A hunter gets hunted

The man barely had time to gasp before he was dead already. His body slackened and slid to the ground when Tristan let it go.

He pulled out his bloodied knife and stealthily walked around the garages back to the riverbank, where he threw both the knife and the stolen phone into the water.

With his clothes clean, but hands metaphorically bloodied, Tristan walked home, feeling surprisingly good.

He still had the time to change clothing and prepare to work as Tristan Gemello.

After a murder, Tristan couldn't relax, and was still on high alert as he returned to his apartment. It was near this place that he noticed a Mexican man smoking a cigarette and observing his apartment building—and Tristan himself.

It could've been just a coincidence, but Tristan noticed that the man's gaze was too observant for this.

Tristan checked the time and frowned. He was cutting it short to being on the shift in the bar. But he couldn't risk this.

Instead of going straight home, Tristan entered a small grocery store on the street and subtly watched the Mexican man from the corner of his eye while pretending to pick items from shelves. The store window let him see just enough.

The Mexican man was definitely looking at Tristan too closely. He was subtle about it, but Tristan's skills were too high to miss it.

'Who is this? I don't remember any Mexicans in the Good Lion Bar. Is this someone working for Pierce, or someone else?'

This was all unplanned and irritating.

Tristan hated being late, dammit!

He had to deal with this, and quickly.

With a freshly bought can of soda in hand, Tristan walked out of the store and then away from his apartment. After a while, the Mexican man walked after him.

This worsened Tristan's mood more.

He walked farther, drinking his soda and keeping a look around for more tails. But that Mexican man was alone, and it was going to be his undoing.

Tristan could already tell he wasn't that good. Could've passed with the old Tristan—the Tristan with scars, Tristan from the streets—but not with the new one.

A couple of streets later, Tristan made a turn at a street that looked like it could lead somewhere, but was actually a dead end. He threw the can out to the ground and waited.

When his stalker made a turn, Tristan's palm chopped him into Adam's apple.

The Mexican man's eyes bulged, and he coughed. His mouth opened in a silent gasp.

However, with instincts of a hardened thug, the man was already reaching for a gun Tristan noticed in his pocket.

Faster than a snake, Tristan reached it and jabbed the muzzle in the Mexican man's stomach. With his free hand, Tristan grabbed him by the arms and walked them both deeper into the dead-end. There, Tristan turned him around and pressed him into the wall with an elbow on his throat.

"Why are you following me?" Tristan hissed.

<Fuck you, Snow White! I won't tell!> the thug rasped back in Spanish.

Tristan jabbed the gun into his stomach harder. Then, with a vicious smirk, he began lowering it.

"Say it in a way I can understand, or I will shoot off your balls and stick that gun up your ass."

The thug paled slightly.

"I won't tell! We have loyalty, bastard! Shoot me if you want!"

From the corner of his eye, Tristan saw a passerby move to the other side of the street and walk faster.

Typical for this neighborhood. His apartment was cheap for a reason.

Tristan snarled at the thug and pressed the trigger, at the same time pressing his elbow harder into the thug's throat. He tried to stand in a way that let him avoid blood.

Even muffled by the thug's flesh, it was still loud.

Tristan winced, while the thug opened his mouth in a silent scream. His voice and breathing were blocked by Tristan's elbow, but soon Tristan moved away and let the thug fall to his knees.

The bullet went through the inner side of his thigh—close, but not quite through the balls. Only because Tristan missed.

When the thug lowered his head, Tristan noticed a small tattoo of a square with only its angles drawn.

A gang mark! Tristan didn't know which gang exactly, but he knew there were a few Mexican groups around the city, smuggling to and from Mexico.

[Ding!]

[Observation skill increased by 1. Reward: your PP increased by 10.]

[Ding!]

[Close-quarters combat skill increased by 1. Reward: your PP increased by 10.]

[Ding!]

[You gained a new skill—firearms shooting. Reward: 100 CP!]

When Tristan let him breathe, the thug clutched his wound, gasping for breath and trying to get away from Tristan.

"I won't miss next time," Tristan said, pointing a gun at the man.

"You are gonna die anyway… My brothers will kill you! There's a hit on your head!"

Although he was trying to appear courageous, the thug was visibly shaking, both from fear and the loss of blood.

"Why the hell Mexicans are after me?"

The thug didn't respond beyond cursing in Spanish.

Tristan wanted to kick him, but there was already some blood on his clothes. Not much, but it was going to be a pain to wash.

He hid the new trophy gun in his pocket and resigned himself to spitting in the thug's direction.

This man was a hardened gangster. He really had too much loyalty to break quickly, but knowing his gang mark, Tristan could just ask around.

He turned and walked away in a hurry, leaving the wounded thug behind. Tristan didn't care if he would end up dead or alive—the amount of information it would give his enemies will stay the same.

He checked the time and cursed again.

Tristan was getting late for his work shift!