Scene 1: The Promise
"Did you find the girl?"
"No, not yet, sir."
The man stood in the dark room of the Hero Organization, his clenched fist trembling with frustration. Shadows cloaked him, accentuating the grim determination in his features. Across from him, his subordinate, stoic and silent, stood with his head slightly bowed in respectful anticipation, waiting for his superior's next command.
"I promised Richard I'd look after his daughter. Now, he's dead. His wife and the child are missing... It's been 16 years already, and you're telling me there isn't even a hint or a trace of them? Not a single sign?"
The subordinate didn't dare to speak at first, but then, in a voice that matched the somber atmosphere, he responded.
"Yes, sir. No sign, no trace. Even with all our advanced technologies and tracing methods, we could not locate them at all. They're as if they never existed."
The man's jaw tightened. His breath slowed as his mind raced. Richard—his most loyal friend, his most trusted ally—had vanished, and so had his family. This wasn't just a matter of lost contacts; it felt deliberate, as if someone had erased their very existence.
"I see. Richard must have hidden them both well enough... but from whom? Why would one of my strongest men hide his wife and daughter from us? Something's fishy here... Richard's always been my most loyal friend."
The subordinate, without looking up, simply nodded. "Indeed, sir."
The silence in the room grew heavier. The man ran his hand through his hair, his mind working through the possibilities, none of them good.
"What about the Bright? Have you located her?"
"Traces of her power have been observed in the city of Houston, US. We're still tracking her movements."
A brief pause filled the room before the man finally spoke, his voice cold with resolution. "Focus on finding Richard's wife and daughter. Even if they're dead, I need their bodies. I'll deal with the Bright myself."
The subordinate hesitated for a moment, considering his superior's request. "Understood, sir. However, there's something else you should know. Traces of the Dissonant have been observed as well. Several of our men have encountered and neutralized them in the vicinity. They may be onto the Bright too."
The man's expression darkened. The Dissonant—silent, methodical, and terrifying in their power. If they were after the Bright, it would only mean one thing: destruction.
"The Dissonant are making their move," he muttered under his breath. "We can't allow them to get to her first. The Bright must be in our custody. If the Dissonant have her, they'll turn her into a weapon, capable of turning entire cities to ashes."
The subordinate nodded sharply. "I'll intensify the search for Richard's family and ensure we don't lose the Bright to the Dissonant."
The man turned, stepping toward the window, his silhouette framed by the faint moonlight filtering through the glass. "Time is of the essence. Keep me updated. I'll need every piece of information, no matter how small. We can't afford to let anything slip through our fingers now. We are not just fighting for control; we're fighting for survival."
The room fell into a heavy silence as the subordinate bowed and turned to leave, knowing that the next few days could change everything. As the door clicked shut behind him, the man stood alone, his thoughts consumed by the past—and the dark, dangerous future that loomed ahead.
Scene 2: Houston
After 2 years
"I'll have the Croque-Madame with a side of Crispy Brussels Sprouts and Tiramisu Macaron for dessert, please."
Lunch hours are the peak time at the Common Bond Brasserie & Bakery Cafe, in Houston, US. The place is bustling with workers who are huddled over papers, discussing business and making a mess of their papers. Despite the chaos, there's a liveliness here, one that I've grown accustomed to—a kind of energy I always longed for.
"Rachel, can you take my shift for tonight? I have some appointment for dinner."
"Appointment for dinner?"
"Yeah, I happen to have a date tonight. Will you help me please? You can have my sum for tonight."
Tina, with her carefree attitude and a bit of laziness, has always been my good friend. I met her right after I left the orphanage. I was out there, wandering, looking for a job, when I ran into her. Somehow, we clicked, and she invited me to work here at the cafe. But she's always been clumsy and, to be honest, a bit lazy when it comes to night shifts. So, more often than not, I end up covering for her.
"Okay."
Life in Houston has been tough. Ever since I left the orphanage, I've felt an emptiness. No friends, no family, no one to talk to. All I could do was work day and night, just to survive—working to pay rent, eating what I could afford, saving as much as I could.
I grew up in an orphanage called The Children's Center, Inc., in Galveston, Texas. As far as I know, I was left at their doorstep when I was about two years old. My parents? I don't know. The only thing I had with me was a silver locket, chained tightly around my neck. It looked like it could open, but I could never figure out how. Sister Catherine, the caretaker, took me in and raised me. The orphanage had little funding, so my education was limited—just the bare basics.
When I turned 18, I had to leave the orphanage. No family to turn to, no one to look out for me. I followed Sister Catherine to Houston, where she helped me find a job and a place to stay. But for someone like me—uneducated and alone—the only job I could get was at a restaurant. It was a small, rundown place, but I made it work. I bounced from job to job, moving around, hoping to find something better. As a woman living alone, safety was always a concern, and I learned quickly how to fend for myself.
I've worked as a maid, a dishwasher, and even at a bar once. That was a horrible experience. But when I met Tina, she brought me here. She saw something in me, and we became close. Now, after years of working, I've grown to like this place, the rhythm of the cafe, the familiar faces, and the constant hum of life.
But sometimes, when the lights dim and the doors close, my thoughts turn inward. I still ask myself—Why did my parents leave me? Did they not want me? Was I an unwanted child? Or just lost? Is my family out there searching for me?
I have no answers. Those questions linger in my mind every night as I head home, walking through the empty streets of Houston. I see families walking together, parents holding their children's hands. I watch them longingly, wondering if I'll ever know that kind of love. Am I so unlucky, so unworthy, to never have that?
Will life always feel like this—empty, like an unfilled shell—or is there someone out there who will see me for who I truly am? Someone who'll want me, despite my past, despite the years of unanswered questions?
The city is busy during the day, but when night falls, everything slows down. It gets calm. Almost too calm. And it's in that silence, the quiet between the noise, where I feel the weight of everything I've lost and all that I still long to find.
Scene 3: Eyes in the Shadows
"Is that her?" one voice asked from the shadows of a black van.
"Yeah. That's the one."
They watched Rachel from across the street as she left the café, heading into the alley she always used to shortcut home.
"Boss said she has to stay alive," another voice muttered.
"Alive, yeah. Doesn't mean untouched." The man grinned in the dark.
"You're a freak," the driver grumbled. "Stick to the plan. Grab her and go. We don't want the Heroes catching wind."
But someone already had.
High above, perched on a rooftop under the silver moon, a lone figure watched—cloaked in night, eyes glowing faintly.
Scene 3: Shadows in the Alley
I should head home fast. The street is too quiet tonight. Something doesn't feel right. I've never had a feeling like this before, but right now, even the wind seems dangerous, like it's warning me of something unseen, something coming.
I turn down the alley, hoping to make it through this part of the city quickly, when suddenly, a car screeches around the corner, skidding to a halt in front of me. Before I can react, a group of men jumps out, grabs me, and drags me towards the vehicle. One of them clamps a hand over my mouth, his grip tight enough to silence my screams.
Panic surges through my body. I struggle, twisting, kicking, but he holds me so firmly that even moving an inch feels impossible. My heart pounds in my chest, and I scream again, but the sound is barely a whisper against the force holding me down.
"Use your power to make her sleep fast!" one of the men orders, his voice sharp, cold. I can feel him moving, and I freeze. What power? What are they talking about?
Another man, his eyes dark and malicious, steps closer. He licks his lips, scanning me with a perverted gleam. "Let me tease her a little bit first, shall we?"
I recoil, my body fighting against them, but my limbs feel heavy, like they've been shackled. Desperation claws at me, my breath coming in sharp gasps.
"No time for that," the first man snaps, sounding annoyed. "One of the Heroes could show up any minute now. We need to move fast."
They drag me toward the darkened part of the alley, and I struggle harder, but it's futile.
As they move me closer to the car, the second man—his voice still chilling—smiles cruelly. "So be it, then."
He steps forward, and I try to scream again. Nothing comes out. I'm losing control. My fear amplifies, and the world around me starts to spin.
Then, just as the man's hand reaches for me, I feel it—the familiar, strange sensation of liquid flowing against my mouth. The man's wrist is glowing with something... liquid. What is that? Magic? Some kind of trick?
Before I can make sense of it, something strange happens.
The car—a black, imposing vehicle—begins to float. The men inside shout in panic, scrambling out of the vehicle like wild animals. "What's happening? What is going on?" One of them cries.
"They're here," the first man growls, looking around frantically. "We have to take her now or run."
The remaining man, seemingly unbothered by the bizarre turn of events, steps toward me, eyes glinting with malice. "No, I'll deal with whoever's coming. You take her."
He raises his hand, his fingers twitching, and I try to move again, my body trembling with fear and confusion. What is going on? What is happening?
Then, with a sound like the rush of a thousand wings, the car's doors fly off, darting through the air like insects. The metal doors slam into the men, knocking them to the ground. I'm free for a moment. But not really.
Frozen in place, I can barely process what's happening. The men scramble to get up, bewildered. One of them turns, eyes frantic. "Is it the power of the Earth?" He looks around wildly, desperate. "Should we retreat?"
The leader—one of the men still standing—kicks the door away, frustration written across his face. "No, I'll find him. I'll kill him, like I always do." He roars, eyes darting around. "Where are you? Show yourself!"
Then, out of nowhere, a man appears.
He's cloaked, his silhouette framed by the dark night. The wind ripples his cape, and his face is shadowed by the hood. The moment he steps forward, everything around me feels still. A presence so commanding, so powerful, that even the air seems to thicken.
The man and the leader lock eyes. For a moment, neither of them moves. Silence.
The leader cracks his knuckles, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "Finally, someone with some backbone. Let's see if you can still fight face to face."
Without warning, the leader launches an attack, conjuring water around him to form a massive dragon. The water swirls, churning with destructive force, and it lunges toward the cloaked man.
But before it can even get close, the water evaporates into steam. The cloaked man stands there, unflinching.
The leader's eyes widen in shock. "What? How did you remove all my water? I always crush my enemies with that move."
The cloaked man's voice is low, steady, but with a cold edge. "That move is nothing. You use water to create offense. But you've chosen the wrong opponent today. Surrender, and I might spare you. Hand over the girl."
I can't believe this. Me? Why are they fighting over me? I'm nothing. I'm just a poor orphan with no place in this world. But here I am, the center of some dark conflict. And they're fighting for control over me.
"Like hell we will," the leader sneers, rushing forward again, his body surrounded by water blades.
But the cloaked man doesn't flinch. I watch in disbelief as he raises his finger, pointing at the leader. The leader falls to the ground, his body convulsing.
What happened? My heart races as I watch the man, his hand still outstretched. There's no weapon in his hand. No gun, no magic. Just his finger.
A perfect bullet hole appears in the leader's forehead.
I gasp. This isn't a dream. It's real.
One of the remaining men grabs me, pulling me close and using me as a shield. "Don't come any closer," he says, panic lacing his voice. "I'll kill her."
The cloaked man stands motionless, his gaze piercing through the fear-stricken man. "Let her go, and I'll spare you."
But I can see the fear in the man's eyes as he readies his water. The droplets hover around him, almost like tiny bullets, aimed at me.
And then, just as fast as he appeared, the cloaked man moves. His eyes glint with power. The droplets evaporate as they touch the air.
"This isn't over!" The remaining man yells as he vanishes, disappearing into thin air.
I blink, my heart pounding in my chest. How did he do that?
The cloaked man watches him go, his expression a mixture of confusion and concentration. He turns to me, his face softening slightly.
"Thank you... for saving my life," I whisper, the words coming out in a rush.
He pulls back his hood, revealing a young man in his mid-twenties. Brown, slightly faded hair frames his face, and a scar runs across his forehead to the side of his face. His eyes meet mine, and he speaks in a tone that is both calm and serious.
"Are you a Redhood?"
I nod. "Yes. Rachel Redhood." filled with questions.
"My name is Charlie Charles," he says, his voice steady. "I'm an agent of the Hero Organization. This is about your life and death. You need to come with me. I'm here to escort you to the Leader."
I freeze. "The Leader? The Hero Organization?"
He nods, his expression serious. "I know you have a lot of questions, but we need to get you out of here. It's not safe. Trust me."
His eyes are earnest, no trace of malice. They look pure, honest.
I have no choice but to follow him. The chaos of the night still echoes in my mind, and the weight of the situation crashes down on me. This is real. My life has just changed forever.
"Okay," I whisper, my voice shaky.
Together, we walk toward his car, and I wonder: What does the Hero Organization want with me? What is really going on? But for now, I have no answers, just questions—and fear.
And the night is far from over.
Scene 4: The Mystery of the Aggression
A man cloaked in black stood atop a tall building in Houston. The city below stretched out like a sea of muted lights, but here—above it all—under the pale moonlight, it was silent. Wind whispered across the rooftop, tugging at his coat, but he remained unmoving. Watching. Waiting.
Then, a soft click. A signal.
"Charlie Charles reporting."
A pause, then a voice—deep, measured, and cloaked in authority.
"Speak."
"I found Richard's daughter. The Redhood."
The voice grew sharper. "I see. Where is she?"
"With me. Here in Houston. The Dissonant tried to take her, but I intercepted them. One escaped, though—vanished into thin air."
A long silence followed.
"They're moving faster than I expected. I'm also in Houston—still looking for the Bright. Take her to one of our safehouses. Secure it. I'll come see her myself."
"Acknowledged, sir. Do you want me to tell her the truth?"
"No. Not yet. Let her believe what she must—for now. When the time is right, I'll speak to her myself. Until then, protect her at all costs. The Dissonant will come again."
"Roger that. Charlie out."
The transmission cut off.
He stood still for a moment longer, the wind brushing past him like a whisper of danger.
His thoughts raced. Why Richard's daughter? What happened to Richard himself? What do the Dissonants want with his family so badly?
This wasn't the first time.
Vanished into thin air. Charlie had said that. It was the eighth time someone had escaped like that. Too clean. Too fast. No trace. It couldn't be coincidence.
Had the Dissonants discovered a new teleportation technique? Or something worse—something older?
They were no longer acting in silence. Once shadows behind the curtain, now they were making bold, open moves. This wasn't strategy. This was declaration.
He narrowed his eyes toward the moon, and a thought echoed in his mind like distant thunder:
We must be ready for what's coming.
Scene 5: Cold Judgement
"A water bullet?"
The words hung in the air like mist, chilling the dimly lit chamber.
A lone figure knelt on the obsidian-tiled floor, trembling before a man cloaked in shadows. The only light came from a pale blue flame flickering in a suspended crystal orb above them. It cast eerie patterns across the walls—remnants of ancient sigils etched in frozen frost.
The man in the shadows leaned forward, voice quiet but venom-laced.
"Tell me exactly what happened."
"Y-Yes, Boss," the kneeling man stuttered. "The one guarding the girl—he used water. Formed bullets sharp enough to pierce stone. His control... it was too advanced. He could levitate droplets mid-air, using them like floating blades."
A pause.
A soft, amused exhale escaped the figure above.
"So... Charlie Charles is showing off his old tricks again."
Then, in a flash, a blade of ice shimmered into existence in his hand—sleek, jagged, and cruel. Before another word could be uttered, the man swung.
Shhk.
The kneeling soldier collapsed, lifeless, blood blooming silently beneath him like a dark flower on ice.
The man stood up slowly. His presence grew colder, heavier, as frost crept along the walls, responding to his rising aura.
"I told you," he muttered, speaking now to the darkness, "bring me the girl immediately. No delays. No failures."
He stepped over the corpse without a glance.
"The Dark Vlair wants her. And if Charlie Charles is protecting her..." he paused, eyes narrowing, "...then this is personal."
He walked toward a wide window, revealing the Houston skyline glittering under the moonlight.
"Charlie... I still remember London. You should have died that night. But you escaped, dragging half your soul through the flames."
His breath frosted the glass.
"Let's see how much you've grown in six years."
He raised his hand, and the ice sword melted into mist—shaped now like a serpent of frost curling around his fingers.
Behind him, a new figure stepped out from the shadows. Hooded. Silent.
"Prepare the others. Tell them... the hunt begins. And this time, I'm not sending pawns."
CHAPTER ENDS