Chapter 1

In the dimly lit, cluttered basement of my hideout, I found myself surrounded by dusty stuff from my past exploits—silenced pistols, sniper rifles with scopes that could spot a flea on a squirrel's back from a mile away, and a peculiar assortment of exotic daggers. It was the perfect setting for a dramatic, brooding moment, but I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of it all.

Here I was, a retired assassin, not from the world of sleek, sexy spies, but from a top-secret, highly classified organization that valued efficiency above all else.

My organization was as clandestine as it gets. No flashy cars, no exotic locations, just me, a cup of lukewarm tea, and a windowless room filled with gadgets I barely understood. As I sat in my favorite creaky old armchair, it suddenly dawned on me—I was going to die. Not from a bullet in the head or a poison-tipped umbrella, but from the most ordinary cause of all: old age.

You see, my dear organization had decided that my services were no longer required. Apparently, I was too old for the high-stakes game of international espionage, and they'd sent a memo (yes, a memo!) to let me know they were "disposing" of me.

Not the most glamorous exit for a master marksman, I must say.

I took another sip of the tepid tea, the familiar bitterness of Earl Grey oddly comforting. My organization had raised me, trained me, and turned me into a killing machine.

But as I looked around at my dusty collection of weapons and gadgets, I couldn't help but smile. Not to brag, I was called the greatest assassin in this world, I had my moments of glory, however its not like it got over my head or the organization gave me a trophy of sorts. I was a mindless killer with only one thought-and that is to kill.

Aw, aging must be making me soft and emotional. ha-ha.

Reminiscing about my peculiar life as an assassin, I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. It was true that I had a knack for sniping and a deep affinity for the world I knew so well—the scope view from my hide, the tension before taking the shot, the thrill of hitting the mark with surgical precision. But amidst the dusty weapons I considered my trophies and the absurd memories, there was a nagging sense of unfulfilled potential.

I gazed out of the window, imagining a different life—a life where I had been born into a loving family, in a place far removed from the shadowy world of espionage. In this alternate reality, maybe I would have used my incredible skills for something positive, something that made the world a better place.

Perhaps I would have become a celebrated athlete, an Olympic sharpshooter, or even a renowned wildlife photographer, capturing the beauty of nature through my lens rather than the grim faces of my targets.

I could picture myself standing on the podium, a gold medal hanging proudly around my neck, the national anthem of the country I will be representing, playing in the background. The cheers of the crowd would be a stark contrast to the deafening silence of the empty alleyways where I used to eliminate threats. The thought of using my talents to inspire and entertain, rather than to terminate, tugged at my heartstrings.

In this parallel existence, I would have cherished the view through my scope as well, but it would have been aimed at capturing breathtaking landscapes, exotic animals in their natural habitats, or the smiling faces of people I had touched with my talents. Instead of hiding in the shadows, I would have been in the spotlight, basking in the adoration of fans and the warmth of a loving family.

But as I looked around my basement hideout, reality set in. I had been raised in a world of secrecy and solitude, a world where family was a foreign concept and my talents were honed for a darker purpose. Regret may have crept into my thoughts, but it was too late for what-ifs and daydreams of a different life.

And so, with a chuckle and a sigh, I sipped the last of my lukewarm tea and thought about the adventures and misadventures that had filled my life. As I faced my impending "retirement," I couldn't help but be grateful for the comically chaotic path that had brought me here—sipping tea, surrounded by gadgets, and awaiting my not-so-dramatic exit from the world of espionage.

I may have missed out on a more conventional existence, but I couldn't change the past. All I could do was reflect on the path I had chosen, absurdities and all, and find some measure of peace in the knowledge that I had, in my own way, left my mark on the world—even if it wasn't the mark I had initially hoped to make.

And on that day, the world's greatest assassin, Code named Ekalavya, died.

Chapter 2