CITY WITHOUT COLOR
The sky over Ascadra never truly darkens, but it never fully shines either. Neon holographic ads flicker all night, bouncing artificial light off the glass towers that loom like modern mausoleums. But beneath all that splendor, there are alleys not found on any map—places where justice hides, and truth is buried alive.
That night, the rain fell gently, soaking the cracked old asphalt. In District D-11, a young woman's scream shattered the silence. Five burly men dragged a girl into a black, unmarked van. She kicked, scratched, fought—but was outnumbered.
"Nice voice," one of the kidnappers sneered. "Shame it won't last."
They smothered her mouth with a damp cloth. Her strength faded. Her body slackened.
But they didn't know—high above, on the rooftop across the street, someone was watching.
Not the police. Not a hero. Not an ordinary man.
His name was Adilof Broxtler.
His body was wrapped in matte-black armor with hexagonal plating that swallowed light. His face was hidden behind a symmetrical iron mask—no mouth, just two glowing blue eyes. In his hand: a silent weapon. On his chest: a lightweight metal plate embedded with sensors. No logos. No names.
He jumped.
The wind sliced the silence. Rain slammed against his helmet. His body fell from the sky like a shard of forgotten truth.
In three seconds, all five attackers were down.
The first took a punch to the throat—out cold. The second was kicked into the van, denting the door. The third tried to flee but got tangled by a magnetic cable. The fourth was shocked by an electric dart. The fifth screamed, "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"
No answer.
Only a silent fist in return.
The girl collapsed onto the wet asphalt, gasping. Blood trickled down her forehead. But she was alive.
Adilof approached. He knelt, lifting her head gently.
Her eyes fluttered open. "My... name..." she coughed. "Shy... blance..."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
BROXTLER'S HIDDEN BASE
A sterile white room—like a future lab kept off the grid. A medical bed, scanning equipment, lights that shifted hue based on the patient's emotional state. Shyblance lay unconscious, connected to monitors. Her heartbeat: steady.
Adilof stood nearby, still in his armor. His helmet rested on a metal table.
His face was blank. Cold. But not empty. Just... long silenced.
Shyblance's eyes opened slowly.
"Who... are you?"
Adilof stared at the monitor. Then, without prompt, he spoke:
"I wanted to be a painter."
Shyblance blinked. "What?"
"My art was rejected. Too gray, they said. Too expressionless."
His voice was low—each word a weight of steel.
"The world doesn't want reality on canvas. They crave fantasy. Something soothing. Something marketable. Not truth."
Shyblance paused. "And so... you became this?"
Adilof gave a faint laugh. "Not right away."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
THE PAST THAT NEVER SOLD
Memories flashed.
A younger Adilof standing outside the art room, clutching a gray painting. Laughter from peers. A sneer from the teacher.
City sidewalks. Cold rain. Selling his painting for a bowl of half-spoiled rice.
His father, Josepo Staline, fixing broken clocks in their cramped home.
Josepo never said much. But each night, he hung one of Adilof's paintings on the narrow wall. Never praised them. Just hung them.
Until one day, an old man bought a painting. No haggling. No small talk. Just one sentence:
"This... unsettles me. That's real art."
A week later, the painting went viral. His name was everywhere. The money followed. And Adilof—vanished from the map.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
BACK TO NOW
Shyblance looked down at the scar on her hand. "Why did you save me?"
"Because you're not a number. You don't deserve to disappear in records written by people who've never seen your face."
"And now?" she asked, eyes steady. "I want to rise. Not just survive."
Adilof met her gaze. "Then learn to see the world from behind a mask."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
REAL-WORLD INTERRUPTION
The base remained silent—but tension filled the air.
BEEP—BEEP—BEEP!
The main screen flashed red. System alert. Underground network feed activated.
> PRIORITY ALERT – DISTRICT A-1 ASCADRA CENTRAL BANK – ACTIVE ROBBERY IN PROGRESS
Shyblance stood. "What is it?"
Adilof narrowed his eyes, enlarging the city's CCTV view. Three black vans pulled up outside the bank. Five armed men exited, firing shots into the air. One held a bomb. Another herded hostages.
"This isn't just a robbery," Adilof muttered.
"Why not?"
He zoomed in on one of the attackers. A small chip glowed under the skin of his neck.
"VORDA," he said flatly. "Elite-trained. Supplied by a shadow faction. They're creating a diversion."
"From what?"
Adilof glanced at her. "That's what I'll find out. But first, the surface."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
He opened the weapon locker.
Upgraded black armor. A sleeker mask with enhanced optics. Electrically charged gloves. Grappling booster. Compact blade. Two unexplained black capsules.
He geared up in silence.
"Can I come?" Shyblance asked.
"If I say yes, you're accepting death."
"I already died yesterday. Now I just want to rise."
A faint smile touched Broxtler's lips.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
BANK ROOFTOP – FIVE MINUTES LATER
Two shadows stood beneath the moonlight. Adilof scanned with his visor. Shyblance held a signal jammer.
"Five targets. Two with hostages. One in the vault. One on surveillance. One at the door."
"Cut the lights. Move quietly. No noise."
"Like a painting... but alive," Shyblance whispered.
Adilof fired his grapple. Descended swiftly. Slipped through the vents. Two robbers below.
CRASH.
The ceiling gave way. Adilof landed on one. A dull blade slammed into his neck. The other raised a gun—too slow. A kick shattered his knee. One more to the head. Unconscious.
The hostages froze.
"Quiet," Adilof whispered. "Gunfire hits in three seconds."
In the camera room, a robber panicked. All feeds went dark.
ZAP!
A jolt hit his neck.
Shyblance stood behind him, jammer reconfigured as a stun weapon.
"If you want control... know where the OFF button is," she muttered.
Two left.
One with the bomb. One in the vault.
A grenade flew.
Smoke burst through the air.
Adilof emerged from the shadows. Two bullets struck his armor. One deflected. He spun. A blade pierced the attacker's shoulder. A scream—then collapse.
The last robber stood alone, trembling, clutching the bomb.
"COME ANY CLOSER AND I DETONATE IT!"
Adilof walked calmly.
"I MEAN IT!"
A rope dropped from the ceiling.
Snared. Yanked upward.
The robber slammed into the ceiling. Out cold.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
Seven minutes.
All over.
The police arrived—too late, as always.
Adilof and Shyblance vanished across the rooftop exit.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
Back at the base, Shyblance sat, breath ragged.
"That was insane."
Adilof answered only:
"That was warm-up. These aren't the real enemies."
"Then who are they?"
He didn't respond.
He opened a hidden file on the main screen.
A red symbol pulsed.
> FILE: VORDA – ASCADRA'S CORRUPTION NETWORK