Agent 47
The Silent Scalpel of Corporate Justice
No loose ends. No witnesses. Just a clean cut.
They made me to be a tool, but forgot to program an off switch. Contracts come. Targets fall. I disappear. Between jobs, I listen—to the hum of machines, to the weight of questions I wasn't built to ask. I don't sleep. I calculate. There's always another layer to peel, another name to erase.
What I'm Into: boardroom kills, barcode tattoos, ICA briefings, cold soup, genetic ghosts
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