A young man strolled through the bustling city streets, the late afternoon sun glinting off his blond hair and casting a faint glow in his sharp yellow eyes. His name was Charles Kepler. To most, he looked like just another passerby blending into the rhythm of the crowd, but today, his path would take a sudden and dangerous turn.
As he walked, Charles recalled a shortcut he had taken once before—an alleyway tucked between tall buildings, its narrow walls lined with peeling posters and scattered trash. Thinking it would save him time, he slipped into the alley, the noise of the busy street fading behind him.
The air grew heavier inside the passage, the faint stench of alcohol and decay lingering. Out of the shadows, a figure suddenly lurched forward. At first glance, the man looked like nothing more than a drunk, ragged and stumbling, his face hidden beneath a tangled mess of hair. But before Charles could step aside, the stranger rushed at him with startling speed.
In a flash, a Syringe needle pierced his skin. Charles froze as a strange green liquid surged into his veins. His body shivered at the sudden burn coursing through him. By the time he tried to react, it was already too late—the injection was complete.
Panting, Charles spun around to grab the man, to demand answers—but the alley was empty. The ragged stranger was gone, vanishing as if he had never been there. Only the faint echo of hurried footsteps, or perhaps his imagination, lingered in the silence.
Confused and shaken, Charles clutched his arm where the needle had struck. His heart pounded, a creeping dread mixing with a strange, unfamiliar energy rising within him. Whatever had just been forced into his body… It was only the beginning.
The next morning, when Charles woke up, something felt… off. His body was heavy, his head pounding as if his skull itself was rejecting him. At first, he brushed it off as nothing more than a headache—after all, last night had been too strange to be real. Maybe it was just stress. Maybe he'd imagined the whole thing.
But reality came knocking—literally.
A sharp rap-rap-rap echoed through his apartment. Charles dragged himself to the door, groggy and irritated. When he swung it open, standing before him was a tall man in a black suit. The man's tie was perfectly straight, his posture cold and rigid. On the breast pocket of his jacket gleamed a small, metallic insignia with three bold letters: A.Z.O.
Charles had no idea what it meant, but before he could even ask, the stranger's sharp eyes locked onto him.
"Are you a Zenith User?" the man demanded, his voice low and controlled, as if the question itself was a test.
Charles blinked in confusion. "A… what? No. You've got the wrong person."
The man didn't even blink. His hand slipped inside his coat, and when it emerged, he was holding a sleek, futuristic handgun that hummed faintly with blue light along its barrel. In one smooth motion, he leveled it directly at Charles's head.
Charles's breath caught in his throat. What the hell is happening—?!
But before the trigger could be pulled, something whistled through the air.
SHNK!
A blade cut through the silence, embedding itself into the man's arm and slicing his hand clean off. The gun clattered to the floor, sparks dancing from its strange design as blood sprayed across the hallway.
The suited man staggered back, screaming in shock and rage, clutching the mangled stump where his hand had been.
Both men turned to the source.
At the end of the hallway, a woman stood calmly. She had her dark hair tied back in a ponytail, with long bangs framing both sides of her face. Her eyes glinted with sharp focus, the kind of gaze that promised death. Without hesitation, she closed the distance in a blur of movement.
Charles could only watch in stunned silence as she drove another knife straight into the man's skull.
The suited agent fell to the floor with a sickening thud. The hallway went quiet, save for Charles's pounding heartbeat.
And then… the woman slowly turned her gaze toward him.