The sky was dark, split by thin streaks of lightning in the distance. Rain hadn’t started yet, but the air was thick—like the city was holding its breath.The old train yard was empty, rusted tracks stretching out like scars across the concrete. Crates and broken-down cars sat forgotten, blanketed in shadows. Somewhere, a metal sheet clanged in the wind.And in the middle of it all stood Davion.Black hoodie. Gloves. Face hidden in the shadow of his hood. Still as a statue.Then came the sound.Boots.Click. Click. Click.Irene emerged from the far side, trench coat flapping like wings behind her, her badge flashing under the moonlight. Gun drawn, aimed straight at him.“I don’t miss, you know,” she said, voice cold and sharp. “So don’t do anything stupid.”Davion didn’t even blink.“I figured it was you,” he said quietly.“You’ve been ghosting me for three weeks,” Irene snapped. “Tailing your trail of wreckage, broken arms, and anonymous tip-offs. You’ve been very busy for someone wh

Davion knew something was off the moment he stepped out of the ramen shop.Too quiet.The street, normally alive with late-night drunks and neon lights, felt frozen. A soft breeze blew past him, but it carried tension instead of chill.He adjusted the hood of his jacket, eyes darting left and right. The scent of soy sauce clung to him, but underneath it, he caught something sharper—gun oil.He wasn’t alone.He kept walking, casually at first, like he was just a regular guy heading home. But his mind was racing. Two shadows moved on his left, lingering too long by a vending machine. A third flickered in a window reflection ahead."You've got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.Davion turned down an alley.Bad move.Three figures stepped out behind him. One was a woman with a scar across her face, holding twin daggers. Another held a rifle with a suppressor attached. The third, a tall guy with a metal jaw, cracked his knuckles like it was a warm-up."Davion," the woman said

Reika stood over the new hunter’s limp body, her breath heavy in the cold air. She hadn’t intended for him to go down this hard—after all, she wasn’t one to kill without reason. But the second he’d pulled a knife on her, that was the end of the conversation. Still, it didn’t sit right. There was something about this guy that made her pause. Maybe it was the way his eyes flashed with something more than just greed. Or maybe it was the cold sweat on his neck, the same kind she felt when she knew she was being played.“Get up,” she muttered, nudging him with her boot. The guy groaned but didn’t move.“Not the first time I’ve been knocked out, but you sure know how to hit.” His voice was thick, a mix of anger and confusion. He blinked up at her with dark eyes, his black hair matted to his forehead. “You should’ve killed me. It’s what your kind does.”Reika squatted down to his level, arms crossed. “I’m not that kind. I don’t kill just because it’s easy.” She pulled out a small knife, runn

The alley was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a single streetlight. Its weak light cast long shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly along the cracked pavement, adding to the unsettling atmosphere of the place. The city buzzed with life just beyond the alley, but in here, there was nothing but the smell of trash and the distant sound of car engines.Three gang members stood in a loose circle, their eyes scanning the dark corners of the alley with nervous intensity. Their hands gripped their weapons tightly, knuckles white, but their gaze kept flicking to the shadows as though they were expecting something to leap out at them. They weren’t sure what to expect, but they knew one thing: they weren’t getting paid for standing around. They had a job to do.One of them, a tall guy with a scar running down the side of his face, kept peering down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. The paper was damp, folded, and clearly well-used. He glanced at it, then at his two companions

The dimly lit room reeked of old blood and cold sweat. Heavy iron chains clinked against the stone walls, echoing like the ghosts of forgotten prisoners. The man strapped to the chair, his face bruised and pale, trembled in fear. His eyes were wide, searching the room for any sign of hope, but none came.Iron Hand stood in front of him, his hulking frame casting a long shadow across the floor. His black leather gloves creaked as he flexed his fingers, his grip tightening around the handle of a rusted crowbar. His eyes, cold and calculating, never once flickered from the broken man in front of him."I know you know something," Iron Hand growled, his voice low and menacing, a deep rumble that vibrated in the bones of anyone unlucky enough to hear it. He took a step closer, his shadow swallowing the prisoner whole. "You were seen with Davion. You were following him. And now, you're here. What do you know?"The man gasped for air, his chest heaving as he fought to speak. His voice cracked