I'm standing at the edge of a building, looking down at the city below. It's dark. The lights flicker, reflecting off the wet streets, casting distorted shadows across the alleys. The wind bites at my skin, and I feel the dizzying pull of the height. The world below seems so far away, too far to touch.
But then, the bodies begin to stir.
They're scattered across the rooftop, lifeless and broken. I don't know who they are, but they're there, all around me, their faces hollow and their limbs stiff, as though they've been dead for a long time. I take a step back, a cold sweat prickling my skin. But the bodies keep moving, jerking to life with unnatural force.
They're not human anymore. Demons.
Their eyes are black voids, their mouths twisted into grotesque grins as they rise, their movements jerky and wrong. They start whispering in unison, their voices low and hollow, like an echo in my head.
"Ring around the rosie, pocket full of lies, ashes to ashes, time for your demise…"
The words sink into me like poison, the weight of them pressing down on my chest. I can't breathe. My legs feel like they're made of stone, frozen in place.
"This little piggy went to the lab, this little piggy never came back."
"A little cry, a little sigh, you're the reason they die."
I try to move, but my body won't listen. I can hear their footsteps coming closer. The wind howls through the rooftop, and I feel the edge of the building behind me, the drop just a breath away. Jump, they whisper. Jump.
The world tilts, and I feel myself falling.
The sound of my heart pounding is deafening in my ears as the city below rushes up to meet me. The air rips at my face, my stomach twisting as the ground gets closer, too fast.
But then—
I wake up.
I jerk awake with a sharp inhale, gasping for air, my chest heaving. Sweat clings to my skin, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The nightmare clings to me, the images of the bodies and the rooftop lingering in my mind, too real. I feel the weight of the dream pressing down on me, even though I'm no longer falling.
I sit up quickly, my head spinning, the familiar dark of my room coming into focus. I go to the bathroom to rinse my face and wake up, I look in the mirror. There's a crack running down the center now, jagged and deep, cutting my reflection in half.
A crack in me.
I stare at the mirror, at my own tired, haggard face. The yellow glow of my eyes is muted in the dim light, the dark circles under them telling their own story. My breath still comes too fast, my pulse racing, as if the nightmare never really ended.
I rub a hand over my face, trying to ground myself. My mechanical arm clicks as I stretch, the cold metal strangely comforting. I still feel the ghost of the fall, the rush of air in my lungs, the weight of the bodies closing in on me.
The apartment feels suffocating. The city's hum outside does nothing to drown out the ringing in my ears, the echoes of the dream.
I stand up, the familiar ache in my joints reminding me of the parts of me that are no longer human. Not fully, anyway. I slip on my dark purple jacket, feeling the weight of it settle across my shoulders. It's routine now—grab the bag, check the weapons, and go. Another job, another day of pretending I'm just like everyone else.
But I'm not. I never was.
I glance at the mirror again, the crack still there, widening. Something is breaking inside me.
I leave the apartment, I'm heading to the subway, stepping out into the cold, unfeeling world of Nightfall City. The streets are as chaotic as always, neon lights flashing, cars zipping overhead. It's a city that never stops moving, but I feel like I'm standing still. Like I'm stuck.
The subway ride is just another part of the cycle.
I board the tube, a sleek, metallic car that hums beneath the city's surface. It's crowded at first, people shoved together, their heads buried in their virtual realities. The lights overhead flicker and hum, casting shadows across their blank faces.
I find a corner to lean against, watching the world move by through the dirty windows. As the train cuts deeper into the city's underbelly, people begin to disappear. One by one, they slip off at their stops, leaving me alone in the car. I don't mind. I've always been alone.
The train rumbles on, the noise a steady pulse. The city moves above, but down here, it's quieter. Darker.
I can't stop thinking about the nightmare. The bodies. The way they kept whispering, pulling me toward the edge. Jump.
The subway's journey feels endless, but it's a necessary one. Another stop. Another job. Another ghost to chase.
The Ghosts Bar is as grim as it sounds. It's not a guild—it's just a rundown, depressing hole in the ground. The kind of place you go when you have nothing left, when you've given up on everything but survival. The walls are lined with old monitors flashing bounty contracts. The air is thick with the smell of stale smoke and cheap whiskey. The flicker of neon signs outside bleeds through the dirty windows.
I slide into a booth in the back, my boots clicking against the worn tiles. The place is empty except for a few scattered souls nursing drinks, their eyes blank and tired. The bartender doesn't look up as I sit down. He's seen it all. We all have.
I pull out my phone and check the new job. It's another contract. Another hit.
John Toad.
The name doesn't ring a bell at first, but when I read the details, I recognize it. A low-life crime lord, a humanoid Frogman, slippery as a frog and about as trustworthy. He's on the run, wanted for tax evasion. Pathetic. I can't decide whether I'm amused or just disappointed in the man.
Tax evasion? That's his big crime?
But it's another payday. Another job. It's what I do. It's all I've ever done.
I glance over the contract, the payout large enough to make it worth my time. But there's something about it. The more I look at the job, the more it feels like I'm just going through the motions. The thrill is gone. The chase is... routine.
I let out a sigh, staring at the screen of my phone. There's nothing else for me.
The bartender slides a soda toward me without a word, he knows I don't drink alcohol. I take it, coldness refreshes my mind.
The job is set. The hunt begins.
I get the address, and it's not far. I slip on my Oni mask—half of it covering my face, leaving just my yellow eyes visible—and step into the night.
The streets of Nightfall City are alive, pulsing with neon lights and the hum of endless movement. But as I head deeper into the alleys, the air grows thick, like a breath held too long. The building looms ahead, its windows dark, the air heavy with secrets. Inside, Toad's men are waiting.
I'm not here for a fight—not yet, at least. My role tonight is that of a messenger, a trusted one. But I can feel the weight of what's really going down. They don't know who I really am, what I'm capable of. I'll keep it that way—for now.
I enter through the back, moving silently. My boots barely make a sound on the concrete, and I take in the quiet tension in the room. Toad's two men stand near the far end, keeping watch. They don't acknowledge my presence at first, too focused on their task.
They're the kind of guys who always seem to know something's off, but not enough to do anything about it.
I move in fast.
One of them glances up at the last second, but I'm already on him, my hand axe in the air before he can even react. It hits him with a sickening thud, the magnetic edge biting into his skull. He crumples to the ground without a sound.
The other man, seeing the first drop, reaches for his sidearm, but I'm already on him. I grab a metal rod from the floor, using it to stab it into head against the wall.
I hear the sound of the elevator starting its descent.
John Toad. He's getting ready to bolt.
I curse under my breath. I make a move to retrieve my axe, but Toad's already gone. There's no time to waste.
The elevator doors open with a soft whir. I race down the stairwell, fast and quiet, ready for whatever's waiting below. I know what's coming.
The first three floors go as expected—easy. My axe and the few remaining bullets take care of the guards who don't see me coming. But the last floor? That's where it gets ugly.
My last round goes off, and I'm out of bullets. But it doesn't matter. I reach for the knife at my side—light, precise, and deadly. I'm good with it. I don't need a gun to finish the job.
The last man standing is clutching a metal rod. He's shaking, his wide eyes betraying his panic. He knows he's about to lose.
I let an illusion slip past him—just a quick distortion in the air. The room warps, shadows flickering like the walls are bleeding into darkness. He looks around, his breath quickening. His fingers tremble on the rod, pointing at nothing.
Then I whisper, my voice low and jagged, like I'm cutting through his mind with a blade. "Its just a Nightmare"
His face pales, his body stiffens, and the scream that erupts from his throat is pure terror. He spins, looking for a threat that isn't there, his vision clouded by his own panic.
I slip up behind him, my movements silent. I draw the knife with deadly grace. A quick twist. Hush.
His body hits the ground with a sickening thud.
I move fast, ready for what's next.
The Final Showdown:
I reach the ground floor just in time to see Toad slip out of the elevator.
Toad's there, his eyes darting around. He knows I'm coming.
I can hear his grin before he says a word. "Did you think you could run, Kane?"
His voice is like gravel. That frog-like smirk twists into something almost mocking. "You're not the first to try. You won't be the last."
I don't answer. I'm focused, watching his every move. His legs are powerful—enhanced. He leaps high, faster than I thought possible, aiming to strike me down in a blur of motion.
The fog begins to roll in, thick and choking. But I've fought through worse. I can see through it, hear his movements, feel the air shift when he's about to strike.
He's coming down from above—faster than I expected. But I'm ready this time. I catch him mid-air, pulling him into a chokehold with my robotic arm. He kicks and struggles, but I hold on tight, not letting him slip away.
With one final move, I shove my hand into his ches, my metal fingers piercing through the bone with sickening ease. His body goes limp in my grasp, and I drag him back toward the elevator. The job's done.
The Sheriff:
The elevator doors slide open, and I step out into the harsh light. The sheriff's there, his usual smug expression in place. His hand rests casually on the grip of his gun, but he doesn't pull it.
"Well, well," he sneers. "Did you have fun, Kane? Another bloody job down, I'm guessing?"
I glance at the lifeless body of John Toad, then back at him. "I do the job, and you clean up the mess. Win-win."
He glares at me, clearly itching for a fight. "You're a real son of a bitch, Kane."
"Yeah, well, that's what they pay me for," I mutter, pushing past him and dropping Toad's body on the floor. "Enjoy cleaning this one up."
The sheriff grumbles something under his breath, but I'm already out the door. Another day, another job done. And another body left behind for someone else to deal with.