the mission
The rain never stopped in the city.
It poured through the cracks in the neon skyline, painting the streets in red and blue reflections. Somewhere above it all, a man stood on a steel beam, staring down through the storm.
His name was Vander, though the world knew him only as Blood Hound — the assassin who never missed his mark. His red eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, a trick of the biolights implanted long ago, and his black coat fluttered in the wind like a torn flag.
He had done this a hundred times before — slip in, eliminate, vanish. No questions. No hesitation. No mistakes.
Tonight was supposed to be no different.
In his earpiece, a cold voice spoke.
“Target’s name: Dr. Harland Sato. He’s gone rogue. Eliminate him and destroy the experiment. No witnesses.”
Vander’s jaw tightened. Destroy the experiment. The phrasing bothered him.
He’d heard rumors — secret labs, human testing, biofusion experiments — but he didn’t care. He was paid to end lives, not to judge them.
He exhaled slowly and leapt from the beam.
The facility was buried beneath an abandoned research tower, sealed off by layers of security and reinforced glass. Vander moved like a ghost — silent steps, clean kills.
Two guards down. One technician sedated.
He made it to the control room and inserted a spike drive, looping the surveillance feed.
Blood on his gloves. Smoke in the air.
Just another job.
He reached the lab doors — thick metal with hazard symbols scratched away by age. He kicked it open. Inside, bright lights and the stench of chemicals.
Dr. Sato barely had time to turn before a silenced bullet cut the air.
A single shot to the head.
Clean. Efficient.
Vander lowered his pistol. He scanned the terminals — notes on genetic sequencing, energy amplification, child-size medical restraints. His stomach twisted. He wasn’t easily disturbed, but this… this felt wrong.
Then he saw the holding cell at the far end.
Inside was a small figure, curled up on a cot.
He stepped closer, hand instinctively on his weapon. The cell was made of reinforced glass. Behind it sat a little girl, maybe four years old.
Blue hair shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights, and her eyes — silver-blue, unnaturally bright — met his.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.
She just stared at him and whispered,
“...are you here to take me home?”
The words hit harder than any bullet.
He froze.
For a moment, the world went quiet except for the soft hum of the machines.
This was the “experiment”?
They wanted him to kill her?
He holstered his gun.
“What’s your name, kid?”
She tilted her head. “They called me Subject Nine, but I don’t like that name.”
Something about her calmness unsettled him. No child should sound that empty.
“Alright, Subject Nine,” he said quietly, unlocking the control panel. “You’re coming with me.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re not gonna hurt me?”
He shook his head. “No, kid. Not tonight.”
He scooped her up, light as a feather, and left the lab burning behind him.
As they disappeared into the storm, Vander radioed in:
“Target neutralized. Experiment destroyed.”
He killed the connection before they could reply.
