Bounty Hunter's Dilemma

Damn it. This was supposed to be my last job—one last moment of adrenaline, heart pumping, and all that other shit. I wanted to grow old, have a family, maybe a kid or two, just some fucking peace without looking behind my back. But I screwed it. No, correction, he screwed it. That rotten bastard made the whole plan and created an entire list of things that could blow up in our faces. Well, that scoundrel didn't think about the Purple suits, right?

The interrogation room is so small and quiet I can almost hear my heartbeat. There are no windows, just one steeled door and, I guess, a one-sided mirror. Oh, and a table, this ugly desk they've chained me to. My chair has one leg shorter, so sitting is a hell of a pain. The waiting is killing me. Literally, each minute sitting here means my time to take my meds is getting shorter and shorter. Do they know that? Are they counting on it, hoping I'll crack up like a common criminal? Or do they play this sick game with everyone?

What the hell is Serpe doing? I believe he is calm, looking at the mirror and smiling like he doesn't care. Maybe that bastard is already talking with someone. Shit, he must be. Between us, Serpe looks like the brain, a cold-blooded gentleman in his fancy clothes. But my partner is loyal; he has been my partner for what, like five, six years? Maybe seven. Hell, how long will it take to get me someone to talk?

Before they put me here, they told me what they wanted. They don't care about the manager we killed today. They care only about finding the assassin of Senator Katoldi. They gave me a choice. I could stay silent and be sentenced for killing some ordinary guy. Or I could snitch on my partner and leave, with a hefty payment for delivering him.

What is this freaking game? What are they hoping for? That I will snitch on my partner? Serpe was sometimes annoying and a control freak, but he saved my life many times. I could never betray him. But could he betray me? My heart started beating more than on any hunt we went on. What are my options? Keeping silent, hoping that Serpe will let me go? Do I trust him that much? He was the one who found today's job; he is responsible for this shitty outcome. But he was always a sneaky bastard.

I remember the first time I met him. We were after the same bounty but from different clients. The canyon was empty, only filled with rattlesnakes and dead plants, while the sun cast an inferno on my skin. It wasn't a high-paying job; I can't remember why I even took the case. But there I was, sweating and stealthily approaching every cave, hoping to find my target before he spotted me. Rookie mistake; you should always act as if your target knows you're coming. It makes you move faster and more precise. That bastard was waiting for me from the moment I stepped into the canyon. I expected a lot, but not land mines. I was so stupid. When I heard a click under my feet, there was nothing else to do but pray. And I hate praying.

Someone silently approached me as I started calculating how to survive without a leg. That guy looked like death, with dark skin and white war paint like some voodoo figurine I saw in New Orleans. He was holding a walking cane, a freaking walking cane, in a god-forsaken canyon. He winked at me and threw me a small toolkit. The throw was a little high, and I almost lost my balance trying to catch it. But I caught it. When I looked back, he was gone. With his tools, I escaped from death by the skin of my teeth.

I was wondering if this was a hallucination or some weird trick, but after I finally caught my target, someone—or, to be precise, now I know it was Serpe—knocked me unconscious. I never figured out how he sneaked up on me. When I woke up, it was night, but he left me a box of cigars and a note about where I would find him; that rascal chose my favorite bar. I thought he was taunting me, but it was actually an offer of partnership. He never wanted to harm me; he just didn't like the idea of sharing that bounty with a stranger. I should have killed him in that bar.

Now, I am shaking in some chair while he undoubtedly enjoys his favorite cigars. I can imagine how Serpe flirts with the Purple suits, making them wicked promises, selling me for his freedom. Or maybe not? Maybe he's being beaten in a similar room, refusing to snitch on me. Is Serpe a true friend, a loyal partner? We promised ourselves that if we ever took a bounty together, we wouldn't stab the other in the back. If he wanted to betray me, he was gentleman enough to say it to my face. Maybe it was just manipulation, an illusion of safety he calmed me with. I need my pills to think.

There was a time, not long after that first encounter in the canyon, when everything went sideways on a job that was supposed to be an easy in-and-out. We found ourselves surrounded. I remember the panic, thick and heavy. That's when Serpe did something unexpected. With a clear path to escape just for him, he stayed. He fought back-to-back with me until we saw daylight again. That day, something unspoken solidified between us, a bond forged in the heat of battle. Looking back, I wonder if that loyalty was ever truly mutual, or if it was another one of his calculated moves.

Serpe had this knack for turning the tides in our favor, always one step ahead. But sometimes, it felt too convenient. Like that job in Dockside where the guards were mysteriously absent, or the intel on the Markov hit that only Serpe had access to. He laughed it off, saying luck was just another weapon in his arsenal. I laughed along, ignoring the niggling doubt that maybe luck had little to do with it.

Every ticking minute is a thief, stealing away my chances, my sanity. Is this part of psychological torture? The room is getting smaller and smaller. Maybe those walls really do have it in for me, plotting my end. Death might be a sweet release from this hellhole. But that thought's a coward's way out, a betrayal of everything I've survived so far. Would Serpe give up, or face it head-on? Dying easy or fighting hard—that's the choice. And here I am, caught in the middle, playing chicken with fate.

I remember how we got stuck in the sewers for weeks. The bounty was a trap; our client sent his bodyguards to silence us a second after the original target hit the ground. I got shot, but Serpe saved me and got us out. We were hiding; the whole town was looking for us. He could have run away at any time, left me there. But he took care of me, breaking into pharmacies to get my medicine. He saved my life. Later, when I asked why, he just whispered that we were partners. Nothing else was said about that incident. But, of course, he took half of my share from the bounty.

Why would he betray me now, sentencing me to the gallows of justice, when he didn't let me rot in the rat-infested sewers? As he said, we're partners. But I never really knew the guy behind the white war paint he wore like a mask. We never really talked about anything other than work. After every mission, we smoked cigars in total silence, sitting in a private room and looking out the windows. Who the hell is he, really? Why didn't I care about his life before? Why should I care about him now? My head is killing me; I really need my medicine.

No, he will not betray me. Serpe is a shady guy who's been in this business longer than I have. Maybe he's orchestrating our plan for escape; he has many contacts he can count on. Or maybe he's counting on me. If I stay silent, he'll be okay, right? After all the hell we've walked through, the thought of betrayal tastes like poison.

Or maybe that bastard is counting on me because he knows I owe him too much. Maybe he's always been grooming me like a lamb for the slaughter. We failed our last mission. Was it on purpose? Is it really possible that the Purple Suits caught us because he didn't expect them? What if Serpe has his own angle, playing me for the fool?

When we got the bounty on the senator, I was the first to say it was out of our league. That guy had many bodyguards, a private army in his house, and many relatives and friends who would avenge him. His connections with the Purple Suits were the main reason I didn't feel right about the contract. But Serpe assured me it would be okay.

Sometimes, I still think about that rainy day. One mistake could have blown the whole mission. But I trusted Serpe, and he trusted me. By some sheer luck, or maybe it was Serpe's planning, we pulled it off before anybody even noticed us. Our escape was smooth, and the payment was bigger than I had imagined. The cigars tasted better than ever. A few days later, the Purple Suits found some guy and executed him for the whole affair. Serpe assured me they had no proof we did it. I remember it clearly because I felt rich and powerful. But most importantly, I felt alive.

And now I feel like trash. Separated from my partner, deciding between loyalty and my life. I don't know what will happen in the next few minutes. Or hours? How long have I been sitting here? I hate it; I hate the weakness that slowly overcomes me. Maybe I will die before they come here. That will be my way out of this room, this life, this dilemma.

How Serpe feels, I wonder. Maybe he's scared for the first time in his life. He got us into this trouble. He should be shaking as I am. He should be nervous because he's not in control. I bet he's reevaluating every moment of our lives as I am. Or maybe he isn't. What the hell do I know about that guy? That bastard is a genius, but even geniuses can fall into oblivion. Serpe might be thinking about his family. It's a silly idea, thinking about that rascal living under a roof with loved ones. It's really hard to picture a frame of Sunday breakfast. "Hello, love, how was your night?" "Great, we killed some bastards and had a smoke with a colleague, nothing big." Heh, now I just made myself laugh. And it hurts. Where the heck is my medicine?

Serpe always had an extra bottle in case I lost mine. He got it for me when he proposed this last plan. I told him I wanted to quit and part ways, as we both knew this moment would eventually come. But in my mind, it was always him quitting, finding someone better than me, or going solo. I was always more muscle than brain, his henchman. But I wanted to believe we were equal partners. Looking back, there were moments that should have tipped me off. Times when money went missing or when Serpe conveniently had other "urgent business" just moments before I walked into an ambush. He always had a plausible excuse, and I, too caught up in our camaraderie, chose to overlook these red flags.

When I tried to end it, he proposed an idea about one last job. It took him hours and a few drinks before I agreed. It was supposed to be an easy job. How could he botch it? Please, Serpe, tell me it wasn't on purpose. You didn't want to sell me out like that, right? It was he who stumbled on the ground. It was also he who first threw away his gun when we got surrounded. I repeated after him because I trusted him. Now, I don't know why the hell I did that.

Why couldn't they at least give me a normal chair? Hell, I'd rather stand if I wasn't chained. Anything would be better than sitting here with only my thoughts. Why aren't they here, interrogating me or torturing me? This is worse; it's a nightmare. But maybe there is a way out.

I could sell him out. Leave this building with money and freedom, start a normal life. He'd do the same thing; maybe they'd kill us both. But if we both keep quiet... no, Serpe isn't that type of guy. He's a mastermind, prepared for everything. That man is capable of performing miracles.

Or I could stay loyal and probably die, but with dignity. Or maybe not; maybe Serpe will protect me. I hate this. Why didn't he prepare me for this kind of situation? Maybe he only prepared himself. How would he know we'd struggle in this situation? Is it only me struggling? I need my medicine to think.

The doors are opening. Now is the moment. Do I trust him or not? As I awaited the inevitable, my mind raced, replaying every moment Serpe steered us into danger with a smirk. Each memory was a piece of the puzzle, revealing a picture I didn't want to see. His betrayals weren't just possible; they were probable. And in my gut, I knew... he had made me his mark from the very start.

"He did it; he did everything. Serpe killed the senator." The echo of the room repeated my shout. My voice sounded foreign, heavy with a betrayal that coated my tongue like bile. The weight of the decision crushed me, heavier than any bounty I've ever carried. Betrayal doesn't come naturally to me, and as the words spilled out, sealing Serpe's fate, a part of me died with them. Instant regret choked me, a bitter pill swallowed too late. Did I just trade my soul for a chance to breathe?

The door is open. And Serpe is standing there, covered in blood. He looks at me, but his face is different. The mysterious confidence is gone. His eyes revealed an emotion I had never seen. It was a surprise.

We are looking at each other, both not moving. My heart hammered against my chest, a relentless reminder of the treachery I'd committed. I waited for relief, for the weight to lift from my shoulders, but my poisonous words had damned me beyond redemption. Finally, Serpe moved and reached into his pocket and pulled out my meds. He slowly released them, and I could only watch them fall to the ground. He gave me one final look, the one I had never seen before. The last thing I could see was a tear, a revelation of the hidden emotion inside my partner, my former friend.

What have I done?