The Phantom Pursuit

ASSASSIN

The desert night was still, the only sound being the faint hum of wind moving through the cracked earth and the occasional creak of an old neon sign struggling to stay lit. Jack Hiller pulled into the gas station, his hands tight on the steering wheel as he slowed the car to a stop. The station was a relic from another time, a place that had been forgotten by the world. It operated on outdated systems, almost entirely devoid of modern technology. That was exactly why Jack had chosen it. Here, he could slip into the shadows, unseen by the ever-watching eyes of the digital age.

The Chevrolet came to a halt near the rusted pumps. Jack killed the engine and sat for a moment, his eyes scanning the empty lot. The place looked abandoned, and the only light came from the dim glow of the flickering sign above the garage. The air was thick with dust, and the night hung heavy around him. It was just how Jack liked it—quiet, remote, and off the grid.

He climbed out of the car, the door creaking as he shut it behind him. The smell of gasoline and dry earth filled his nostrils as he walked toward the small convenience store attached to the station. His footsteps echoed in the stillness, and for a moment, Jack felt entirely alone in the world. He reached for the door and pulled it open, the bell above it jingling softly. Inside, the store was dimly lit, the shelves sparsely stocked with basic necessities—energy drinks, protein bars, and bottled water. Jack quickly gathered what he needed, grabbing supplies for the road ahead. He wanted to be in and out as fast as possible.

As he approached the counter, something caught his attention. A shadow shifted outside, just on the edge of the parking lot. Jack's instincts flared. He knew he wasn't alone. His hand instinctively tightened around the pack of supplies he was holding. He quickly paid the elderly cashier behind the counter, offering a curt nod before stepping back outside into the night.

The figure was closer now. Jack couldn't see much in the poor light, but the man's silhouette was tall and imposing, his movements deliberate. The air grew colder as Jack walked toward his car, every muscle in his body on edge. As he reached for the handle, a voice called out to him from the shadows.

"Jack Hiller," the voice was deep, gravelly, and unmistakable.

Jack's heart skipped a beat as he turned to face the man. He recognized him instantly. Standing before him was someone Jack had hoped never to encounter again—Snake Head, a notorious figure in the underworld. Once an assassin, Snake Head had a reputation for being ruthless, efficient, and entirely without mercy. But tonight, his attire suggested something different. He was dressed in plain clothes, nothing flashy or threatening, yet the aura of danger hung around him like a storm cloud.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, thickening the air around them. Jack's mind raced. He had no idea why Snake Head was here, but it couldn't be good. He hadn't seen him in years, not since the days when Jack's brother had been involved with Mayor Marry Bolton. Jack's grip tightened on his car keys, his other hand slipping into his pocket to grasp a small screwdriver. It wasn't much, but it was the only thing he had for defense.

Snake Head took a step closer, his eyes fixed on Jack. There was no smile, no greeting—just cold, calculated silence. Jack was the first to break it.

"I know who you are," Jack said, his voice low but steady, trying to mask the unease creeping up his spine.

Snake Head didn't flinch. "If you know me, then you should relax," he replied, his voice calm, almost casual. "None of us are in trouble, excluding the matter of HBQ, of course."

Jack's heart rate quickened at the mention of HBQ Intelligence. He had been on their radar for months, ever since the hacking job that had gone south. It was why he was out here, hiding in the shadows, moving from place to place without leaving a trace. And now Snake Head, of all people, had found him.