Noir climbed the spiral staircase, boots soaked in blood.
The tower groaned with silence. The previous floor had been cleared.
He stepped onto the rooftop.
Cold wind whispered through the broken railings. Overhead, the moon loomed—huge and pale, like an unblinking eye.
A man stood near the edge.
Back turned.
Hands behind his back.
Looking at the sky.
"Beautiful night, isn't it?" the man said, as if this was a conversation, not a confrontation.
Noir raised his gun.
"Turn around. Hands where I can see them."
The man didn't flinch.
He chuckled—slow, casual, like he'd heard this a thousand times.
"So polite. Just like your father used to be."
That stopped Noir for a half-second.
"What did you just say?"
The man turned.
Not in fear.
But with recognition.
"You've grown. You sound just like him, you know."
Noir's hand tightened on the trigger.
"You knew my father?"
"Knew him? Hah. He was my friend."
His smile was... wrong. Not warm. Not kind.
It was the smile of someone who knew exactly where to press to make something break.
"He and I built dreams together. And nightmares."
Noir's voice cracked.
"You're lying."
The man stepped closer, slowly.
"I'm many things. But not a liar."
"Your father sent you to the White Room himself."
Silence.
The wind howled past, but it couldn't cover the sound of Noir's breath hitching.
"No… no, he couldn't have—he wouldn't—"
"He chose you."
The man's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Among thousands of orphans, he chose his own son for the pit. Because he believed you could survive it."
"Stop."
"He believed you were strong enough to become... perfect."
"SHUT UP!"
The man didn't even blink.
"He didn't want a son. He wanted a weapon."
Noir's knees buckled. The gun trembled in his hand.
His breathing was shallow, panicked, breaking.
"You're lying. He loved me—he had to—"
"Love?"
The man tilted his head, pity in his voice.
"Noir, you were born into a world where love is weakness. He made you strong."
COMMS:
"NOIR—HE'S PLAYING YOU—GET OUT OF THERE—"
Noir tore the earpiece out and flung it.
Silence.
Only the wind and that damn voice.
"Why…" Noir whispered.
"Why would he do that to me…"
The man looked up at the moon.
"To see what happens when you take a child, break him apart, and put him back together with fire instead of flesh."
Noir's gun lowered. His body shook.
"You're lying... you're lying... you're lying..."
The man's tone softened, almost like a father to a broken son:
"No. I'm just the one telling you what you've always known deep down."
Something in Noir snapped.
He screamed and lunged—swinging wildly, punches flying—but the man dodged every strike with effortless grace.
"You can't outrun the truth, Noir—"
BANG.
The shot rang out like thunder.
The man froze.
Blood bloomed across his chest.
He looked down. Then up.
Smiling.
Relieved.
"He was... never going to tell you, was he…"
He coughed blood, staggered...
And fell.
---
Noir stood over the body.
Breathing.
Trembling.
Alone beneath the blood moon.
Then—
WHACK.
A rifle butt slammed into his skull from behind.
Darkness swallowed him.
---
Captured
The world returned slowly.
Throbbing pain in his head. Cold metal digging into his wrists. A bitter taste—blood.
Noir blinked, barely able to focus.
Gray concrete replaced sterile white. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A steel chair beneath him. Cuffs slicing into his skin. A drain on the floor.
A man entered.
Tall. Bearded. Worn military fatigues. His eyes weren't curious—they were sizing Noir up like a caged beast.
"So you're the White Room's Number One?" the man said, thick accent curling his words.
"Thirteen years old. Barely even a teenager. That's what they send?"
Noir said nothing.
The man smiled like he already owned him.
"We don't want random little experiments killing people in our country. You've heard of the Taliban, haven't you?"
He didn't wait for a reply.
He drew back and punched Noir square in the face.
White flashed behind his eyes. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth.
"Welcome to Afghanistan," the man sneered.
He muttered something in Pashto as he left, laughing.
The guard by the door nodded lazily, then shut his eyes to rest.
As if Noir wasn't a threat.
Fools.
Noir inhaled.
His hands—small. Fragile-looking.
Useful.
He twisted one inward. The metal scraped bone.
Clank.
Free.
He slipped the other cuff.
The guard never saw it coming.
Noir struck—sharp wrist lock, then a blow to the temple with the rifle butt.
Crack. Collapse.
Noir moved fast and quiet.
The hallway reeked of rust and sweat. Blood and wire.
He needed his gear.
Room by room.
Creaking doors. Drawers opened. Footsteps silent.
Then—a drawer full of confiscated items.
Radios. Dog tags. Earpieces.
Scraps of dead men.
At the bottom—
His earpiece.
Noir pressed it in.
"This is Central Command. Identify."
"Subject... Noir. Captured. Afghanistan. I don't know the coordinates."
"Affirmative. Do not engage. Stay on channel. Triangulating your signal."
Footsteps echoed.
Noir shut the earpiece off.
Slipped into a locker.
Two soldiers entered.
Laughing. Talking in a language Noir didn't understand.
One opened the very drawer Noir had just searched.
"Where's the comm unit?"
The other stepped toward the lockers.
His hand reached out—
SLAM.
Noir burst out.
The rifle cracked the first man's jaw—teeth and blood sprayed.
The second turned too late.
Noir ripped a blade from his belt and slit his throat in a single motion.
Silence.
Noir switched the earpiece back on.
"Central. How long?"
"Eight minutes. Hold position. Reinforcements inbound."
Too late.
Alarms screamed.
---
Extraction
The base exploded into motion.
Spotlights raked the ground like God's judgment.
Noir didn't flinch.
He moved like smoke—through tunnels, over vents, past shouting men.
Guards fell in silence. Throats cut. Necks snapped.
A bullet grazed his arm.
Another clipped his shoulder.
He didn't stop.
Then—he heard it.
The chopper.
Blades shredding the sky.
Ropes dropped.
Noir ran.
Bullets sliced past him. One scraped his cheek. Another punched through his vest.
Still, he ran.
Soldiers dropped around him. Rifles barked. Voices roared.
Someone grabbed him—lifted him by the vest.
The rope pulled them up.
Below—the base burned.
Men screamed.
Flames ate the buildings.
Smoke blackened the stars.
---
Inside the chopper, silence.
One of the soldiers looked at him.
"You're just a kid..."
Noir didn't respond.
He stared out the open door.
Blood drying on his skin.
Eyes blank.
Moonlight on his face.