The city is loud. Neon burns like artificial daylight, drowning the nights in colors no one asked for. Behind the hum of trains and the static buzz of neon signs, people make deals, break lives, and vanish without a trace. That's where I come in.
I'm a professional hitman. Cold. Efficient. Forgettable. I don't leave witnesses, and I don't leave evidence. My world is numbers, names, and triggers. Life is cheap here, and I'm the one cashing in.
But lately… something's wrong.
It started with a reflection. A figure behind me in the glass. No sound. No breath. Just there. Watching. At first, I blamed the sleepless nights, the guilt people keep telling me I should feel, or maybe just too much nicotine burning holes in my head. But the longer I stared, the clearer it became.
The shadow isn't going away.
Every kill I make, it gets closer. Every trigger pull, every body I drop, I see it in the shards of glass, in the smear of rain on the pavement, in the chrome of my own gun. Sometimes it feels like it wants something. Other times… like it's saving me.
The syndicates don't know it. The city doesn't care. But I know one thing: something unnatural has slipped into my world, and it's not letting me walk away clean.
This is where it starts.
My ledger. My ghost.
My whisper in the glass.