The night smelled like rain and old lies. 

New York had a way of breathing down your neck, reminding you that even if you stood still long enough, it would still find a way to hurt you. I leaned against the window of my apartment, watching headlights smear across wet asphalt like dying thoughts. 
The glass reflected a man I barely recognized anymore. The face was mine. The damage belonged to everything else.
The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the city filtering in through the cracks. Radiator ticking. Sirens arguing in the distance. Somewhere below, a car alarm screamed like it was being murdered slowly. I hadn’t slept. Sleep was a luxury reserved for people who believed tomorrow might be different.

I poured a drink. Whiskey. Cheap. Honest. It burned on the way down, which meant it was doing its job. The bottle was half empty, or half full, depending on how much faith you had left. I had none.
The phone rang.
It always rang when I was trying to forget I existed.
“Payne,” I said.
“You’re still breathing,” the voice replied. Male. Calm. Too calm. “That’s impressive.”
“Who is this?”
A pause. The kind meant to remind you the other guy had control. “Name’s Keller. I represent people who clean up after messes.”
“I make messes,” I said. “Cleaning them isn’t my problem.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Keller replied. “Because this one has your fingerprints all over it.”

The line went dead.
I stared at the receiver like it might explain itself. It didn’t. Phones never did.
I finished the drink and grabbed my coat. If someone wanted to drag me back into the mud, they’d picked the right man for the job.

Outside, the rain had picked up, hammering the streets like it had somewhere better to be. I walked instead of taking a cab. Gave myself time to think. Another mistake.
The address Keller texted me led to a church that had forgotten what it was supposed to be. Brick walls cracked. Stained glass boarded over. The doors were open, like the place had given up pretending it could keep anything out.

Inside, candles flickered along the walls. Their light struggled against the dark. Keller stood near the altar, hands folded like he was about to confess something he wouldn’t regret.
“You look tired, Payne,” he said.
“Get to it.”
He smiled. “Straight to business. I respect that.”
He handed me a folder. Inside were photos. Bodies. Familiar ones. Gangsters I’d put down. Dealers who’d drawn first. All of them dead, all of them connected by a single thread.

“These men were working for the same employer,” Keller said. “A woman named Eleanor Graves.”
The name hit harder than I expected. Graves. Figures.
“She runs a private investment firm,” Keller continued. “On paper. Off paper, she funds instability. Crime. Violence. She sells chaos to the highest bidder.”
“Why come to me?” I asked.
“Because you’ve been dismantling her network without realizing it,” he said. “And now she wants you erased.”
That tracked.
“Where is she?”
Keller hesitated. “That’s the problem. She doesn’t stay anywhere long. But tonight, she’ll be at a fundraiser. Midtown. Private security. Media presence.”
“Sounds untouchable.”
“She thinks so too.”
I closed the folder. “And you?”
“I want her gone,” Keller said. “She crossed my employers.”
I laughed. It came out hollow. “So this is a business deal.”
“Everything is.”
I turned to leave. “I don’t work for suits.”
“You already are,” Keller said. “You just don’t get paid.”

He wasn’t wrong. That bothered me more than the gunfire usually did.
The fundraiser was exactly what you’d expect. Bright lights. Clean faces. Money pretending it didn’t have blood on it. I stood across the street, blending into the rain and shadow. Security was tight. Ex-military. Private contractors. Men who’d learned how to kill without feeling anything afterward.

I slipped inside through the catering entrance. White gloves. Silver trays. Champagne that cost more than my rent. The kind of place where smiles were weapons and lies were currency.

Eleanor Graves stood near the center of the room, radiant and untouchable. She wore a black dress that looked like it had been designed to absorb light. Her eyes scanned the crowd with practiced boredom.

She saw me.
That surprised me.
Her smile didn’t falter as she approached. “Max Payne,” she said softly. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
“I get that a lot.”
She studied me like I was an antique she wasn’t sure was authentic. 
“You’ve caused me a great deal of inconvenience.”
“Story of my life.”
Her laugh was polite. Dangerous. “You’re an anachronism, Mr. Payne. A relic. The world doesn’t work the way you think it does anymore.”

“Works fine from where I’m standing.”
She leaned closer. “You don’t win by pulling triggers. You win by owning the board.”
I met her gaze. “Everyone bleeds the same.”
Her smile faded. “Not everyone matters.”
Security moved in. I felt the shift in the room, the air tightening like a fist. I backed away slowly.
“Let him go,” Graves said. “He’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

I made it to the elevator before the shooting started.
The lobby erupted into panic. Glass shattered. Screams filled the space. I dove behind a marble column as bullets tore through expensive décor. Time slowed. The world narrowed. Familiar territory.
I fired back, dropping two guards before they knew which way was up. The rest scattered, professionalism cracking under chaos.
I ran.

Out into the night. Into the rain. Sirens bloomed behind me like bad memories.
I didn’t go home. I went underground. Old subway tunnels. Forgotten service corridors. Places the city didn’t advertise anymore.
I waited.
Days passed. News reports spun the story into something palatable. An attack. An attempt. No suspects. No motives.

Eleanor Graves vanished.
Keller found me again in a bar that smelled like regret.
“She’s gone,” he said.
“Figures.”
“She’s consolidating,” Keller continued. “You scared her.”
“That wasn’t the plan.”
“It never is.”
I finished my drink. “So what now?”
Keller looked tired. “Now you disappear. Or you keep going.”
I stood. “I don’t disappear.”
He nodded. “I know.”

That night, I dreamed of empty rooms and doors that wouldn’t open. Faces without eyes. Voices calling my name from places I couldn’t reach.
When I woke up, the rain was gone. The city looked clean, like it was trying to fool someone.
It didn’t fool me.

Weeks later, I found Eleanor Graves in a penthouse overlooking the river. No security. No guards. Just her and the city she thought she owned.

She poured two glasses of wine. Offered me one. I declined.
“You’re persistent,” she said.
“I’m tired.”
She sighed. “You could have been something else.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But this is what I am.”

I shot her.
The sound was small. Final. The city didn’t react. It never did.

I left the penthouse and walked into the morning. Another chapter closed. Another promise buried.

The city kept breathing.
So did I.
For now.