Jay's golden eye flickered beneath the hood as he watched from the alley's edge. Rain slicked the pavement, washing away the blood from his last kill but never the stain from his soul.
Across the street, Name Four: Captain Evelyn Cross, laughed inside a crowded bar the woman who signed orders to silence witnesses, who smiled while families like his were broken.
She didn't see him coming.
Jay stepped into the yellow light, a ghost in black, cold and unyielding.
His mind was a storm fury and madness braided tight every memory a razor sharpened on betrayal.
He crossed the street.
Inside, the bar pulsed with life: music, chatter, the clinking of glasses. Evelyn's laughter cut through it like a knife.
Jay moved like a shadow, silent and swift. The bartender glanced up then away. The regulars didn't notice the predator weaving through their midst.
Evelyn spotted him last, eyes narrowing.
Before she could scream, Jay's hands clamped over her mouth, silencing the life from her lungs.
She struggled weak, fragile nothing compared to the storm inside him.
He dragged her outside, into the cold rain.
In the alley, Jay's breath came heavy, mist swirling like ghosts around him.
His right eye flared.
Lina's voice echoed, cold and sweet.
"Make it unforgettable."
Jay nodded.
He pulled a length of barbed wire from his coat stained, familiar and wrapped it tight around Evelyn's wrists.
She gasped, eyes wild, pleading.
He didn't care.
Jay pressed the wire into her skin, tearing, biting — weaving a cage of pain, a reminder of what she had done.
The rain mixed with blood.
He whispered, voice low and broken, "This is for my family. For every scream you silenced."
Slowly, mercilessly, Jay carved the words into her flesh, LIAR. KILLER. TRAITOR.
Evelyn screamed, but Jay was already gone a shadow swallowed by the night.
Far away, watching from the darkness, Nina's eyes burned with purpose.
She whispered, "You're running out of time, Jay."