[3 days later]

The moon's pallid glow stretched over the city of Salem, casting elongated shadows that seemed to seep into every crevice and corner. As 621 silently moved through the desolation, his senses heightened, the weight of the mission pressed upon him. Salem, once a thriving city, now lay in ruins, a dreary metropolis on the verge of collapse and total chaos.

The streets were a labyrinth of broken cobblestones, uneven and treacherous underfoot. Dilapidated buildings with shattered windows loomed overhead, their facades scarred by the remnants of war. The damaged walls that surrounded the city, once a symbol of protection, were now a stark reminder of Salem's isolation, and they cast a shadow over the decaying city.

The architecture spoke of a bygone illusion, a testament to the grandeur that had been lost. Crumbling spires and intricate foundations had succumbed to time and conflict, leaving behind only skeletal remains of their former glory. Once-ornate fountains stood dry and lifeless, their sculptures cracked and worn.

The beggars were a common sight, their presence a haunting reflection of Salem's decline. Some lay unconscious on his path, their tattered and dirty clothes clinging to their frail bodies. Their faces, etched with the lines of suffering, were turned upward in desperate hope. But hope was a rare commodity in these unforgiving streets.

Others were not as fortunate. Lifeless bodies lay scattered along the way rotting, the wounds on their fragile frames telling stories of violence and struggle. Pools of blood, dark against the pale moonlight, marked the final chapters of their tragic lives. Yet, others simply walked over the dead bodies, children were even seen poking sticks at these decaying shells.

The shadows seemed to grow denser as he delved deeper into Salem's heart, revealing scenes that spoke of desperation and despair. The sight of prostitutes and makeshift dens dotted the streets, a stark testament to the lengths people would go to survive in a world teetering on the brink.

The oppressed and the downtrodden moved through the city's darkened alleys, their footsteps heavy with the weight of existence. Each face told a story of hardship, of battles fought and lost. Fear and uncertainty were their constant companions, as the guardsmen patrolled with an air of superiority; a looming presence that quashed any flicker of rebellion.

The guardsmen, acting as the self-proclaimed enforcers of law, ruled with an iron fist, their authority bordering on tyranny. They were supposed to maintain order, but their efforts had transformed them into makeshift gods, dictating the fate of the struggling populace.

Despite their oppressive presence, their actions appeared ineffective in the face of Salem's deteriorating state. The people still suffered, their cries for help and relief falling on deaf ears. Some of the guardsmen, consumed by power and delusions of grandeur, saw themselves as the last bastions of authority, but their cruelty had led Salem further into disarray.

The people that lay unconscious, wounded or dead became evidence of their incompetency, a stark reminder of their inability to protect the vulnerable.

But 621 felt nothing for them. His indoctrination had stripped him of sympathy, and to him, the civilians were little more than potential prey and targets, individuals who could be manipulated to serve the organization's clandestine purposes.

The atmosphere was oppressive, bearing down on him as he moved further into Salem's heart. The city's collapse seemed inevitable, and the shadows that clung to its streets whispered tales of despair and desperation.

Memories of the handler's limited intel resurfaced as 621 moved across roofs and dark alleyways, a haunting prelude to his mission. "Vulture," the handler had said, a mere codename. It was a name that sent shivers down the spines of the underground, a name that represented a figure with power and secrets. Arms dealer, he recalled the handler say. Male, they had confirmed, but a male could be anyone in the shadowy alleys of Salem. An eye patch was the only distinctive feature provided, an unsettling emblem of a man who had seen too much, been through too much.

The night, with its chilling air and haunting silence, was both his ally and his adversary. The moon continued its cold vigil, watching over the secrets and shadows of Salem, and 621 knew that his hunt had only just begun.

621 stood on a desolate balcony, hidden in the cloak of the night's shadows, his keen senses attuned to the conversations happening below. The streets and alleyways of Salem were alive with dreary exchanges, the voices of the city's inhabitants carrying tales of suffering and hardship.

As he listened intently, a cryptic conversation caught his attention, one that hinted at the acquisition of weapons. Two individuals, their faces obscured by the veil of darkness, spoke in hushed tones. The words they exchanged seemed to hang in the air like a whisper, a secret shared amid the chaos of Salem.

"I've heard of a new supplier," one of the voices muttered, its tone laden with secrecy and greed. "They say these weapons are unlike anything we've seen before. Not your typical low-quality steel from the local smithies. I heard their dealings are as discreet as they come, and the authorities are none the wiser."

The other voice responded, its words tinged with curiosity. "What about it?"

621's instincts sharpened as he absorbed the information. He continued to eavesdrop, his hidden vantage point granting him safe access to the conversation that unfolded below.

"They say the supplier's got high-quality weapons," the first voice murmured, desperation tinging his words. "Our weapons are worn, our men are hungry, and the city's in ruins. We can't survive on scraps and prayers alone."

The wiser voice, more logical and calculating, responded, "And what can we offer in exchange for these weapons? We can't just ask for them without something to trade. We're desperate I agree, but we need a plan."

The first voice, undeterred by the challenge, spoke with an air of confidence, "My scouts have told me of a vulnerable store here in Salem, loaded with goods and money. We could rob it, secure the funds, and offer those in exchange for the high-quality weapons the supplier offers. We'd have power, and the city's riches would be ours."

The wiser voice, more prudent and cautious, hesitated for a moment and then responded, "Robbing a store in Salem won't be easy, not with the heightened security of patrolmen. It's a risky move. Besides, why not consider robbing the supplier directly? It could reduce the risks involved."

The first voice shook his head, determined in his course of action. "No, no, that's too dangerous. The supplier's secretive, and we know nothing about their defences. We have to take the safer path, rob the store, and secure the funds we need. These weapons are our lifeline."

The wiser voice questioned further, "Does our leader know of this plan?"

The first voice immediately responded, a hint of rebellion in his tone, "No, our leader is too cowardly, too fearful of risks. I could rally some of the men under me, and we can subvert the leader's position. The bastard is holding us back."

The wiser voice persisted, "Is the supplier even trustworthy? Can we be sure they won't double-cross us?"

The first voice considered the question and then responded, "Trust isn't our concern. We get the silver, we make the exchange. It's that simple."

The wiser voice continued to probe, "And where will we meet this supplier? Do you have that information?"

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The first voice hesitated for a moment and then replied vaguely, "I've got an informant that knows the underground business. We'll follow their lead, but even I'm not sure if it's entirely true."

As the conversation between the two individuals drew to a close, the wiser voice, though initially skeptical, appeared to be reeled into the plan. He nodded and cryptically responded, "The usual way. We'll proceed as discussed."

621 watched as the two individuals prepared to part ways. He stood at a crossroad, his mind contemplating two possibilities. The decision before him was critical: should he tail the first voice, the one who seemed to be the key planner with knowledge of the informant, or should he follow the wiser voice, who had expressed doubts about their group's intentions?

In the end, he made his choice swiftly. He set his sights on the first voice, recognizing that the informant held valuable information. With a stealthy grace, he followed in the footsteps of the individual whose greed had driven their conversation and who seemed to be the linchpin of the operation.

621 shadowed the first voice through Salem's labyrinthine streets. The first voice's appearance revealed a man worn by the harshness of life in the war-torn city. He was of average height, his face unshaven, and his clothing tattered and stained. His eyes, however, held a glint of desperation, reflecting his determination to secure a foothold they seemingly coveted.

Following him under the veil of night, 621 observed the man’s movements. He navigated the treacherous terrain of the city with the skill and caution of one who had spent years in its shadows. The man led him through narrow alleyways and past makeshift dens until he finally arrived at a hidden refuge. It was a derelict building, concealed from prying eyes, that seemed to have once been a store.

621 watched from the shadows, taking note of the entrance and exits. He soon memorized the layout. He knew he needed to be patient, waiting for the right moment to gather more intelligence about the man’s plans.

Eventually, the first night had ended, and 621 remained awake hidden in the shadows, vigilant and patient waiting for his target’s exit. But it seemed that the man he was tailing had sought refuge within the derelict building. Nevertheless, 621 remained composed and stood quietly in the shadows just as he was trained to do.

..

The following day marked the beginning of the second day of 621's covert pursuit. As the sun climbed into the sky, the man emerged from his makeshift hideout, his eyes burdened with the weight of the unknown as he strolled away.

Of course, 621 stuck close, always mindful of the distance between them. The man's slow journey took them to a desolate corner of Salem, an area where few dared to tread. It was evident that the man was in search of something.

The broken, crumbling buildings and debris-strewn streets bore witness to Salem's past siege, a testament to the price paid in an ongoing conflict. 621's senses were heightened as he continued to track the man, knowing that each step brought him closer to the heart of his mission.

Among the rubble and decay, something stood out - a simple, white cloth perched on a stick, almost invisible to the untrained eye.

It was a marker, a sign that went unnoticed by most but was now under the scrutiny of the man. His actions betrayed his awareness of this hidden symbol. And with a cautious glance around, the man began to dig beneath the stick, revealing a canister buried under the earth and rubble.

621's eyes narrowed as he watched the man handle the canister with care. Something was placed inside it, and then, with the same diligence, it was returned to its clandestine grave, its secrets concealed once more.

As the man completed his task with the canister and prepared to leave the desolate area, 621 was presented with another critical decision. He stood at a crossroads once more, torn between two choices, each fraught with uncertainty and potential mistakes.

One option was to continue trailing the peculiar man, to learn more about his activities, and possibly discover the nature of his connection to the informant. The other choice was to stay behind and monitor the canister, to see if anyone else would approach or if there was any sign of interest in its hidden contents. It was a more patient approach, one that he believed could reveal other suspects.

Listening to his instincts, 621 decided to stay. His intuition told him that the man's actions with the canister were a form of communication, a way to send a message to someone else in the shadows. He theorized that, perhaps this was the way to converse with his supposed informant.

Furthermore, he had already taken note of the man's hideout, and 621 was convinced that he could trace his steps back there if need be.

With patience and vigilance, he observed the canister and the area surrounding it, waiting for any sign of activity or anyone who might approach in response to this enigmatic ordeal. He waited patiently, biding his time.

Soon, the night wore on, and 621's watchful eyes remained fixed on the canister buried beneath the makeshift marker and the surroundings. The temptation to unearth it and inspect its contents gnawed at him, especially when minutes stretched into hours. But he knew that patience was his ally in this murky world of intrigue.

He considered the risks of exposing himself prematurely, of potentially alerting unseen adversaries to his presence. It was a game of shadows, and he was determined not to reveal his hand too soon.

Even in the back of his mind, 621 wondered if it was the right choice to stay and observe the package rather than tailing the man; he wondered if he had been duped by the unassuming man, wondering if a bait had been thrown to shake off unwanted eyes.

However, his gnawing doubts were soon extinguished with the emergence of a cloaked figure who appeared from the shadows. It was clear that this person had been waiting, biding their time just like him, and had chosen this exact moment to approach the enigmatic site.

In that moment, 621 couldn't help but wonder if this cloaked figure was indeed the intended recipient of the package. His sharp eyes remained locked on the scene, his keen instincts assessing the situation. He knew better than to make hasty assumptions. Silently, he continued to observe, ready to act if the situation took an unexpected turn.

In his watchful eyes, the cloaked figure moved with astonishing swiftness, striking with both precision and speed. In a matter of moments, this person had unearthed the canister, taken its contents, and subsequently escaped back into the darkness. It was apparent that this person possessed a level of skill and expertise that set them apart from the man he had been following earlier.

However, 621 wasted no time. With agility and stealth, he followed the cloaked figure through the labyrinthine streets of Salem. Each step he took was precise, silent and concealed. He was attuned to every nuance of the chase. Within moments, he caught up to the mysterious presence in mere seconds; it was clear to him that this person wasn’t as fast as he initially thought. He had overestimated the mysterious figure.

The chase led 621 outside the confines of Salem, away from the crumbling buildings and twisted streets, and into the dense cover of a nearby forest. The cloaked figure moved with a graceful swiftness, each step a calculated dance of evasion and stealth. It was a chase that, on the surface, appeared uneventful, but 621 knew better.

Soon, the cloaked figure finally stopped in an unassuming clearing forcing the atmosphere to become thick with anticipation. The figure glanced around, eyes searching for any signs of pursuers. And in that moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath, the silence was deafening. The figure found no one, however; they were mistaken as 621 watched their every movement with an eerie countenance, lurking within the shadows, like a wolf eyeing its prey.

With a cautious nod to themselves, the figure carefully opened the canister, revealing its mysterious contents. A piece of folded paper was held in the mysterious person's hand. Meanwhile, 621's eyes followed every subtle movement, his predatory gaze never wavered.

With a slight rustling of the paper, the cloaked figure thought aloud. Her voice, rough but unmistakably feminine, rang out silently into the quiet forest. "A new customer," she whispered in a way that hinted at both curiosity and a hint of amusement.

It was in this instant, that 621 decided to act.

Within a few moments, his actions unfolded with eerie, emotionless precision. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment, executing ruthless moves with cold calculation.

With a swiftness that defied the eye's ability to follow, 621 launched himself at the cloaked woman. His fingers found her eyes, pressing harshly with pinpoint accuracy. The woman's screams of agony filled the air as her vision turned black.

However, the pain and confusion in her voice were met with nothing but silence from 621.

He moved on mercilessly, a silent spectre of the night. He delivered powerful strikes that landed on her legs with ruthless efficiency, shattering her bones and causing her to writhe in unbearable pain.

Yet, her anguished cries were still met with the same cold indifference as before.

Nevertheless, 621 wasn't done. He swiftly targeted her arms, breaking them methodically thus releasing her grip on the piece of paper. The woman's muffled screams of agony and desperation soon echoed through the forest, but 621 continued his work with robotic eeriness, his movements remained both swift and ruthless.

He then caught the piece of paper in his right hand, whilst his left hand found purchase around the woman's throat, exerting just enough pressure to silence her agonized cries. In response to this, the woman choked and gasped, her voice reduced to mere rasps as she fought hard for air.

Despite her weak struggle; her legs remained bent at an unnatural angle whilst her arms dangled loosely at her sides both shattered and useless.

621 scrutinized the paper which was stained with the woman's blood. It seemed unimportant to him, it was but a mere message, a piece of the puzzle that had led him to this point. With a cold and emotionless gaze, he scanned the contents of the paper, his fingers tracing the outlines whilst being stained with the crimson mark of his brutality.

It contained a single sentence: "Need to contact the new dealer."

The cryptic message held no immediate answers, but it told 621 of her identity.