The streets of New Marseille were never kind. The rain that fell wasn't clean, but thick, like the sky itself had given up on the world below. Alina Vesper stood on the corner of Fourth and Main, watching the water collect in dark puddles at her feet. She felt the coldness seep through her boots, but she didn't move. The stench of the city — gasoline, rot, and despair — had long since become part of her.
The world around her felt as empty as the alleyways that twisted between the buildings. The only thing real here was the hunger in her stomach and the knife in her hand.
She was only twenty, but in the world she lived in, she had learned to survive. No family, no home, just the concrete and the shadows. Her mother's ghost still haunted her from the cheap apartment they once shared. A needle, a cough, and then nothing. That was the way of things in New Marseille. People disappeared, like ghosts, and nobody asked questions.
"Alina," a voice called out from behind her.
She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Nix Reyes, the man who had taught her the ropes of the street life, the man who saw something in her that no one else did. She didn't know whether to be grateful or resentful. In this world, those two emotions were usually the same thing.
"Yeah?" she asked without looking up, her voice flat.
"You're late," Nix said, stepping into her line of sight. His leather jacket gleamed in the dim streetlight, and his dark eyes scanned her face. "You kill him yet?"
Alina didn't respond right away. Instead, she wiped the rain from her brow, her fingers numb from the cold. She could feel the weight of the pistol tucked into the waistband of her jeans, its presence comforting and terrifying at the same time.
"No," she said, her voice a whisper, almost lost to the noise of the storm. "Not yet."
Nix let out a low chuckle. "You know, Alina, this isn't a game. You can't just hesitate. The guy's a liability. He's been stealing from us for months. If you don't do it now, someone else will. And you'll be the one who has to answer for it."
She didn't like how easy it was for him to say those words. He wasn't wrong, but that didn't make it any easier. Killing wasn't something you got used to. Not really. It changed you, whether you wanted it to or not.
"Do you think I don't know that?" Alina snapped, finally turning to face him. Her eyes locked onto his, cold and unwavering. "I know what I have to do."
Nix's gaze softened, but only for a moment. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small black envelope. He handed it to her, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. "Then do it. You know where he is."
She nodded. No more words were needed. Nix understood. They had done this dance before.
Alina tucked the envelope into her pocket and turned away, heading toward the warehouse district. Her mind was already shifting into focus, pushing aside the thoughts of what she was about to do. She didn't allow herself to think too much. Thinking meant feeling, and feeling was a luxury she couldn't afford.
The rain was coming down harder now, a relentless downpour that drenched her to the bone. The wetness didn't bother her anymore. What bothered her was what she was about to become.
The warehouse district was quiet tonight. Too quiet. The sound of Alina's footsteps echoed off the walls of the rusting metal structures, the only sign of life in the area. She was used to this silence, the kind that felt like a waiting game. The kind of silence that made you second-guess every step.
She reached the corner of the street and paused, scanning the area. The building in front of her was old, decrepit, with a faded sign hanging loosely from the rusted frame. Inside was a mess of old crates, broken furniture, and the smell of mildew.
And there, in the far corner, stood her target: Terry Vonn, a low-level thug who had gotten too greedy. He thought he could play both sides — the Reyes crew and a rival gang. It didn't take long for Nix to catch wind of his betrayal. It was time for him to pay the price.
Alina felt the cool metal of her gun against her skin as she approached the entrance. Her breath was steady, her mind clear. This was just another job. Just another person to eliminate.
She slipped through the door, the hinges creaking softly. Terry was sitting at a table in the center of the room, a bottle of cheap liquor in front of him. His back was turned, and he hadn't noticed her yet.
Alina didn't waste any time. She stepped into the room, her presence announced by the soft scrape of her boots against the floor.
"Who's there?" Terry's voice was slurred. He turned around, his bleary eyes struggling to focus. When they did, they widened in recognition.
"Alina?" he gasped, his face going pale. "What the hell—"
"Shut up," Alina said coldly, her voice steady. She reached for the gun at her waist.
Terry's hand shot out toward the table, but Alina was faster. She raised the gun and fired, a single shot ringing out in the silence. The bullet hit him in the chest, and he crumpled to the ground, the bottle of liquor shattering beside him.
For a moment, Alina just stood there, watching him bleed out. She didn't feel anything. Not relief. Not satisfaction. Just an empty kind of stillness.
When it was over, she turned on her heel and left the warehouse, the echo of her footsteps following her as she walked back into the night.