Her Last Mission (Patreon)

The forest was silent—too silent.

Agent V moved like a shadow through the dense trees, her sleek body sharp and alert, every step calculated. Clad in a white halter top and jet-black tactical leggings, she was both beauty and weapon. The sun filtered through the high canopy, casting ghost-like patterns across her skin as she advanced. Her fingers clenched the pistol tighter. Something was wrong.

A whisper of wind.

Then—
Crack.

A single suppressed shot sliced through the silence.
The bullet slammed into her lower abdomen, just right of her navel.

She gasped and staggered. Her free hand flew to her belly, fingers brushing across warm blood spilling through fabric. Pain flared like wildfire. But she didn’t stop—she couldn’t. Gritting her teeth, she aimed forward, eyes scanning.

Then came the second shot.

Crack.

This one tore into her right breast, just above her heart. The force arched her backward, her body jerking violently as if yanked by an invisible string. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her gun dropped slightly—but not all the way. She was still standing, still alive, fighting to breathe.

Staggering, she tried to raise her weapon again.

The final shot came without mercy.
Left breast. Directly into her heart.

She froze. Her eyes widened—mouth falling open in a silent scream. Her body arched with a raw, helpless grace as the final wound bloomed crimson through the white of her top. The pistol fell from her fingers.

Her knees buckled.

She collapsed onto the forest floor, the grass bending beneath her as she lay writhing, clutching the fatal wound. Her back arched once more, head thrown back, lips quivering as she gasped for air. Her face twisted in agony… then softened, the fight draining from her eyes.

Her hand slid from her chest.
Her last breath trembled out between parted lips.

She lay still.

In the quiet that followed, the forest reclaimed her. Only the blood-smeared leaves bore witness to the fall of a legend.