A Mother's Concern, A Son's Determination

Agent 17 meticulously arranged his tools of trade on the hotel room table, each knife having a purpose and a story. As the glint of the blades caught the dim light, he immersed himself in the ritual of preparation. His preferred method was personal, the intimate dance of hand-to-hand combat.

Selecting a custom-made knife with a lethal elegance, Agent 17 reflected on the countless missions where his signature wounds spoke louder than any message. The scars he left were his calling card, etched in the flesh of his targets.

The room filled with the rich aroma of a lit cigarette as Agent 17's piercing gaze fixated on the blade. His reputation was built on precision, stealth, and the swift elimination of obstacles. He didn't need guns; his knives were an extension of his deadly skills.