Gamson District – Astopia
A dark alley
Rainwater dripped from rusted pipes, forming shallow puddles that reflected the flickering glow of a dying streetlamp. The alley smelled of damp concrete and rot, the kind of place people avoided even during the day. At night, it felt like the world had forgotten it entirely.
A woman's voice shattered the silence.
"Please… I beg you… I'll do anything—just let me go!" Her words tumbled out, uneven, suffocating under fear. She stumbled backward, her hands raised defensively, her body pressed against the cold brick wall.
A man stood a few steps away, his figure swallowed by shadow. Only the faint outline of a gun in his hand caught the light.
"I told you, Jane," he said quietly, almost calmly—but there was something sharp beneath his tone. "I fucking told you."
He took a slow step forward.
"Don't publish that article. I warned you. Repeatedly." A low laugh escaped him. "But you people never listen. Always chasing the story… no matter the cost."
"I'll fix it!" Jane cried, her voice cracking. "I swear—I'll take it back! I'll quit, I'll tell everyone it was fake, I'll—please—just let me go…"
The man tilted his head slightly, as if considering it.
Then came the metallic click.
"Kiss the tip of my gun."
Jane froze. "What…?"
BANG!
The gunshot exploded beside her head, the bullet tearing into the wall inches from her face. She screamed, collapsing to her knees, her ears ringing.
"I said kiss the fucking gun," the man snapped, stepping closer. "Am I not being clear?"
Her body shook uncontrollably as she began to crawl toward him. Every movement felt wrong, humiliating, but fear overpowered everything else. Tears blurred her vision. She could barely breathe.
When she reached him, she hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"Now," he said coldly.
Jane leaned forward, her lips trembling as they touched the cold, metallic barrel.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then the man burst into laughter—loud, unhinged, echoing off the alley walls.
"Hahahaha… look at you…" he said, almost amused. "Pathetic."
He exhaled, as if suddenly bored.
"Alright… that's enough. Let's end this."
"No—please! Please, don't—!" she cried, her voice breaking completely.
She shut her eyes tightly, bracing for the end.
BANG!
The sound rang out.
But the pain never came.
Seconds passed.
Jane's eyes slowly opened.
The alley was empty.
The man… gone.
No footsteps. No body. No trace he had ever been there.
Her breath came in short, frantic bursts as reality crashed back in. She didn't question it. She didn't look back.
She ran.
Rooftop above the alley
A low, muffled groan echoed in the darkness.
"Villains… evil… corruption… crime…" a calm voice said, almost reflective. "They never change."
A figure stood over a man tied and gagged, his face obscured by a cloth mask. The criminal struggled weakly, panic flooding his eyes.
BANG!
The shot tore through his kneecap.
A scream ripped from his throat, choked by the gag.
"The spirit of evil stays the same…" the masked man continued, unmoved. "Only the prophets change."
BANG!
The second kneecap shattered.
The man collapsed fully now, writhing in agony.
The masked figure crouched, grabbing the cloth and yanking it free from the man's mouth. The criminal gasped, sucking in air, his scream finally breaking loose.
"Help! Someone—please—!"
The gun was already there, pressing against his lips.
"Kiss it."
"What…? No—please, I—"
BANG!
The shot struck the concrete beside his head, spraying dust and fragments across his face.
"Kiss the fucking gun," the masked man said, his voice still eerily calm.
Tears streamed down the criminal's face as he obeyed, pressing his lips against the barrel.
For a brief second, everything was still.
Then—
BANG!
The bullet tore through his mouth, shattering teeth, ripping through bone, exiting the back of his skull.
Silence returned to the rooftop.
The masked man stood, exhaling slowly.
"Finally…" he muttered. "I need sleep."
He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with steady hands. The small flame briefly illuminated his face—young, expressionless, almost detached.
Smoke curled into the night air as he turned and descended the fire escape, disappearing into the streets of Gamson District like a ghost.
Later…
A worn-down apartment building stood between brighter streets, forgotten and neglected. Inside, the hallway lights flickered as footsteps echoed softly up the stairs.
The door creaked open.
The man stepped inside, closing it behind him with a quiet click. He tossed his hat onto a chair and loosened his jacket, moving with the casual ease of someone returning from an ordinary day.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet.
As he opened it, something slipped free and fell to the floor.
An ID card.
He glanced down at it.
Michael Pain
19 years old
Dark hair
Brown eyes
6 ft tall
For a moment, he simply stared at it—his expression unreadable.
Then he bent down, picked it up, and slipped it back into his wallet without a second thought.
Grabbing his phone, he dialed a number.
"Yeah… one pizza," he said flatly.
He dropped onto his bed, not bothering to change, the cigarette already extinguished.
By the time the city outside settled into its uneasy silence, Michael Pain was asleep—
as if none of it had ever happened.