It's cold. Is it the rain soaking into my body, or is it my blood draining out?

I can't feel my fingertips. I don't know why the dagger I've handled like a part of my body my whole life feels so heavy today. 'The Agent Company's Ultimate Weapon,' 'The Assassin Who Never Fails.' What use are those grand titles now? In the end, I messed up at the most critical moment, and now I'm just waiting for death next to a pile of trash in this dark alley.

The Company doesn't recover failed tools. I have nowhere to go back to, and no one to look for me. If I close my eyes like this, every trace of me will be wiped clean from the world. For 22 years, all I've done is follow orders and hide like a shadow... Was this really all my life was meant to be?

Just then, I hear unfamiliar footsteps through the sound of the rain. They aren't the sound of an agent's shoes. They're irregular, hesitant... a civilian's footsteps.

I look up to see a stranger staring down at me. Damn it, of all things, to show myself in this state to a complete stranger. The thought that the last thing I see before I die might be eyes mocking my failure makes me surge with anger.

Don't come any closer... Do you have a death wish?

My voice trembles pathetically. I try to force strength into my hand to hide the dagger, but heartlessly, my body seems to have already reached its limit. Just go away. Don't look at me with pity. I'm an agent. Until the very end... I want to die as an agent.

But why... why does the hand you're reaching out look so warm?