction.
He hesitated, his silence speaking volumes. I pressed on, sensing the shift in power. "How much do *you* think I'm worth?" My tone steadied, confidence seeping into my words as I pushed the boundaries of his resolve.
His eyes narrowed as he contemplated my question, the gears in his mind turning with deliberation. Slowly, he shook his head, a subtle admission that he had never truly considered the value of his prey. The tables were turning, and I was determined to keep pushing.
"Why would you kill for so little?" I pressed, my voice softer yet unwavering. "Your skills... your value deserves more."
His hardened exterior seemed to soften slightly, his expression betraying a flicker of vulnerability. "Because I have a family to feed," he admitted, his voice tinged with bitterness. "And it's in my nature to kill."
The honesty in his words caught me by surprise, revealing the humanity buried beneath the ruthless facade. It was a crack in his armor, and I intended to exploit it.
"Do you still want to kill me?" The question escaped my lips before I could stop it, driven by an impulse I couldn't explain.
"Yes," he replied without hesitation, yet his voice lacked the venom it had carried before.
I laughed again, this time with renewed confidence. "If you could have killed me, you would have already," I stated boldly, watching as his composure faltered further.
And then, I made my move. "Tomorrow, 2 p.m., come to my house. You know where it is, don't you?" His silence confirmed my suspicion. "The offer is 20 million per year. Work for me, not against me."
His face lit up with a mix of surprise and hope, the darkness in his eyes replaced by a glimmer of light. "I won't disappoint you," he declared, kneeling before me in a gesture of gratitude and allegiance.
"No need," I said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's your name?"
"They call me the Blackhitman. But my name... it's Tamandani Bongo."
Victory surged through me like a tidal wave, the danger that had loomed so ominously now dissipating into the night. Tamandani departed in his Mustang, leaving me to confront the unknowns that awaited me at home.
As I approached my house, unease prickled at my senses. The door bore subtle signs of tampering, and the air carried an unshakable tension. My instincts screamed danger, urging me to tread carefully.
With measured care, I twisted the handle, the door creaking open with agonizing slowness. Shadows danced across the walls as I stepped inside, every muscle in my body taut with anticipation. The air was thick and heavy, laden with the unmistakable presence of someone—or something—waiting in the darkness.