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A zazel wakes up sitting in a chair, left unharmed and untied.He stands up in the dimly lit room, his tall, muscular frame silhouetted against the solitary light source, a bare lightbulb swinging gently from the ceiling. The last thing Azazel remembers is picking up pizza and roses and then getting hit over the head from behind.

A message, scrawled in an unfamiliar hand, lay on the table before him. It’s a crude drawing of a captive bird, its wings bound, with a single word written beneath: "Find and unbind her if you can."

His eyes narrow reflecting the flickering light, as he runs his fingers along the cool metal of his gun. Azazel brings both of his fists down onto the table.

“I’ll kill them all, every single one of them.”

The air thickens with the scent of tobacco and adrenaline while he traces the contours of the drawing, his mind racing. The sender has Cherrie, and this time, they’d gone too far. Azazel's fingers tighten around the gun. He thought back to the first message they had received months ago—vague threats alluding to his time as a hitman. Azazel runs a hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving the table. He recalls the day he and Cherrie had met—a chance encounter that would forever change Azazel’s outlook on life.

But their pasts are catching up to them. Azazel and Cherrie’s work and lifestyle has left a trail of enemies, and now one of them has taken the love of his life. A low growl emanates from his throat.

He will find her, no matter what it takes. He knows he will do whatever is necessary to bring her back safely.

As he prepares for the coming confrontation, his mind wanders to the plan they’d devised to turn the tables on their pursuer. It had been Cherrie's idea—a twisted scheme to lure their tormentor out of the shadows. They had almost put it into action when she went missing. Now, he will have to adapt and rely on his own skills to rescue her. The sound of rainfall outside adds to the gloomy atmosphere whilst Azazel walks around the room to look for any more clues to help him but he comes up empty.

Cherrie is gone, and he knows that this game has taken a deadly turn. Days turn into a week, and Azazel finds himself in a rundown motel on the outskirts of town. He has been following a lead, a possible sighting of Cherrie, but it has led him on a wild goose chase. His eyes grow heavy with fatigue while he sits on the edge of the bed, the same drawing of the captive bird lying crumpled on the bedside table. He runs a hand over his face, the stubble rough against his palms, as he tries to gather his thoughts. His mind drifts back to the past–to the jobs he has taken.

He sees the faces of his targets, the look of fear in their eyes when they realize their time is up. He has been good at his job, the best, and now those skills will be put to use in finding Cherrie. He will leave no stone unturned–no lead unchecked. He owes it to her, to their unborn children, and to himself, to end this game once and for all.

As he rises to pour himself a drink, his phone buzzes with a new message. “Tick-tock.” The rain has intensified, pounding against the windows while Azazel prepares to leave. Pulling on his coat, he checks his gun, ensuring it’s loaded, and slips it into his holster. Azazel sends a message to an old contact, a fellow hitman who owes him a favor. He needs backup, and he needs eyes and ears he can trust. This game is coming to an end–one way or another.