Shepherd felt the weight of the mission more than he had before. Every time he thought about it—the assignment, the bomb, the location—his heart raced, his mind shifting back and forth between duty and personal vendetta. The Syndicate had been keeping tabs on him for months now, watching his every move, judging his progress, and giving him missions that tested his limits. This time, it was different.
He had completed five missions already—each one more dangerous, each one earning him more credits. The last mission, retrieving a rare chemical from an underground lab, had pushed him to the brink and earned him the highest credit he'd ever received. That meant one thing: the Syndicate's trust. And with that trust came bigger tasks, more dangerous missions.
But today, Shepherd knew that things were about to change. Everything had changed.
---
He sat in the briefing room, the same cold, sterile walls surrounding him. The masked figure who had been overseeing his assignments stood before him, eyes unreadable.
"The sixth mission," the figure said, his voice like stone. "This will be your most important one yet."
Shepherd nodded, his heart racing. He had earned this. He had survived every task, every test the Syndicate had thrown at him.
"Your target," the figure continued, "is a hospital. A medical facility that has been creating duplicates of our products. We cannot afford this kind of disruption. The facility must be neutralized."
Shepherd's eyes narrowed. A hospital? It didn't sit right. But he kept his thoughts in check.
"You will plant this device." The figure handed him a small, sleek bomb—the kind of device that would detonate upon command.
---
"Plant the bomb on the third floor, room 350," the figure added. "That's where the lab is located. Once the device is in place, detonate it at the designated time. The building will be cleared. No one will be inside except for the key scientists."
Shepherd glanced at the bomb in his hands, a cold feeling creeping down his spine. He could do this. He had to do this.
"Understood," Shepherd replied, clenching his fist around the device.
—--
The journey to the hospital was quick, but with each passing minute, Shepherd felt the tension building. His mind kept returning to the missions, the debt he was working off. He had paid half of it already, but the burden had never truly lifted. He was still tied to the Syndicate until he repaid the rest. Still bound by a contract he didn't fully understand.
As he approached the facility, he realized that he wasn't just walking into another job. This wasn't just another assignment. Something didn't feel right.
The hospital stood before him, clean, cold, and clinical. He approached the entrance, his heart thudding in his chest. The Syndicate's directions had been clear—plant the bomb and leave.
When he reached the elevator, the familiar sound of the elevator bell was followed by the quiet hum of the machinery moving. Room 350 was only a few floors away.
Shepherd's hand shook as he pressed the button for the third floor, heart pounding in his chest.
He stepped inside the elevator, but it wasn't the cold steel walls that made him sweat. It was the fact that he hadn't questioned the Syndicate's plan. Confirmed if the hospital was truly empty and the scientists were truly guilty of the crimes they accused them off.
The doors opened with a soft ding, and Shepherd stepped out. The third floor was quiet. The hallways were clear. Only a few doors remained open but they were all empty. The signs above the doors indicated labs, research centers, and patient rooms.
Room 350.
When he reached it, Shepherd found the door cracked open. It was too easy. He expected a locked door, a challenge, some kind of security measure. But this was too simple.
His hand hovered over the handle. He had done this before. He had planted devices in buildings just like this one. But this time, there was something unnerving about the quietness.
He pushed the door open.
Inside was a small, sterile room, the walls lined with research equipment. And there, lying on the bed, was a teenage girl in a hospital gown, hooked up to machines with eyes closed in unconsciousness.
Shepherd froze.
---
There were patients in the ward. An old couple and the teenage girl was Zoya.
The blood drained from his face. Zoya. His sister. She had been transferred here. To this facility. To the very building the Syndicate had ordered him to destroy.
His pulse raced as the reality of the situation crashed into him. Why would the Syndicate put his sister here? Why had they made her a part of this mission? He was supposed to plant a bomb here in an empty ward. But he knew why they were testing his loyalty.
---
Without thinking, Shepherd rushed to her side, kneeling beside her bed. His breath was shallow, his hands shaking. "Zoya!" he whispered, his voice breaking.
Her eyes fluttered open, confused. "Shepherd?"
His world collapsed in that moment. He stared at her, his heart racing. He had to stop this. He had to make them stop.
"No. No!" Shepherd cried, his voice breaking. "I—I can't do this. I can't plant it here. You can't be here!"
He turned to the bomb in his hands, but before he could do anything, a cold voice echoed in the room.
"You don't have a choice, Shepherd."
Shepherd's eyes darted toward the door, where the masked figure from his first mission stood. His presence was sudden, like a shadow that had always been lurking. The figure's gloved hand rested on a gun, aimed directly at Zoya's head.
"You're too weak to make a decision, aren't you?" the masked figure taunted. "You think you've come so far. That you've evolved. But in the end, you're still a puppet, a weak spineless bartender. ."
Shepherd's heart raced as he stepped back, the bomb in his hands feeling heavier than ever. The figure's words sliced through him, cutting deeper than any physical wound.
"You've had blood on your hands before, Shepherd. This isn't different. The old man is going to die anyway"
The figure stepped closer, his masked face impassive as he leveled the gun at Zoya.
"Make your choice," the figure hissed. "Plant the bomb, or your sister dies."
Shepherd's hands shook. He couldn't risk Zoya's life. His heart pounded in his chest. He knew what he had to do, but every fiber of his being screamed against it.
But what choice did he have?
With a defeated look, Shepherd slowly moved to the corner of the room and began planting the bomb.
"Don't do it Shepherd" Zoya cried
But Shepherd knew he had no other option.
The figure watched him intently, a cold smile hidden beneath the mask.
Shepherd clenched his jaw, refusing to meet the figure's eyes as he finished setting the timer. The bomb was ready. The timer read 10 minutes.
The figure stepped back, his voice dripping with mockery.
Good boy" the figure sneered. "Now you know what it feels like to have blood on your hands.Must be refreshing. I guess we are all alike Heroes and Villains."
"Welcome to the real world, Shepherd."
Before Shepherd could act, the figure effortlessly attached a zipline to the window and swung out of the room, disappearing into the night.
---
Shepherd's blood boiled with anger and helplessness, but he couldn't waste time. He had to act fast.
Without thinking, he lifted Zoya from the bed, cradling her in his arms. His heart pounded as he rushed toward the elevator. The countdown on the bomb was ticking, and every second felt like an eternity.
He hit the button for the ground floor, the elevator doors closing with a sharp metallic sound. Zoya's breathing was shallow, her body limp in his arms. The seconds crawled by.
The elevator stopped. Shepherd bolted out, sprinting through the quiet hallways. He could feel the bomb's presence, a constant reminder of the danger closing in.
As he reached the front doors, the explosion shook the entire building. The shockwave hit him like a wall, sending him stumbling forward. He barely kept his balance, but he held on tight to Zoya.
---
As he reached the safety of the street, the sounds of the blast echoing in the distance, Shepherd collapsed to his knees, his body trembling. The reality of what had just happened hit him hard. The Syndicate had ambushed him .
He now had innocent blood on his hands. And he wept silently.
---
The system's voice broke through his sorrowful tears.
"Mission successful. All debts cleared. Exceptional bonus: \$1 million."
But Shepherd didn't care about the money.
The masked figure—his true enemy—was more dangerous than he had realized.
The Syndicate was more dangerous than he'd ever imagined and they would stop at nothing to make sure the job was done.