Hi my name is June.
I was hired to do a job by a man who wears medals on his chest and power in his voice, a high-profile army general. The kind of man the country calls a hero. The kind of man who never gets his hands dirty, but always knows where the blood will fall.
He didn't call it an assassination.
He called it a necessary correction.
I was given a name.
A location.
Time.
And nothing else.
That's how these men work. They want results, not questions.
The job was clean. Quiet. Precise. I did exactly what I was paid to do. I vanished before anyone knew I was there. No witnesses. No mistakes.
I waited for my payment.
It never came.
Instead of money, I received soldiers.
Not criminals.
Not mercenaries.
Uniformed men. Armed. Organised.
They came for me like I was an enemy of the state.
Like I had betrayed my country.
That's when I understood the truth.
The general never planned to pay me.
I was the loose end.
The secret he needed erased.
So he rewrote the story.
In his version, I wasn't a contractor.
I wasn't an asset.
I was a threat.
They found me at dawn.
Boots on concrete.
Radios whispering orders.
Red dots dancing across walls.
I escaped because I always plan for betrayal.
I moved through smoke and broken stairwells, bullets tearing through walls where I stood seconds earlier. These soldiers were trained, disciplined. But they didn't know me. They didn't know how quiet I could be. How patient.
By the time they realised they were chasing a ghost, it was already over.
I killed them all.
I didn't take any chances.
They were gone.
The man who sent them, that was my target now.
I watched the general from across the city.
A tall building. Glass walls. Guards everywhere. Flags hanging proudly behind him as he stood in his penthouse office, looking out at the country he thought he owned.
To the world, he was a protector.
To me, he was just another man who thought power made him untouchable.
I set up my position carefully. Wind measured. Distance calculated. Breathing slowly.
Through my scope, he looked smaller.
Less important.
He spoke on the phone, smiling. Probably giving another order. Sending another life to end quietly so his hands stayed clean.
Men like him don't believe consequences apply to them.
They believe soldiers die so generals can sleep peacefully.
They believe people like me don't matter.
This time he was wrong.
I didn't take the shot right away.
I wanted him to feel it first. I aimed the red dot on his chest.
I let him notice the movement outside. Let him sense something was wrong. Let the fear crawl in slowly, the way it does when you realise your power can't save you.
Then I stepped into the light.
Just enough for him to see my silhouette across the distance.
Our eyes met.
Recognition hit him like a bullet.
He knew.
This wasn't about money anymore.
This was about honour and respect.
He sent soldiers to kill me to protect his reputation.
He called it patriotism.
He called it duty.
I call it betrayal.
I squeezed the trigger.
One shot to the head.
Clean. Final.
The general collapsed out of view, swallowed by the luxury he thought would protect him.
I packed up calmly.
No rush.
No emotion.
They will call it an assassination.
They will blame foreign enemies. Political rivals. Anyone but the truth.
The truth is simple.
I was hired.
I did the job.
He broke the contract.
And in my world, betrayal is paid in blood.
My name is June.
And this is only the beginning.