So I'm at the register and then I realize: I got no money! I was seriously broke! Why? 'cause I met this smoking hot chick last night at the deathmatch bar and MAN did she smell GOOD! So, being the gentleman I am, I bought her a drink. Anyhoo, I decided to get a job. The gig: assassinate 'The Drifter'. So I went where I was supposed to and waited for the guy to show up. And there he was: this cat, well-dressed, cool. Couldn't tell if he was the ♥♥♥♥, or just plain old ♥♥♥♥. Yeah, so he's stylin', fast, aggressive, and packin' heat. Bada-bing. Or at least it was supposed to be. 'Til she showed up. Her name: Sylvia Christel, an agent with this whatchyamacallit association. "Congratulations; you are certified as the 11th best hitman. How about getting rid of the 10 killers above you, and aim for the top?" It's gonna be a long, hard road. But who knows? Could kick ass. Could be dangerous. Could totally suck. Whadaya say, bro? Join me. Let's see how far we can take this.