The reinforced truck rolled toward the looming walls of Jackson — tall, scarred wood and steel, decades old, battle-worn and imposing.
The air was biting.Snow crunched under tires.Steam rose faintly from the truck's grill.
As the vehicle approached the main entrance, movement erupted along the walls.
Guards shouted down.Rifles and scoped hunting weapons snapped up, aimed clean at the vehicle.Spotlights shifted, illuminating the blood-splattered barbed wire and the man behind the wheel.
The gate groaned as it opened — just enough for a group of twenty armed townsfolk to step out in formation.
Men. Women. Hardened survivors.Guns raised, trigger fingers tight.
But the man who stepped out of the vehicle wasn't frantic or hostile.He wasn't scared.
He stepped out slowly — like this wasn't the first time two dozen people had drawn weapons on him.
A gloved hand closed the truck door behind him.He straightened his black suit, pristine despite the blood he'd shed.Red tie. Chrome cufflinks.A shine to his shoes that shouldn't exist in this world.
Two silver pistols holstered across his ribs.A barcode stamped into the back of his shaved head.And a face — pale, angular, quiet — that a few of the younger guards stared at in disbelief.
"Yo," one muttered. "No f***in' way…"
"That's…"
"…can't be."
"…he's real?"
Whispers rose. Uneasy. Confused. Childhood memories colliding with the bleak reality of this world.
Tommy stepped out through the gate.Rifle slung, revolver at his hip. Cautious. Experienced.
He eyed the man before him with slow, calculating suspicion.
"…Who the hell are you?" Tommy asked. "And what the hell do you want?"
The man didn't blink.
"I'm looking for a man named Joel," Agent 47 said.Voice flat. Low. Controlled.He didn't spare a glance for the rifles aimed at him.
Tommy's grip tightened slightly on his belt.
"Joel, huh?"
Silence lingered. A few guards exchanged nervous glances.
"Lower your weapons," Tommy finally said, still watching 47 closely.
The group hesitated, then obeyed. Slowly. Carefully.
47's expression didn't change.
Tommy studied him harder now. "You come alone?"
"Yes."
"There was a massive swarm before the bridge," Tommy said. "We saw them two days ago. It's suicide going near there."He narrowed his eyes. "So how the hell'd you get across?"
Agent 47 adjusted his tie, stoic.
"I eliminated them."
A pause.
"...All of them?"
47 nodded once.
The silence was immediate and heavy.
Gasps. A murmur passed through the crowd like a cold wind.
"Jesus Christ…"
"No way…"
A girl whispered under her breath, "That's him. The guy from the Hitman games. The barcode. The suit. It's literally him."
Tommy looked around. Then back at the stranger in the black suit. Still unreadable.
"I don't know who you are. I don't know if this is some goddamn joke. But if you came here to cause problems—"
"I didn't," 47 interrupted flatly. "I came for Joel. Nothing else."
Tommy watched him for a long moment. Then finally sighed.
"…Alright. Let's walk."