Hopeless Gratitude

The client sat quietly in the agency's reception hall, his hands trembling as he held the blood-red token Alina had returned. His eyes, puffy and red, glistened with tears that streamed down his weathered face. Raven and Alina stood a few feet away, observing the man as the weight of his emotions filled the room.

"I never thought…" he began, his voice breaking. "I never thought anyone would care enough to help someone like me."

Alina, who usually wore an air of aloofness, stood uncharacteristically silent. The pride she'd felt after completing the mission had evaporated the moment she saw the man's anguish. This wasn't the satisfaction of vengeance she'd expected—it was a hollow, aching relief that left the client utterly bereft.

"You did well," Raven said, stepping forward. His tone was measured, but there was a subtle hint of unease. "Your request has been fulfilled. The bandit leader is gone, and justice has been served."

The man nodded, his gaze distant. "Justice?" he repeated softly, almost to himself. "Maybe… but it doesn't bring them back. My wife, my daughter… they're still gone."

Alina shifted uncomfortably, the words hitting her harder than she anticipated. She'd assumed the mission was straightforward—eliminate the target and grant the client peace. But standing here, watching this broken man, she realized she'd misunderstood what vengeance truly meant for someone who had lost everything.

The man rose from his chair slowly, clutching the token as if it were his last anchor to the world. "Thank you," he said, bowing deeply to both of them. "I… I can't ever repay you for what you've done. You gave me back my dignity, even if just for a moment."

Raven opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. What could he say? That this was their job? That they were happy to help? The words felt empty, inadequate.

Alina tried to lighten the atmosphere. "Well, at least you don't have to worry about bandits anymore," she said, forcing a small grin.

The man looked at her, his tear-streaked face carrying a bittersweet expression. "You're right. I don't. But… what do I have left? They were my life, my reason for everything. And now…"

He paused, his voice trailing off. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn photograph. It depicted a happy family—a younger version of the man, a smiling woman, and a little girl no older than five. He gazed at it one last time before placing it gently on the table.

Raven's instincts kicked in as the man began to walk toward the door. Something about his demeanor set off alarms in his mind.

"Wait," Raven called out, stepping forward. "You don't have to leave yet. Stay here for a while. Rest. We can help—"

The man turned, his face now eerily calm. "You've already helped me more than I deserve," he said softly. "But my story is over. It ended the day I lost them."

Before either Raven or Alina could react, the man pulled a small vial from his pocket. Without hesitation, he uncorked it and drank its contents in a single gulp.

"No!" Alina shouted, rushing toward him, but it was too late. The man collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing briefly before going still.

Raven knelt beside him, checking for a pulse, but he already knew the truth. The client was gone.

The room fell into a heavy silence. Alina stared at the lifeless body, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. "Why?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why would he do that? He had a second chance…"

Raven rose slowly, his face grim. "He didn't see it as a second chance," he said. "For him, vengeance was the end, not the beginning. We gave him justice, but we didn't give him hope."

Alina turned to him, her usual sharpness replaced by vulnerability. "Is this what we're doing? Helping people just so they can… end it like this?"

Raven shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "This can't happen again. It won't."

Raven's mind raced as he thought about the agency's purpose. The Moonlit Hitman Agency had always been about delivering justice for those who couldn't achieve it on their own. But justice alone wasn't enough. People needed something more—something to live for after the vengeance was done.

He looked at Alina, who was still visibly shaken. "We need to do better," he said. "From now on, our job doesn't end when the target is eliminated. We have to make sure the clients we help can find a way forward."

Alina nodded slowly, her usual bravado replaced by a quiet determination. "You're right," she said. "I don't ever want to see something like this again."

Raven approached the system interface, his resolve hardening. "System," he commanded, "log this as a priority: Every client who walks through our doors will leave with more than just vengeance. We'll ensure they have a future."

DING

Priority Logged: Mission Support and Aftercare for Clients

The photograph the man had left behind lay on the table, a silent testament to the life he had lost. Raven picked it up and studied it for a moment before placing it in a small drawer marked for client memorabilia.

"This is a reminder," he said quietly. "Of why we do what we do. And why we need to do it better."

Alina stood beside him, her expression solemn. "What happens to his body?" she asked.

"The system will take care of it," Raven replied. "It'll be returned to his home planet with the dignity he deserves."

As the system processed the man's remains, Raven and Alina stood in silence, reflecting on what had just transpired. The path they had chosen wasn't an easy one, but it was necessary.

For the first time since the agency's rebirth, Raven felt the weight of leadership truly settle on his shoulders. He wasn't just the leader of assassins; he was a guardian of broken souls. And he swore to himself that he would carry that responsibility with honor.

"Let's get back to work," he said finally, his voice steady. "We've got a lot to improve."

Alina nodded, the fire in her eyes returning. "Yeah. No more mistakes like this. Not on my watch."

As they left the room, the photograph remained—a silent witness to their promise to do better.