The night bled with color.
Laspeas was a fever dream of neon and smoke — electric veins pulsing through the gray city.
Inside Lux Club, light cut across bodies like shattered glass. The bass trembled through the floor, through the bones, through the blood of everyone inside.
"Hey, Youri — this is awesome!" Roland's voice cracked with excitement, his face bathed in violet light.
Youri raised a glass, the gin swirling like mercury.
"Told you, Roboy. This city might be rotten, but it sure knows how to sin."
The music drowned their laughter. Holographic dancers shimmered above the crowd, dissolving into fractal dust. The air stank of alcohol, ozone, and perfume — a city trying to forget itself.
"Hey, Youri… do you think we should head back?" Roland asked, voice uncertain.
Youri laughed, too loud, too wild.
"We just got here! What, scared your sister's ghost is gonna crawl through the door?"
"No… just got a bad feeling."
"Relax. She's buried in meetings. Trust me, we've got hours."
Then his wrist comm blinked red.
"Shit! Anna's calling me!"
"Wait—don't answer that in here. Go outside!"
Roland stumbled into the alley, the club's music muffled behind the steel door.
Neon rain shimmered on wet asphalt.
"Hey, Anna!"
"Where are you, Sir Roland?"
"Ehh… we're… around. Why?" He tried to sound casual, failing miserably.
"Lady Leonora asked me to check on you."
"Oh! Yeah—tell her I'm fine! We're heading back right now!"
"Don't worry, sir. She's already on her way."
Roland froze.
"What—no, no, no. Shit!"
He sprinted back inside, heartbeat syncing with the bass.
"Youri! Sister's on her way here!"
Youri just grinned lazily.
"Heh. Which sister again?"
"Oh my god—he's so drunk!"
Then the doors exploded open.
The music died like a heartbeat cut short.
Every head turned.
Leonora stood in the doorway — long coat trailing, eyes black with fury and exhaustion. Rain streaked down her hair.
The silence in the room felt heavier than any gun.
"There you are."
Her voice was soft — too soft.
The kind of calm that comes right before the storm.
"Roland. Come here."
He obeyed like a child.
"I'm so sorry, sister!"
The slap cracked across the room.
He staggered back, shame and fear burning his face.
"Go wait in the car."
"Yes, sister…"
A voice cut through the tension — smoky, sharp.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing in my club?" Said Gloria.
Leonora didn't even turn.
"No one's talking to you. Move."
"What if I don't?" Said Gloria as she put her hand on her shoulder.
A blur. A thud.
Leonora's fist buried itself in Gloria's stomach.
Gloria dropped to her knees, gasping for air, the silk of her dress clinging to sweat.
"I'll get you myself," Leonora muttered, stepping over her and seizing Youri by the collar.
"General! It's you—what are you doing here?" he stammered, half-smiling, half-afraid.
She didn't answer — just dragged him through the door, the rain slapping against their faces.
Outside, lightning fractured the night.
Leonora shoved him against the car, her eyes burning.
"Listen to me, you drunk bastard." Her voice cracked — a hint of sorrow beneath the rage.
"You can throw your life away all you want, but don't you ever drag my brother into your shit again."
He swallowed, rainwater mixing with gin on his lips.
"I didn't—"
"Our arrangement is over."
Her hand trembled. "I want my debt paid by tomorrow."
She turned, coat swirling, and vanished into the car's dark interior.
The door slammed shut. The sound was final — like a coffin closing.
Phone call
"You sure of what you saw?"
"Yes, boss. The Phantom herself. Came to Lux. Left in a black sedan."
In a room lit by the dying red of cigarette tips, a man leaned forward.
Steel fingers clicked against the table. His face was half metal — a grin welded to a scar.
"The Gray Phantom… in the flesh."
The words dripped like poison.
He stood, coat brushing the floor, eyes glowing faintly red.
"Finally. I get to return the favor."
"All the boys are ready, boss."
"Good. Find that car. Don't kill her yet."
A thin smile tore across his face.
"I want her breathing when I skin her alive."
The Ambush
The road stretched ahead, washed in the white-blue of streetlights.
Inside the car, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the whisper of rain.
"My lady," Anna said softly, "should I return for him?"
Leonora's gaze stayed fixed on the window. Her reflection was pale, cold, haunted.
"To the hotel, Anna. We're done for today."
"Yes, my lady."
The silence was brittle. Then —The night erupted into chaos in an instant. A deafening crash echoed through the narrow city streets as a black sedan slammed into Leonora's car with bone-jarring force. The world tilted violently, metal groaning, glass shattering into a glittering rain around them. Anna's scream pierced the chaos as the car skidded sideways, tires squealing, sparks spraying from the impact. Roland slammed against the door, eyes wide in panic, while Leonora's knuckles whitened as she gripped the wheel, her heart hammering against her ribs. The smell of burning rubber and ozone filled the cabin. Time seemed to stretch—every second a razor-edge of tension—as she realized they were not merely attacked, they were ambushed.
"Anna! Are you alright?! Roland—?"
Doors burst open.
Gunmetal shadows flooded the cabin.
"Don't move."
A rough hand wrenched her out.
"Who are you—?" Leonora shouted.
"You're about to find out." The gun's butt slammed into her skull.
Darkness fell like a curtain.
The Warehouse
When she woke, it was cold.
Chains bit into her wrists.
The air was thick with the stench of oil, blood, and rot.
A single light buzzed overhead.
And from the dark — footsteps.
A terrifying blend of man and machine. The left side of his face was scarred and human, the right a sleek, glowing cybernetic implant that scanned her with a crimson eye. His right arm gleamed black and steel, hydraulic pistons flexing as if eager for destruction, while half his torso was reinforced with exposed circuits pulsing like a heartbeat. Each step he took clicked with mechanical precision, yet his human side seethed with rage, a predator sharpened by betrayal and war. He was no longer fully human — and yet, the fury in his eyes was all too real..
"Wakey wakey, dear Phantom." His voice was honey over razors.
He crouched, studying her face.
"Even prettier than I remember. The pictures didn't do you justice."
"Who the fuck are you?" Leonora shouted at him.
He laughed — a horrible, mechanical sound.
"Oh, that hurts. After all we've been through? At Gara. You carved me in half."
Her eyes widened. "Dimitry Oron."
He grinned.
"Ahh, so you do remember. I see the recognition — and the fear. You took my arms, my men, my life… and now I'm going to take yours, piece by piece."
He leaned close. His breath stank of rust and alcohol.
"Your brother begged, you know? 'Don't take her,' he said. He cried for you."
"If you touch him I sware—" Leonora struggling with the cuffs.
He gripped her face, metal fingers digging into her skin until blood welled.
"Swear what? You can't do a thing. You're mine now. No one can hear you. No one's coming."
He flicked a switch.
An electric saw roared to life, blue sparks flashing across the walls.
"Let's see what the Phantom's blood looks like under the light."