Jill's voice was steady but urgent.
"You can't just walk in there. It's a fortress. You'd be dead before you reached the front gate."
Barney's eyes burned with fierce determination.
"Then I won't go through the front gate."
A heavy sigh escaped Jill's synthetic breath.
"Barney, listen to me. You're emotional. You're not thinking clearly."
He chuckled dryly, bitter and hollow.
"Jill, I haven't thought clearly in years."
Silence stretched between them, thick and cold.
"You're going to get yourself killed," Jill warned.
Barney caught his own reflection in the rearview mirror — hollow eyes staring back, a man past the point of no return.
"Not if I kill him first," he muttered.
After a beat, Jill's tone softened, hesitant.
"Barney, I get it. You want revenge. You want justice. But charging in without a plan won't get you anything but a grave."
Barney's jaw tightened, the fire in his eyes flickering.
"We need more than rage. We need precision. We need allies — people who know the terrain, who can get you inside without raising every alarm."
Jill lowered her voice, almost confiding.
"But those people are hard to find. Especially now, with every assassin and mercenary hunting you."
Barney exhaled slowly, the weight of the truth settling in.
"So what's the move then?" he asked quietly.
"We wait. Gather intel. Find the right team. Strike only when the moment is perfect."
Barney nodded, swallowing the restless urge to leap into action.
"Alright," he said, voice low but steady. "Let's find those people."
—
They found a small, rundown motel on the outskirts of the city — a forgotten place with flickering neon and peeling paint, perfect for staying under the radar. Barney dragged himself inside, the weight of the night pressing hard against his body. Jill's voice was low and steady, a small comfort in the storm.
"This will do for now. Get some rest."
Barney sank onto the cracked mattress, exhaustion dragging his limbs down like anchors. The silence was thick, broken only by the hum of the old air conditioner and the faint tapping of rain against the window.
His breathing slowed, adrenaline bleeding out of his system.
But with the calm came the memories — flashes of the men he'd killed, their faces blurred but hauntingly clear in his mind.
And then something darker stirred deep inside him — a twisted satisfaction that made his skin crawl.
I ended them. I survived.
A sick smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he shoved it away, guilt crashing in like cold water.
Jill's voice pulled him back from the edge.
"You're safe here. But you need to face what you're feeling. The man you're becoming… it's not who you have to be."
Barney's eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling, shadows dancing in the dim light.
"I'm scared, Jill," he admitted quietly. "Not of dying… but of what I'm becoming."
The motel room held its breath — the quiet before the next storm.
As Barney rested, trying to let his body heal and his mind quiet, the city outside was far from peaceful.
—
Hundreds of miles away, in a grimy roadside diner on a rain-slicked highway, William Walker, known in the underworld as THE REAPER, slammed his fist onto the scarred tabletop, rattling the cheap coffee cups. The flickering holo-screen before him bathed his rugged face in a pale blue glow — the bounty: $500 million, dead only. His lips curled into a grim smile as he leaned closer.
"That's enough to retire for life," he growled, eyes sharp and filled with cold intent. Around him, the chatter of weary travelers faded into the background. For him, this was more than a job — it was a payday that could buy freedom, or more bloodshed.
—
Elsewhere, deep in a dense forest cloaked in shadows, Lucis Severus, alias SALARARIUS, sat in a cramped, cluttered safe house. The stale air was thick with the scent of oil and sweat. He methodically wiped his gleaming blade clean, the rhythmic scrape sharp against the silence. His eyes, icy and unblinking, were fixed on the same bounty update flashing silently on a cracked holo-pad.
"Dead only... no mistakes this time," he muttered under his breath, voice low and unforgiving. "Five hundred million for the kill." The numbers echoed in his mind like a dark promise — a final score to settle, a silent hunt he was born for.
—
In a dimly lit alley on the city's edge, the third mercenary crouched over a trembling man, pressed tight against the cold brick wall. No one knew the mercenary's name. No one had ever seen their face. They were only known as JOY —a specter of death.
"Please… don't kill me. I'll pay anything. Just let me go," the man gasped, voice cracking.
Joy's cold eyes flicked to the holo-screen strapped to his wrist — the glowing bounty: $500 million — dead only.
He smirked darkly. "This job could be my last. Half a billion for a corpse."
The man's desperation grew, tears streaming. "I've got a family... I'm not who you're after!"
"What? You're not listening to me, are you? This could be it for me. Half a billion for a body." He laughed softly, the sound distorted and eerie.
"Aren't you happy for me?" the merc said, the tone almost playful, but cold as ice.
The man swallowed hard, eyes wide with terror. "I do… I do. Well… should I let you live now? Now that I've got an amazing bounty?"
A slow, eerie chuckle escaped the merc's masked lips. Without warning, the gun lowered.
The man's body stiffened, hope flickering in his eyes. He spun on his heel and started to walk away.
Then—BANG.
The bullet slammed into the center of his forehead. His body crumpled instantly, hitting the wet pavement with a sick thud.
The mercenary laughed—a low, manic giggle, warped and skipping like a broken record. In a voice barely more than a rasp, dripping with icy menace and fractured insanity
Eyes fixed on the screen flickering on his wrist. The cold, distorted voice whispered,
"Next… gonna be you, Barney."