ABANDONED SKYRISE — NEW ATLANTIS OUTER RING – NIGHT
A skeletal skyscraper, half-constructed, half-forgotten, looms against the neon skyline.
Wind howls through the empty steel beams.
A single figure stands at the edge of the 68th floor — SHREDEYE, the sniper ghost no one ever sees twice.
Lean build, ashen stubble, steady eyes that never miss.
His custom sniper rifle — matte black, no serial, no markings — rests on a collapsible stand.
SHREDEYE speaks in a quiet murmur, not to anyone present… but to the encrypted recorder implanted in the rifle's frame.
[SHREDEYE]:Begin log. Contract phase one. Target: Jaxon Steel. Alias — Agent Steel.
He loads a round with surgical calm.
[SHREDEYE]:Background extraction underway. Compiling behavioral algorithms… combat history… family connections…
A holographic slate floats beside him, displaying fragmented clips:
Jaxon at INN training
Jaxon fighting a cyborg
Jaxon speaking to Susan
Jaxon with Lopez and Paul
A blurred childhood medical report
A classified file labeled ELIRA CROSS – DECEASED
His expression doesn't change — but something sharp flickers in his eyes at the last file.
[SHREDEYE]:Past still corrupted. Gaps unresolved. Ghost Syndicate fingerprints everywhere.
He zooms in on Steel's face in one of the clips.
[SHREDEYE]:(mutters)You don't even know what you are… do you?
He locks the rifle into place, aiming toward INN HQ's distant silhouette.
[SHREDEYE]:Phase Two: Observe. Predict. Break the pattern.
A final whisper, cold and precise.
[SHREDEYE]:And when the time comes… end him clean."
He shuts the holo-slate.
Darkness swallows him as he steps back — silent as a shadow withdrawing its claws.
---
INN HQ — BIOMEDICAL LAB — MORNING
The lab is bright, sterile, humming with medical tech and holographic scanners.
DR. SUSAN THOMAS adjusts vial racks with clinical precision… but her eyes flick with quiet warmth when someone enters.
AGENT LARA STORM, mid-20s, confident, sharp-witted, with storm-gray eyes and a braided ponytail. New transfer from Tactical Response Division.
Lara hands Susan a datapad.
[Agent Storm]:Your analysis on the cyborg core helped us reroute half the diagnostics. Impressive work, Doc.
[Dr. Susan Thomas]:(smiles softly)Comes with being overworked and undercaffeinated.
Lara laughs — a low, easy sound.
[Agent Storm]:You and Steel really make the same jokes.
Susan pauses for a moment… but hides the reaction.
[Dr. Susan Thomas]:He rubs off on people.
Lara leans against a counter, relaxed.
[Agent Storm]:Good guy, that one. Keeps the whole floor lighter. Lopez says he's stubborn as hell.
[Dr. Susan Thomas]:(grinning)Lopez says that about everyone.
The rapport between the two women begins naturally — a blend of respect, camaraderie, and guarded vulnerability.
[Agent Storm]You ever take a break, Susan?
[Dr. Susan Thomas]:I had one. Didn't last long.
Lara Storm raises a brow.
[Agent Storm]:You know… if you ever need to talk or grab a drink, I'm around. INN can be… isolating.
Susan's gaze softens.
[Dr. Susan Thomas]:Thank you, Lara. Really. It means more than you know.
INN HQ — LAB CORRIDOR
Lara and Susan step out of the lab.
[Agent Strom]:I'll catch you later. Meeting with Tactical. Don't get buried under work, okay?
[Dr. Susan Thomas]:I'll try not to.
They part ways —
a budding friendship forming, genuine and important.
Susan walks toward her office, unaware of the invisible crosshairs Shredeye has begun to align around her life.
And Jaxon's.
OLD DISTRICT — NEW ATLANTIS OUTSKIRTS – NIGHT
A forgotten part of the city.
Neon lights don't reach here.
Streetlamps flicker like dying fireflies.
Walls covered in peeling posters, broken holograms looping fragments of old ads.
A cold wind sweeps through the narrow alleys.
A WOMAN — early 27, clothes worn, shoes frayed, hair unkempt — drifts through the empty street.
Her steps are slow.
Tired.
Fragile.
She clutches a torn backpack to her chest — everything she owns inside.
Her breath fogs in the night air.
She stops near a closed storefront and curls her arms for warmth.
[WOMAN] :(weak whisper)Just… one quiet night. Please…
A faint static crackles behind her.
She stiffens.
Turns around —
Nothing there.
Silence.
Then —
a glitch.
A distortion in the air, like broken pixels dripping down from reality itself.
Lines of shadow peel out of the darkness and reassemble themselves into a figure — tall, humanoid, but twisted by interference.
The GLITCHED FIGURE stands behind her.
No footsteps.
No sound.
Just an unnatural tremor in the world.
The woman doesn't see it…
but she feels something.
She slowly turns—
And the glitch figure's face — a mask of shifting data and darkness — slowly smiles.
A low digital growl vibrates through the alley.
GLITCHED FIGURE : (distorted whisper) Found you…
The woman's eyes widen in terror.
She runs.
The figure doesn't chase.
It simply watches…
smiling wider, as the glitch spreads across its body like a virus ready to unleash.
STATIC surges.
TO BE CONTINUED...