The hunt

In the underworld, if you don't crush the windpipe, the target breathes. If they breathe, they hunt."

Vance was the tip of the spear for "The Hounds," a legendary, ghost-tier black-ops squad that handled the syndicate's dirtiest clean-up operations. They didn't exist on paper, and they didn't leave witnesses. But in a world built on blood money, loyalty has a hard price tag. Betrayed by their own high-ranking handler during a setup at a rain-slicked shipyard, the entire squad was systematically executed.

Left for dead in a locked shipping container with broken ribs and a bleeding lung, Vance didn't die. He adapted.

Pulling a dark-grey, faceless ballistic cowl over his head, he steps back out into the neon-lit, concrete underbelly of the city with a single, unyielding objective: absolute extermination of the corporate syndicate.

There are no flashy superhuman powers here. No magical systems. No soft subplots, no allies, and absolutely no romance. This is a story of pure, mathematical street brutality. Using hyper-realistic close-quarters combat (CQC), improvised urban tools, tactical weapon breakdowns, and cold survival geometry, Vance begins  ascent through fortified high-rises, underground gambling dens, and industrial steel mills.

They wanted him buried. Instead, they unleashed a bloodhound who knows only one rule: Show mercy for none