The city square was alive with neon and noise, as if mocking the darkness about to unfold. Onlookers passed by casually, unaware that tonight, justice—and terror—would make a statement.
Atop a building across the square, Kane perched like a crow. The mask was on: a charred hat sat crooked over his head, and the skull of an angel intertwined with demonic horns covered his face. Only his sharp, calculating eyes pierced the shadows.
Below, a man—a known trafficker, recently uncovered by Kane's hacking—was cornered in an abandoned warehouse. He fumbled with the gun in his hand, sweating as Kane's livestream camera captured every move.
"Public record," Kane murmured, fingers moving over a sleek device. "Witnesses everywhere. You'll answer for your sins."
He activated the feed. Screens across the city—phones, televisions, monitors—flickered to life. People who never knew him, who never saw him, were now watching the Ribbon Reaper's work in real time.
Meanwhile, Lucian, struggling to maintain his carefree persona, walked along the rooftop unseen, his heart hammering.
"Not this time, not like this…" he muttered. Kane's voice in his head was sharp, impatient, pushing for execution. Arata's voice rang too, stern, commanding: "Control yourself. Do not cross the line."
Lucian gritted his teeth, sweat forming at his brow. But the tension, the city's pulse, the anticipation of justice—it was too much.
And then… Kane pushed through.
Lucian's golden eyes flickered black. The playful mask shattered entirely as Kane's cold smirk took over. Fingers replaced the phone in his grip with tools of precise calculation, measuring, planning, executing.
From the rooftop, the Reaper descended like a shadow.
The man in the warehouse didn't know who—or what—was coming. By the time the rope tethering him to the chair was pulled tight, the ribbon was already in Kane's hand.
"Your sins," Kane whispered, "will be displayed."
The camera captured it all—the fear, the confession, the moment the ribbon tied around his wrist. Kane's hand moved like a judge delivering sentence. The man's world ended.
Back in Lucian's mind, fragments of laughter and playful teasing returned briefly—but it was hollow. Kane had full control.
Sera, watching the livestream on her phone, gasped. The city froze with her. She recognized the ribbons. She recognized the meticulous cruelty.
"Lucian… no…" she whispered, gripping her phone.
Somewhere deep in her heart, she knew she wasn't watching a stranger.
Meanwhile, Arata, still at the precinct, didn't know it yet—but the pattern was emerging. Every victim Kane executed was someone Arata's investigation had flagged. Every ribbon, every death, every broadcast was converging toward a truth he wasn't ready to see.
And somewhere, high above the city, the Ribbon Reaper vanished into the night, leaving only fear, awe, and unanswered questions in his wake.