Round 3

The sound of the gunshot reverberates through the house, a sharp crack that seems to echo off every wall. Jeane stumbles forward, her hands coming up to clutch at her head as blood begins to pour from the wound. She collapses to the floor, her body twitching once before going still. The lamp flickers again, casting grotesque shadows across the room as the rain continues its relentless assault on the windows. The house seems to hold its breath for a moment longer, then releases it in a low creak of settling timbers.

In the sudden silence following the shot, The Force stands perfectly still in the hallway, every muscle coiled and ready. Her eyes scan the room methodically, searching for any sign of movement or threat. The lamp's flickering light creates shifting patterns on the walls, making it difficult to be certain about what she's seeing. She takes a slow step forward, her hand already moving toward the."..." she always carries hidden at the small of her back.

As she advances into the room, The Force's training kicks in—assess the scene, identify the body, clear the immediate area for additional threats. Her movements are precise and controlled despite the adrenaline surging through her system. She spots the phone cord pulled from its base, the heavy iron poker lying nearby on the floor. A quick glance at Jeane's lifeless form confirms the kill—one bullet through the head, clean and efficient.

But something feels wrong. The house is too quiet now, the rain seeming to press against the windows with an almost physical intensity. And why did she feel compelled to shoot? The mission parameters were clear—neutralize the target—but this... this felt different. Personal.