The old industrial area was like something out of a nightmare. The subway line here was abandoned, crumbling to dust. Rusted metal rails twisted like dying vines, and the concrete was covered in graffiti, cracks running deep through the walls. The whole place smelled like rot.
At the edge of the district, a sleek black car rolled to a stop near a locked gate. The engine went quiet, and the driver stepped out.
She was a woman, maybe in her late twenties, sharp-looking in a black skirt and stockings. Her white blouse tucked neatly under a black coat. The sound of her heels clicking against the rough ground was the only thing breaking the silence. Her eyes were sharp, scanning everything-checking for danger, watching every little movement.
She walked toward the tunnel entrance, hesitated when she smelled the stench.
"Tch... this place stinks," she muttered, lifting the back of her hand to cover her nose.
Her steps echoed through the tunnel as she walked deeper inside. The lights flickered weakly, barely lighting up the old beams covered in cobwebs and the trash scattered on the tracks. It felt like the whole place was holding its breath.
Someone was watching her already.
Up in the shadows, high on the tunnel wall, Black Glass adjusted the scope in her gloved hand. It wasn't a weapon, just a small optical scanner, but it was all she needed. She tracked the woman's every move. Black Glass didn't care who the woman was-only that she was here, alone.
She stayed hidden, not making a sound. Her black hoodie melted into the dark, her face hidden behind a black mask.
She waited.
The woman-Alina, she'd said-moved deeper into the tunnel. As she stepped into a darker spot, her shoulders tensed. The tension in the air was thick.
And then, a voice-cold and clear-cut through the quiet.
"Don't turn around. Speak from where you are."
Alina froze, her breath catching in her throat. She clenched her fists but didn't move.
"I'm Alina Vos," she said, trying to sound calm. "I work for Nyros Industries. Came alone, like you asked."
The silence stretched on for a second. Then Alina spoke again, nervous but trying to keep her voice steady.
"I found you through that user list. The code name. I know how to read hex code. The analysts didn't catch it, but I—" she paused, "—I'm trained to read encrypted data."
Nothing. Just silence.
Then, from somewhere in the dark: "Who's the target?"
Alina took a deep breath, steadying herself. "His name's Doctor Ivar Reichen. He's a biotech engineer. In public, he's seen as a genius. But behind closed doors... he's dangerous."
She hesitated for a moment, then continued. "He used to be with Altair Genex. That company's hiding something. Reichen's planning to announce a new form of cell regeneration' at the Viranth Expo Hall in nine days. Hundreds of people will be there. But we've dug deeper. He's testing his methods on humans, not lab rats. We have files, but no solid proof. If he goes public with this, he'll get millions in funding. People will back him. The world could change."
Black Glass didn't respond for a long time. The only sound was the weak hum of the broken lights.
Finally, the voice came again. "How much?"
Alina flinched. She knew this was coming. "I can offer four million yen. Personally. It's all I can offer. No clearance to go higher."
Black Glass's voice came back, sharper this time. "Triple it. Then we'll talk."
Alina's chest tightened. "I can't do that... I need to talk to my superiors first. It's not up to me." She hesitated, glancing around the tunnel, like she could see Black Glass even in the dark. "But I'll make sure they know. I'll get them to triple it."
A long pause.
"Then contact me when they agree."
The words hit Alina like a punch to the gut. She couldn't push back, couldn't argue. This was how it was going to go down.
Another pause. The silence was suffocating. Alina's hands trembled.
"Are you still there?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, too scared to move.
No reply.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She stood there frozen, too afraid to make a sound, too afraid to turn around. Every instinct told her to run. But curiosity held her still.
Slowly, her body moved against her will. She turned around, expecting to see Black Glass standing in the shadows, or maybe just a silhouette.
But there was nothing. No one.
She spun around, her breath quickening, scanning every inch of the tunnel. She checked the walls, the broken beams, even the old rooftops above her.
Nothing.
Her stomach dropped.
She turned and bolted. She ran out of the tunnel, her heart pounding in her chest, the sound of her footsteps echoing off the walls. She skidded onto the street outside, gasping for air, eyes darting everywhere.
Black Glass had already disappeared.
---
Back to her temporary hideout, She entered her temporary hideout, footsteps silent against the tile. Her black hoodie was still up, her face mask hiding her expression. In one hand, she held the compact scope.
She locked the door behind her, stepped into the small hallway, and turned into the laundry room. The space was plain, one window with the blinds shut tight, and a single old washing machine against the wall.
She knelt down beside it, reaching under the drum to press three small magnetic triggers. Click. The panel beneath the washing machine slid open.
She knelt down beside it, reaching under the drum to press three small magnetic triggers. Click. The panel beneath the washing machine slid open.
Without hesitation, she descended the narrow steps hidden below.
Her secret room was small and cold. The concrete floor echoed faintly. Only a metal table sat at the center with a few dura-boxes stacked nearby. No decorations. No distractions.
She set the scope on the table beside her laptop, opened the device, and powered it on.
A few keystrokes later, she logged into her encrypted account, the display showing her alias: 0x426C476C.
A few seconds passed. New messages appeared. None relevant—until one caught her eye.
A recent transmission. From the same client.
She opened it.
From: Alina Vos
Subject: Target Background – Ivar Reichen
Message: Attached are the files gathered on Dr. Ivar Reichen. Location, time, and personnel for the presentation included. More data to follow upon confirmation of the job.
Black Glass leaned forward, fingers gliding over the keys. She downloaded the files, extracting them onto a separate encrypted drive. She didn't blink as she opened each one.
Ivar Reichen — age 47. Profession: Biotech engineer. Affiliated with Altair Genex.
Public record showed excellence, awards, multiple research grants.
Behind the curtain, however, the files detailed unapproved lab tests, retracted articles, and quiet disappearances of former employees.
Black Glass narrowed her eyes.
She opened a private database. A tool she coded herself.
She cross-referenced every individual associated with Ivar in the past three years—assistants, private security, drivers, partners, sponsors.
She moved fast.
Presentation scheduled: Nine days from now.
Estimated crowd: over 600 people.
She leaned back in her chair.
This wouldn't be a clean shot in an open street. Too many eyes. No high vantage points unless she manipulated her position in advance.
She glanced at the scope on the table, picking it up once more.
Her tone was quiet and flat. No emotion.
"I guess I should go there."
She placed the scope back down and shut the laptop. Then moved to the hidden cabinet behind her and opened it slowly.
She placed the scope back down and shut the laptop. Then moved to the hidden cabinet behind her and opened it slowly.
A row of black outfits hung inside—tactical hooded jackets, loose pants, gloves, boots, masks. Every set designed for silent movement, total coverage, and no identifying marks.
She reached for the gear she'd need next.
It wasn't just about the target anymore. Now it was about planning every step between here and the presentation.
Because once the shot was fired…
Everyone would be watching again.
---
**Somewhere beneath a private biotech facility.**
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Clean white tiles covered the floors, and the walls were lined with reinforced steel panels. Surveillance cameras turned silently in the corners of the hall.
Dr. Ivar Reichen walked through the corridor alone. He wore a long white lab coat over a black shirt and gray slacks. His coat was spotless, ironed sharp at the seams. His gray hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. Silver-rimmed glasses rested on his nose. He looked calm, composed—like any respected scientist.
But his hands, inside black rubber gloves, were twitching with excitement.
He stopped outside a heavy metal door, its access panel glowing red. He pulled out his ID card, swiped it, and waited for the green light to blink.
As the door slid open with a hiss, a different kind of lab was revealed.
Inside, the walls were darker. Pipes ran along the ceiling. The lighting was dimmer, more industrial. The smell of rust and chemicals lingered in the air.
He stepped inside, the door sliding closed behind him.
He muttered to himself as he walked. "Nine days... just nine more days. The public will praise me again. The board will beg for more funding. And they'll never know..."
He passed rows of lab tables with scattered syringes, empty vials, and worn notebooks filled with messy handwriting.
In the corner of the lab were several small cages stacked in twos. Each cage had a rat inside. Most were quiet, some trembling. Others lay motionless.
He turned his head to the right.
A reinforced wall of steel bars stood tall. Behind the bars, three women sat on the dirty concrete floor. Their clothes were torn.
Their hair was messy and tangled. Their skin was pale and bruised. Dry blood marked parts of their faces and arms. They looked weak—tired. One of them didn't even lift her head.
Ivar stepped close to the bars, holding the clipboard he brought from the front office.
"You're lucky, you know," he said in a quiet, cheerful voice. "You're going to help change the world."
One of the women raised her head slightly, eyes filled with hate. She didn't speak.
He chuckled under his breath.
"Your cells are regenerating faster than expected. This might finally be the breakthrough."
He tapped on the bars with his pen.
"I'll run another round of tests tonight. No food again, but if you behave... maybe I'll give you water."
The woman lowered her head again.
Ivar turned around and walked back to the table, writing notes as he muttered numbers and chemical codes.
"Cell Regen Program: Test 14-B... moving along better than I thought."
He smiled to himself.
Inside the underground lab, Dr. Ivar Reichen stood alone in front of his main monitor. His notes were laid out, data running across several screens. The rats were quiet now. The women behind the bars had fallen into exhausted silence.
He looked at the countdown timer above the screen: "Presentation – 9 Days Remaining."
He set his clipboard down, took a deep breath, and began to laugh quietly.
Then louder.
The sound echoed through the metal walls.
"Nine days... just nine days, and the world will be mine to rebuild."
His laugh grew more intense—unfiltered, cruel, twisted.
---
Meanwhile...
In the small dark room of her hideout, Black Glass sat on the edge of her bed. The curtain was slightly open, allowing the moonlight to pass through.
She was dressed in thin, dark lady sleepwear, smooth and fitted to her figure.
Her legs were crossed, arms resting on her thighs. She stared at the moon through the window—unblinking, expression cold.
Her sharp grey eyes stayed locked onto the sky, not looking away.
The room was silent.
Only her steady breathing, and the distant city hum outside.
A thin white line splits the screen in two.
On the left, Dr. Ivar Reichen's twisted grin and echoing laughter.
On the right, Black Glass, eyes fixed on the moon, her body still, her expression unreadable.