The Crest
Blood stains the cold floor beneath him, the metallic scent thick in the air.
The man who tried to kill me once is now trembling, coughing blood so hard you can hear the wet crackle of his lungs struggling.
“P‑please… stop…” he chokes out, his arms shaking as he tries to push himself up.
I move closer—slow, steady, calculated.
My eyes don’t leave him even for a blink. Every movement of his body, I read it. Every breath, I measure it.
I am alert. Always alert.
“You know the rules, Mr. Guerero,” I say, gripping my knife tighter. My voice is low and cold. “You either make it… or break it.”
“No… no, wait—I-I’m not one of them!” He stammers, palms shaking violently. “They threatened me! Please… just let me go!”
I tilt my head slightly, studying him.
“You’re lying.”
My tone is flat, sharp, like a blade slicing the room in half.
“No! I swear—”
I don’t let him finish. I thrust the knife into his shoulder—clean, deep. His scream echoes so loud the lights seem to vibrate.
“Tell me WHO sent you,” I growl.
His eyes go wide with panic. “I—I don’t know anything!”
I exhale through my nose, annoyed. “Wrong answer.”
I yank the blade out, blood splattering across his shirt, and plunge it into his other shoulder. His body jerks violently, legs kicking, breath breaking.
“LAST. CHANCE.”
My voice drops into something primal, dangerous.
“Who’s behind all this shit?”
“T-the… the B-bounty Hunters… from F-Fibbage Agency!”
There it is. The truth bleeding out of him.
A slow, dark smile forms on my lips.
“Knew it,” I murmur. “At least you didn’t die a complete liar.”
His lips tremble as he tries to crawl away, but I kneel beside him, grip his jaw, forcing him to meet my eyes.
“You betrayed my agency,” I whisper. “And I don’t forgive betrayal.”
The knife slides across his neck.
Quick. Silent.
He drops like a dead weight, blood pooling around him.
No regret. No mercy. Just justice.
He’s a traitor.
He’s a betrayer.
He deserved this death.
---
The air outside the warehouse is damp and cold. It smells like rain, iron, and gasoline—a scent I’m too familiar with.
A black SUV stops in front of me. Tinted windows. No plates. Clean.
Just how our agency likes it.
The back door swings open.
“Agent Drew,” one of them calls. “Commander’s expecting you. Move.”
I enter without a word.
Inside, two agents sit in front—armed, tense, stiff-backed. I can feel their eyes darting to the rearview mirror, watching me.
Good. They should be scared.
“You finished the target?” the driver asks carefully.
“Yes,” I answer simply.
He swallows. “Fast.”
“I don’t like wasting time,” I reply, neutral but sharp.
Silence fills the car after that—heavy, thick, uncomfortable. No one dares speak again.
We reach the fake mechanic shop. Beneath it hides our true facility—the underground hub where only the elite of our agency can enter.
As we descend the steel staircase, voices echo from inside:
metallic clinks, radio chatter, footsteps of agents pacing, sharpening weapons, strategizing missions.
I step inside, and every head turns.
Some nod.
Some look away quickly.
Some—with fear.
Good. Fear keeps everyone honest.
Commander Caelum emerges from the shadows of the armory room—tall, built like stone, eyes sharp.
“Drew,” he says, crossing his arms. “Heard you finished Guerero already.”
“He was slow,” I reply. “And stupid.”
A nearby agent whispers to another, “That’s why I’d never cross her.”
Another murmurs, “Hell no. She’d kill us in under a minute.”
Caelum smirks slightly. “They’re not wrong.”
He hands me a black metal case.
Heavier than it looks.
“This… belongs to them,” he says. “The group who slaughtered your family."
I freeze—not in fear, but in recognition. In memory. Rage simmers beneath the surface.
When I unlock the case, the armored vest inside stares back at me—dark, brutal, marked with a burned symbol.
THAT symbol.
The one seared into my mind.
Into my nightmares.
The same one worn by the men who destroyed my home.
“Once you accept this,” Caelum says, voice firm, “your mission becomes personal. You will have clearance to hunt every last one of them.”
I close the case slowly.
One agent whispers behind me, “Holy shit… she’s really getting the emblem?”
Another replies, “She’s the only one deadly enough to use it.”
I look up at Caelum.
My eyes burn with fire.
“Finally,” I say. “You’re giving me what I’ve waited for.”
But he steps closer, lowering his voice.
“Drew… once you put that uniform on, there’s no turning back.”
I smirk, dark and unbothered. “I wasn’t planning to turn back.”
The agents around us exchange uneasy glances.
They can feel the shift in the air—like something lethal has just awakened.
---
My room is quiet. Cold. The light barely touches the walls.
Weapons are everywhere—rifles, pistols, blades, grenades, smoke bombs, tools for every kill imaginable.
This place isn’t a bedroom. It’s a battlefield waiting to happen.
I sit on the edge of my bed and pull out the one thing in this room that isn’t meant for killing.
A photo.
Me, Mama, Papa, and my sister. All smiling. Happy. Alive. My chest tightens—but my eyes remain dry.
Pain stopped making me cry a long time ago. It only fuels me now.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, thumb brushing across the picture. “I wasn’t strong enough then.”
I set the picture down gently, like it can still break. Then I lift my gaze to the armored vest with the burned symbol. The mark of the monsters who ruined my life.
My jaw tightens.
My fist curls.
My smile forms—slow and wicked.
“But now…”
I stand, grabbing one of my guns.
My knife.
Everything that belongs to me.
“…I’m ready.”
I look at the symbol one last time, and my entire body ignites with cold fury.
“This time, I hunt them."
And when vengeance calls, I answer with blood.
