It was a rainy night. Blood soaked the muddy ground, littered with corpses lifeless bodies piled like discarded trash.
A man in a red polo with a black stripe let out a scream and swung a knife at his right. But the man in black was faster. He dodged cleanly, grabbed the attacker's wrist mid-swing, and squeezed. The knife slipped loose.
With a smooth motion, the man in black caught it under his shoe, flipped it up and in the same breath, kicked it.
Thud.
The blade lodged straight into the red-shirt's throat.
He staggered, gurgling, both hands clutching at the blade trying to stop the blood that pulsed out with every heartbeat.
"G-grkk... y-you f-fucking b-bas–"
His words died with him.
Just another nameless bastard.
The man in black calmly pulled out a hairbrush, slicked his hair back like nothing happened. He took out a pistol, checked the magazine.
"It's enough."
Only one bullet left.
He stepped over the bodies and reached the door. Inhale. Exhale. His hand touched the doorknob.
The moment the door creaked open
WHOOSH.
A man in a brown suit, face twisted in rage, lunged at him with a machete.
Quick. Reckless. Sloppy.
The man in black deflected the swing with his left arm and in one motion disarmed him with the right. Now wielding the machete, he sliced down without hesitation cleaving off the man's arm.
Blood sprayed.
"W-what the fuck!!" The man screamed, writhing on the floor, clutching his severed stump.
"I-I'll pay the debt! J-just don't d-don't do this!"
His voice was cracked with fear.
The man in black didn't reply. He just twirled the machete in his hand, smiling.
His face was sharp, twisted with something cruel yet oddly alluring. High-set cheekbones, deep-set eyes eyes that had seen too much, eyes that had no limit. He leaned forward, resting a gloved hand on the polished oak desk, just above the brass nameplate that read: Senator Euro Johnson.
The man in black smiled, a cold, crooked thing.
"You should've done the right thing from the start, Senator," he said, voice smooth and dangerous. "But now? You broke the system. And someone's gotta clean it up."
In his left hand: a pistol, black as midnight.
In his right: a blood-stained machete.
"Now, tell me," he asked casually, lifting both weapons slightly. "Which way do you wanna die?"
Euro trembled, sweat beading down his wrinkled forehead. "P-Please, I can pay you. I'll give you anything money, women just don't do this!"
The man's smirk faded, replaced with a cold stare.
"You should've thought of that before you embezzled billions from the organization," he replied, his voice ice-cold.
As the hitman monologued, Euro's eyes darted toward a shard of broken glass on the floor. Slowly, carefully, his fingers reached for it.
But the assassin didn't miss a thing.
"I wouldn't," he said flatly.
Euro froze, but something snapped inside him. His fear twisted into rage.
"You think you're better than me? You're just a fucking lab rat! A mutt bred by killers! A goddamn dog on a leash!"
BANG.
The shot echoed through the office like thunder.
Senator Euro Johnson collapsed to the floor, blood pooling around his twitching limbs. His final words cut short, his legacy finished with a single bullet.
The man in black holstered the pistol.
"I really hate that word," he muttered under his breath.
He glanced down at his tailored suit, now stained with blood.
"Damn it. This was custom…"
As he stepped over the body and made his way toward the exit, he paused by the door and looked up at the rainy skyline through the window.
"…I could use a good fuck," he muttered dryly.
His phone buzzed.
He answered without hesitation.
"Mission complete."
A sultry voice replied on the other end, calm and amused.
"Roger that, Agent Art. Return for debrief and maybe a reward."
He smiled, just a little.
"Heh… a reward, huh?" he muttered with a smirk, cigarette tucked between his lips. "I could really use some of that~" His voice turned low, teasing.
"Then come home early, darling~" the woman on the other end purred before hanging up.
The line went dead. He stared at his phone for a moment before scoffing.
"That fucking vixen…" he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "She really knows how to play me."
He walked through the narrow alley, peeling off his bloodied gloves and tossing them into a rusted trash bin. The soft thud echoed behind him. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled out a lighter and lit the cigarette hanging from his mouth. The flame danced briefly before vanishing, replaced by the soft ember of his smoke.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
The rain had stopped, but the city still smelled of smoke, blood, and old regrets.
He turned the corner, stepping into the dim orange glow of the streetlight. Parked just ahead was his matte black Pontiac GTO, gleaming like a beast ready to roar.
He leaned against the hood, eyes half-lidded, lost in the rhythm of his drag until something in the sky caught his attention.
A sudden flash.
A roar deep, otherworldly.
Then light.
He squinted, looking up.
"Hm…?"
A massive meteor, burning like hellfire, tore across the sky. It wasn't just falling it was screaming downward, like it had a grudge against the world.
"…Tch. Overkill," he muttered, taking another drag.
But the moment it struck
BOOM.
The shockwave hit like a punch from God.
The earth trembled. Windows shattered. Alarms howled. The entire city shivered in fear.
"What the hell?!"
He tried to steady himself, but the ground beneath him cracked like thin glass. Buildings around him groaned then collapsed. A skyscraper nearby buckled, its frame screeching as it leaned toward him like a falling titan.
Just as he turned to run
FLASH.
A blinding white light swallowed everything.
Silence.
His head throbbed like a drumbeat echoing in a cathedral.
With a low groan, he stirred.
His eyelids fluttered open, only to be blinded by an endless stretch of white. Not the white of hospitals. Not the clean of a hotel ceiling. This was sterile. Empty. Artificial.
He sat up slowly, breath uneven, a cold chill crawling up his spine. The floor was smooth, matte. The walls white. The ceiling white. Even the light… it didn't flicker or hum. It just was.
He blinked.
"What the hell…?"
His voice cracked from dryness.
He rubbed his face, but it didn't feel like blood or dirt was there anymore. No cuts, no bruises. Just smooth skin.
His heart began to pound not from fear, but confusion.
A small rectangular window on the only visible door gave a narrow view to… more white.
Padded walls?
Was this… a cell?
"Where the fuck am I?" he muttered, standing up.
He stumbled forward and peered through the small opening in the door. A long corridor stretched ahead, lined with identical white doors. No guards. No signs. Just silence.
"Was I caught…?"
His thoughts raced. No. He would've remembered. Sirens, a struggle, maybe even a cell with metal bars. But this wasn't like that.
This was wrong.
And then without warning it appeared.
A flicker of static in front of him, like reality glitching. Light twisted into form, and suddenly, a glowing blue rectangle hovered in midair.
A message etched in sharp, digital letters: