The knife flashed down.
Harvey froze. He couldn't even scream. The assassin's blade gleamed inches from his chest when Viktor's hand shot out, snaring the man's wrist mid-strike. Bone cracked beneath the stranger's grip. The assassin grunted, eyes wide behind the black mask—then Viktor twisted hard.
The blade turned. In a single, brutal motion, Viktor drove the steel into the man's throat. A wet gurgle filled the air as blood sprayed across the hospital wall. The assassin collapsed, twitching, crimson spreading in a dark pool across the floor tiles.
Harvey's stomach churned. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. It was as if his body refused to move.
"On your feet, boy!" Viktor barked, his tone sharp and commanding. "This isn't over."
Before Harvey could react, glass exploded inward. Two more assassins swung through the shattered window, boots landing silently against the linoleum. One lunged straight for Harvey, twin knives flashing.
Harvey scrambled back, heart hammering. His hand closed around the only thing within reach—his IV pole. He ripped it free from the machine, wires snapping loose, and raised it clumsily like a spear.
Steel met steel with a harsh clang as the assassin slashed down. Sparks danced in the sterile hospital light. Harvey's arms trembled violently under the pressure, the pole vibrating with each strike. His knees buckled as the blade pressed closer, closer, until the cold kiss of steel grazed his skin.
"Don't freeze!" Viktor's voice roared across the chaos as he grappled with the second attacker. His movements were efficient, lethal—each strike aimed to kill. "If you freeze, you're already dead!"
But Harvey was frozen. His breath came in short gasps. His strength drained with each passing second. The assassin's masked face loomed closer, eyes burning with merciless intent.
The knife tilted. Blood trickled down Harvey's neck.
No. Not like this.
His chest heaved. Panic surged into rage. His trembling hand brushed against the lump in his pocket—the cracked silver watch. His father's. His family's last piece.
The world narrowed. He saw his father's smile. His mother's laughter. Their bodies in the wreck, lifeless and broken.
A sound ripped from Harvey's throat—not a word, but a roar.
He drove the IV pole upward with every ounce of strength left in his body. The tip rammed beneath the assassin's chin, tearing through flesh and cartilage. The masked man stiffened, blade falling from his grip as blood poured from his mouth. His body collapsed in a convulsing heap at Harvey's feet.
Harvey stood frozen, chest heaving, the pole still clutched in his shaking hands. His arms were splattered with blood—warm, sticky, real.
He had killed a man.
Viktor slammed his opponent against the wall, snapping the assassin's neck with a sharp crack. The man slumped, lifeless, onto the tiles.
For a moment, silence reigned. Only the steady drip of blood filled the room. The antiseptic smell of the hospital mixed with the metallic tang of iron.
Viktor turned, his eyes falling on Harvey. He didn't look surprised. If anything, there was something like approval glinting in his gaze. He stepped forward, crouching beside the corpse at Harvey's feet. With a grunt, he yanked the bloodied knife free and held it out, handle first.
"Get used to the weight," he said.
Harvey's hands shook as he took it. His reflection wavered in the crimson-stained steel. He tried to steady his breathing, but his chest refused to calm.
His voice cracked, raw and trembling. "I… I killed him."
Viktor's expression hardened. "He came here to kill you. Don't waste your grief on men like him."
Harvey's grip on the knife tightened. A storm of guilt and fury swirled in his chest, threatening to tear him apart.
But underneath it all… was something else. Something darker.
Resolve.
"Show me," Harvey whispered, his voice hoarse but steady. He raised his eyes, meeting Viktor's. "Show me how to finish this."
For the first time since Harvey had met him, Viktor smiled. Not kindly—his smile was sharp, dangerous, like a blade catching light.
"Good," he said. "Tomorrow your training begins."
He turned, stepping over the bodies without a second glance. At the doorway, he paused, his voice low but carrying an edge that sliced through Harvey's pounding heartbeat.
"And when it's done… the first name on your list dies by your hand."
The words hung in the blood-soaked silence, heavier than the knife in Harvey's grip.
Harvey glanced at the broken watch on the bedside table, then down at the dead man at his feet. His throat tightened, but his hands stopped trembling.
The first strike had been made.
And it would not be the last.