The alley looked like a butcher's sketchbook — slashed limbs, caved skulls, and enough blood to paint a mural. Twenty-plus bodies. Broker included. All eliminated with surgical brutality.
And at the center of this carnage stood the hooded figure.
Silent. Still.
A slow chhk-chhk-chhk echoed as he chewed his gum with mechanical rhythm. That was the only sound in the dead air.
Alya and Nolan couldn't move.
They stood paralyzed behind a stack of broken crates, the sharp stench of blood mixing with metal and ash making it hard to breathe. Alya clutched her side, blood leaking between her fingers. Nolan's makeshift pipe weapon trembled in his grip like it wanted to drop itself and run.
They didn't dare speak.
The hooded figure turned.
Not toward them.
Toward Mou.
The dog was locked inside a rusted cage in the corner, muzzle forward, eyes locked onto the figure like a sniper sighting down a barrel. He didn't bark. Didn't growl.
He stared.
Unflinching.
Unmoving.
But a single bead of sweat rolled off his fur-covered brow.
The figure stopped in front of the cage. His face hidden in shadow, blood dripping from his fingers.
Then… he smiled.
Just a twitch at the corner of his lip.
The cage lock didn't stand a chance. One twist of his wrist — crack — and the thing split open like it owed him money.
Mou stepped out. Calm. Royal. Not a trace of fear.
He walked past the figure and toward Alya and Nolan.
But he didn't bark. Not a whimper. No excited jump or tail wag.
Just a relaxed huff as he sat beside them, like nothing had happened.
Alya blinked. "Did... did he just walk past him like they're best friends?"
Nolan stared. "He didn't even react. Mou didn't react."
Alya whispered, "He always growls at strangers. He doesn't even let me pet him when he's grumpy."
They both looked up as the figure followed.
He crouched beside Mou, blood dripping from his hand… and patted the dog's head.
Gently.
Mou didn't bite.
Didn't move.
Didn't even flinch.
Alya's jaw hit the floor. Nolan blinked ten times in two seconds.
Mou had just allowed a total stranger — a terrifying, silent executioner — to touch him.
Voluntarily.
"What the hell is going on?" Nolan muttered.
Then, the figure stood up and reached into his hoodie. He pulled out a compact black bag and held it out toward Nolan.
"You know what this is, Nolan."
Nolan froze.
He didn't recognize the man. Had never seen him before.
But the man knew his name.
He slowly took the bag, hands shaking, and opened it.
Inside was a high-grade Medkit.
Not the usual knockoff trash — this was top-tier, nanotech-loaded, military-spec gear. Each vial alone was worth thousands. This thing could bring a man back from the edge of death.
"What the f—this is a real Medkit!"
Without a second thought, he injected Alya. Her chest stopped heaving. The bruising on her ribs began to fade.
He handed a vial to Mou, who tilted his head before licking the injection port open and absorbing it like a pro.
Then Nolan slapped a stim patch onto his own shoulder, and his pain ebbed like a receding tide.
The figure stood in front of them, silent again.
Chhk-chhk-chhk. The gum.
Then, finally, he spoke — this time, with the dry sarcasm of someone completely over the nonsense around him.
"They smell like grease and garbage. Great. Now my hand's probably infected."
Alya tilted her head, confused. "Wait… what?"
Nolan chuckled nervously. Alya looked at the man.
"I'm Alya. That's Nolan. And this here—" she gestured to the dog — "is Mou."
The figure gave a half-smile.
"I know you three."
That hit like a plasma bullet.
Alya's breath caught. Nolan stepped forward, his voice soft.
"Who… who are you?"
The figure tilted his head like he was about to answer. "I am—"
BOOM.
Footsteps.
Heavy ones.
From the front gate.
The giant steel doors creaked open, and a grating, familiar voice slithered through the blood-soaked air.
"Well, well. Look what the street rats dragged in."
Alya's eyes widened. Nolan's spine went stiff.
They knew that voice.
Platinum Jaw.
The Nexus Hunter. The psycho of the Core Mission. The man who made them bleed and begged for mercy just for fun.
He stepped into the alley like he owned it, chrome teeth glinting under the streetlights. Behind him were six more Hunters, all armored and cocky.
He kicked something across the ground.
A head.
Broker's.
It tumbled until it rolled up to the figure's feet.
The hooded man didn't flinch.
He bent down. Picked up the severed head.
Stared at it.
Then dropped it again like it was boring.
"If you want to stay alive," he said flatly, eyes on Platinum Jaw and the Hunters, "stay far away."
The Hunters chuckled. Platinum Jaw laughed out loud.
"You got guts, hoodie-boy. But do you even know who we are?"
He stepped forward. "We're Nexus Hunters. We make ghosts like you vanish."
But before he could take another step—
Bzzzzzt.
A communicator buzzed in his pocket.
Jaw frowned, picked it up.
"Reporting, sir."
Silence.
Even the gum-chewing stopped.
The hooded figure just smiled.