A rain-soaked city street at night. Neon signs flicker, reflecting off puddles. In the distance, sirens wail - not for crimes, but for celebrations. Another "first kill" has been claimed.
veenix:
"In this world, everyone gets one free murder. No trial. No questions.
People say it's freedom. I say it's barbaric.
And me? I've never used mine. Never will."
The veenix, is just a tired office worker. His coworkers gossip about their "first kill plans" like they're talking about vacations. He ignores them.
On the way home, he stops at a vending machine, checks his phone - daily routine.
Down a dim alley shortcut, three thugs block his path. They're drunk, loud, itching to use their first kills.
Veenix tries to talk his way out - fails.
A brutal beating begins.
One thug pulls a blade.
Suddenly - WHOOOSH! - the air thickens. Shadows twist unnaturally, pushing the thugs backward.
An old man steps into the light, his hand glowing faintly. His presence is calm but heavy, like the air before a storm.
The thugs flee, shaken. Veenix trying to stand still even after the wounds.
The old man make him sit at safe corner and crouches besides him, admiring his energy.
OLD MAN:
"You walk through these streets without a weapon? Foolish… but maybe you're exactly who I've been searching for."
The old man tends to veenix's wounds. Between drips of rain, he tells his story:
First kill: unused for years, until he had to defend his wife.
Second kill: took two lives that night - saved her, and awakened his ability.
But the cult came for him.
He's been fighting ever since as part of The SilverHands.
OLD MAN:
"Power born from killing is cursed. Most people who taste it… fall. But sometimes… sometimes it falls into the right hands."
They're interrupted - the thugs return, this time with more men… and one with an ability.
The fight is fast, brutal. The old man holds them off but takes a fatal wound.
Bleeding out, he grabs veenix's wrist. His eyes glow with the same shadow-light.
OLD MAN (strained):
"My power… is not like the others. It grows. Learns.
If I die, it dies with me… unless I give it away.
You can refuse… live an ordinary life…
Or take it… and inherit my war."
Veenix's breath shakes. The enemy is closing in.
He sees flashes: the cult, the chaos, the city burning.
The old man's grip tightens.
Veenix:
"…I don't want your war.
But I can't watch you die for nothing."
OLD MAN (smiling faintly):
Then... you'll do.
A surge of black-light covers them. The old man's shadowy power floods into veenix, weak at first, just a flicker.
The enemies are stunned by the transfer. The veenix, barely standing, his right eye glows red, he raises his hand.
The red shadows twist, forming a rough shield that blocks the incoming attack.
It cracks… but holds.
Veenix looks at his trembling hands, then at the enemy.
Veenix:
"I thought killing was the worst thing person could do.
I still do.
But now… I might have to-"