Chapter 1 – Death Ghost
Monday, 14th of May, 2034
It was a cold night—perhaps the coldest in a long time for City X. Usually, this time of year would be hot, or at least warm, with summer knocking at the door. But climate change has wreaked havoc on the Earth in the past several decades, causing seasons and temperatures to grow increasingly chaotic.
Summer was hotter, winter colder, and sometimes vice versa. Over the past ten years, these shifts have taken on more threatening forms. Earthquakes, tsunamis, and other disasters struck more frequently, and the resulting death toll was far from small.
Many countries attempted to address this massive problem, seeking solutions, but with the political state of the world, agreements were rarely reached, and little changed. So, as a result, it was snowing in May.
Through a large window in a high-rise building, a man watched the snowy world with a solemn look. His cold, calculating eyes were lost in the darkness beyond, clearly dwelling on thoughts far above the concerns of the mundane people walking below.
Arrogance laced his posture and demeanor, fueled by the sight of the masses beneath him. This was his empire—and he was its king.
He had money, fame, power—everything a man could wish for. He stood far above everyone else.
"Hmph…" Scoffing faintly, he adjusted his necktie and turned his head away. "Snowing again. It hasn't stopped for the past week," he muttered, sitting down in his plush leather chair. He glanced around his office—a luxurious space adorned with high-quality oak furniture, a fridge, a private bar, a lounge, and even a massage chair for when he felt exhausted.
This dark place was his sanctuary, where all the miraculous decisions behind his success were made. In the corner, on the wall beside him, hung his accolades and diplomas, neatly aligned beneath a large portrait of himself.
Mr. Michael Richards, the name read in bold letters. He was the CEO of Horizon Corporation, a massive pharmaceutical empire with global influence, stretching to every corner of the world. One of the richest men alive, his power rivaled that of world leaders.
After all, he had control over something extremely valuable—medicine. In recent years, as climate instability worsened, common illnesses like colds surged, along with many others. Naturally, his company flourished.
Richards capitalized on the opportunity, as any smart businessman would. He extracted every bit of profit he could—even at the expense of people's health and lives.
"Let's see…" Shaking his head, he picked up the first document on his desk and began reading. The quiet ticking of the clock echoed softly in the background, mingling with the occasional whisper of wind outside. This, in Richards' opinion, was the best time to work. The silence and solitude sharpened his mind.
Click.
"Hm?" He heard a faint clicking noise that made him lift his head. The door to his office had opened slightly.
He blinked, then frowned. He hadn't felt the door move.
Was that the wind? He wondered. But the window was sealed tight. Dismissing the thought with a shrug, he stood and walked to the door.
He peeked out into the dark corridor. His bodyguards were stationed near the floor's entrance, not around his office—he preferred solitude most of the time.
He closed the door and turned to return to his seat—only to freeze. His eyes widened.
A silhouette now sat on top of his desk, completely shrouded in darkness.
His breath caught. His mouth went dry. His heart pounded. Someone—someone had entered his office without him noticing.
When… When did that… Drawing a deep breath, he steadied himself with decades of experience. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my office? You have ten seconds to speak before I summon the guards."
His hand moved slowly to his pocket, toward his phone. Two taps on the side button would alert his guards. But before his fingers even touched the fabric—
A flash of metal—and something stabbed into his hand.
"...Huh?" He looked down, stunned.
A dagger was buried deep into his hand.
"AH… AAAAAAGHH!!!" He collapsed, screaming. Blood poured from the wound as he writhed in agony. "YOU BASTARD!!!!"
The silhouette watched silently, then slowly slid off the table and stood.
"256… Are you familiar with that number, Mr. Richards?" a soft, melodic male voice asked.
"AGHH!! Save me!! Save me!!!" Richards ignored the question, screaming and dragging himself toward the door.
"No need to cry so loudly. This office is completely soundproof. No matter what you say, no one will hear you." A foot slammed down on his back, halting his escape.
"BLURGH!!" He coughed violently and turned his head, shaking, to glare up at the dark figure. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!!!"
"Since you're not answering, I'll do it for you," the man said calmly. "256 is the number of people who died yesterday alone from treatable illnesses in this city. People who couldn't afford the medicine your company produces."
"LET GO!!!" Richards clawed at the man's foot with his good hand. In response, he was kicked in the jaw—several teeth snapped.
"AGH!! AGH!!! THAT HURTS!!!"
Blood gushed from his mouth like a broken faucet as he flailed.
"You've been a very naughty person for a long time, Mr. Richards. Manipulating supply to inflate demand and raise prices... Quite the demon, aren't you?"
"I… DID NOTHING! I KILLED NOBODY!"
"Hmm, you might be right," the man replied playfully, feigning deep thought. "You didn't kill those people with your own hands. People wouldn't call you a murderer. However…"
With a swift movement, the figure leaned forward, revealing his face for a moment.
"Wha— Wait, you…" Richards froze, stunned. He recognized the man.
"You've sentenced many to a fate worse than death. You made them suffer through illness, feel every ounce of pain, fade away slowly—all so you could profit. You're worse than any serial killer. A pathetic, gluttonous monster."
Richards' expression shifted—from fury and pain to pure, primal fear. He was paralyzed. Ice ran through his veins.
I'm going to die… I'm going to die! His mind screamed.
"Wait… Wait, please… Y-You're misunderstanding! I've done nothing wrong! We've had logistical issues these past few ye—"
"Logistical issues?" The man scoffed. "That's your excuse? Disappointing. I expected better from a smart businessman like you. Your hands are drenched in blood, Mr. Richards. It's time to deliver the judgment that's long overdue."
He reached into his clothes and began to draw a gun.
"Wait! I said wait! You… You're him, aren't you?! The Death Ghost! I've heard your name!"
"You've heard of me?" the man asked, sounding amused.
"Who hasn't?! You're infamous! I've been warned about you. But… I never thought you'd come for an honest man like me. I'm a husband! A father of three! I value family and love above all else! Do you think I don't care about those deaths?! They haunt me! I'm trying to fix things—I swear it!"
Tears streamed down Richards' face. His voice trembled with emotion. He sounded sincere, desperate.
"Please, I beg you. Forgive me. I'll do better. I promise!"
Silence fell. Heavy. Oppressive. Death loomed in every corner of the room. The man felt as if he was being strangeled to death by that cold, ominous stare.
Richards couldn't see the Death Ghost's face. He couldn't tell if he'd been believed. But, all he could do was just wait silently.
Then, the pressure on his back eased. The foot lifted.
Richards' heart surged with hope. A smile crept onto his bloody, broken face.
"Is that so?"
"Y-Yes! I promise! I'll work harder than ever!"
"Good. I wish you luck."
The man turned and began walking toward the door. Richards' expression twisted. Slowly, he slid his hand into his pocket, reaching for his phone.
'I need to alert them quic-'
But before he could touch it—
BANG
The gunshot rang out, followed by a dull thud.
"Just kidding~ Your intentions were as clear as day from the start…" The man muttered as he looked at the dead corpse, blood slowly seeping out of it.
For a moment, the assassin's eyes lost their edge—the sharpness dulled, his thoughts momentarily clouded. But only for a second. He gave his head a small shake, then turned to leave.
Another one taken care of. That makes… 25 in the past year? I'm getting close to my old record, he mused, walking casually through the main door and down the dark hallway, completely unbothered.
As he reached the elevator, he stepped over two bloodied corpses, their lifeless forms flanking the doors like broken sentinels. He didn't give them more than a glance. With a tap, the elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside.
A soft, upbeat elevator tune began to play. He leaned against the wall, tapping his foot to the rhythm.
"What should I eat tonight?" he muttered aloud. "Leftover pizza… or maybe a quick stir fry?"
THUD.
Without warning, a pulse of force rippled through his body. It surged from his core to his limbs, making him stagger. His vision flickered.
The assassin straightened, all ease evaporating. He glanced down at himself, frowning.
What the hell was that? Poison?
Sniffing the air, he picked up on it—a faint, unfamiliar odor.
Gas… Poisonous gas.
Without hesitation, he launched into action. His foot slammed into the ceiling, blasting the flimsy tiles apart. Gripping the edge, he hoisted himself up out of the moving elevator.
Did they realize I infiltrated the building? No. I killed everyone inside… Unless…
Perched atop the elevator, he looked up. The car continued its descent peacefully, but his instincts screamed otherwise.
CLICK.
Huh?
A sharp sound echoed. In an instant, a powerful force pulled him downward.
The elevator cable's been cut.
Gritting his teeth, he forced his body upward with sheer willpower. In a flash, he launched himself off the falling elevator, grabbing a steel beam jutting from the shaft wall.
Moments later, the elevator slammed into the ground with a deafening BOOM, shattering into a thousand fragments below.
A thick cloud of dust billowed upward as he watched, his eyes colder and more dangerous than ever.
Someone really is trying to kill me. But… how? Cutting that rope shouldn't be possible. Unless… someone else is still alive in this building.
His suspicions deepened.
Unforgivable mistake. I've never missed a target like that.
With a click of his tongue, he dropped down to the ground floor.
The wreckage of the elevator lay in ruin. He sifted through the debris and emerged into the underground parking lot—just as his memory told him it would be.
This should be the lower garage. There are several emergency exits from here.
Scanning the dimly lit area, he noted the scarcity of cars. Most of the staff were gone—but that didn't make it safe.
They could've predicted my path and set a trap here.
He moved silently, staying within shadows, his steps light and calculated. The silence was thick, oppressive—no movement, no presence.
As he neared the third lane in Section B, he spotted the exit door across the lot and moved toward it—only to freeze.
BEEP.
The electronic whine of a car starting echoed through the lot. He turned slowly, narrowing his eyes.
A car sat with its headlights glaring, obscuring the driver. The engine roared to life.
He stood still, expression unreadable.
Then, as expected, the car launched forward.
They're serious.
Instead of dodging, he charged straight toward it.
No hesitation. No fear.
At the last possible second, he leapt, soaring over the hood. With a twist in midair, he landed lightly behind it and broke into a sprint.
The car skidded, tires screeching as it whipped around and gave chase. But then—
BEEP.
Another engine. A second car entered from the side, aiming to intercept.
More than one?
Without pausing, he dashed toward the wall and sprang upward. The second car came tearing toward him. Using the wall for momentum, he flipped and landed on its roof.
He clung to the edges, but the vehicle didn't stop. It accelerated straight toward the wall.
"Tsk."
Letting go, he flung himself aside just before the car smashed violently into the concrete.
Debris scattered everywhere.
VNNNNN
The first car was on him again.
That one was just a distraction.
He stood, then jumped again just in time. His body slammed against the windshield of the second car. Gritting his teeth, he drew his fist back and punched.
Cracks spread instantly. Another punch, then another—and the glass exploded.
He looked inside.
No one was driving.
"What…?"
His eyes narrowed.
Did they bail? Or… was this remote-controlled?
Too many questions—no time to answer them.
Grabbing the wheel, he twisted it hard. The car veered, narrowly avoiding another wall. Bloodied and torn by glass, he climbed in.
His foot hit the brakes.
Nothing.
He pressed again—still nothing.
The brakes are shot. Perfect.
The car continued to accelerate. In this confined space, it was a ticking bomb. Any mistake and it would hit a wall, killing him instantly. It was a disastrous situation on every scale. But...
"Don't underestimate me," he muttered, yanking the wheel violently.
The car spun out and flipped.
BANG.
It rolled, slammed into a wall, and came to a brutal stop. The airbag exploded, softening the blow.
Once everything went still, he shoved it aside, kicked open the door, and crawled out.
"Hell of a way to stop," he muttered, cracking his neck.
What the hell is going on? This whole sequence of events… It's too organized.
He was confused. Ever since stepping into that elevator, things had spiraled into chaos.
More than one person? A trap? A coordinated strike?
There were no clear answers.
One thing was certain—he had to get out before more arrived. Too much noise, too many unknowns.
He turned toward the exit.
[Just die, you tenacious bastard. Are you invincible or what?]
A voice echoed in his mind.
"Hm?"
BADUMP.
A sharp pain pierced his chest, making him stumble. Another wave. And another.
"What… is this?" he gasped, collapsing to his knees. His hand clutched his chest.
[You gave me no choice. I wanted a clean death. But you're a tenacious cockroach. So… a heart attack it is.]
The voice echoed again.
His skin turned pale. His vision blurred. The burning sensation invaded his every sense and clouded his sharp mind. Nothing felt real anymore, even the sounds around him became a distant echo of their true nature.
He hit the ground, eyes still burning with refusal, rage, and confusion.
Then, just as consciousness slipped away, a faint white light enveloped him. It was warm. As if he were basking in the sun of a very peaceful morning. It was the most pleasing sensation he had ever experienced in his life. All the pain and agony slowly faded away, and the numbness took over.
And just like that, the greatest assassin the world had ever known… died.