In the bustling streets of Wood Valley sat a convenience store called Valley Mart. The neon sign flickered on every letter except the M, which stayed dark like it had given up.
The cold wind slid through the street, making everyone's hair sway like it had a mind of its own.
People moved around doing their own thing — chatting with friends, eating, walking, pretending they weren't exhausted from life.
"That'll be four ninety-nine," the female cashier said with a bright smile.
The guy at the counter — white hair, purple hoodie, wireless headphones around his neck — dug into his pocket for his wallet.
"Damn… no coins," he muttered. "You got change for a hundred?"
"Oh—yes, sir. Give me a moment," she replied, pressing a button.
Ching!
The cash register popped open loudly.
Outside, in a narrow alley, a man watched the store.
Black hair.
Purple eyes.
White hoodie.
A revolver gripped in his hand.
The barrel glinted under the streetlights — like a warning to anyone dumb enough to get close. His cold eyes locked on the guy inside Valley Mart, the glare sharp enough to make air feel heavier.
As soon as the white-haired man stepped out of the store, the stranger slipped deeper into the shadows, disappearing like smoke.
The white-haired man cracked open the energy drink he bought — pssshhht — the hiss echoing slightly inside the alley as he walked through it.
A weird feeling crawled up his spine. He paused, glanced around, then brushed it off and kept walking. The alley was dark, like an abandoned hallway nobody wanted anymore. Garbage everywhere. Rats darting across the ground.
Then — a shape moved.
The black-haired man stepped out of the shadows like he'd been waiting the whole night for this moment. Without hesitation, he pulled out his revolver… and swung it.
Crack!
The metal handle slammed into the white-haired man's head.
He hit the floor instantly. The world spun around him, colors twisting. He groaned and forced his eyes toward the attacker.
"W-who are you…? W-what do you want?"
The black-haired man didn't even blink. "My boss has a question for the new recruit. And you're gonna answer."
"I—I can't," the man stammered. "We don't have the files."
The attacker crossed his arms. "Did you forget which organization you're in?" His voice dropped, cold enough to freeze blood.
"Cipher Unit. Does that ring a bell?"
"T-that's… that's a private file. We can't access that—"
The man didn't even get to finish.
Bang.
The gunshot cracked through the alley, loud enough to scatter the rats again. The white-haired man's body jerked once before collapsing completely, the energy drink rolling out of his hand and spilling onto the dirty concrete.
Smoke curled from the revolver's barrel as the black-haired man crouched down beside the body. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and slipped it onto the man's chest like it was some kind of receipt.
"Message delivered," he muttered coldly.
He gave the corpse one last glance… then stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as fast as he appeared.
————————————————————
At the Phantom HQ, the crew gathered around the table, chatting like they were hosting some late-night podcast no one asked for.
"So, how did you even manage to forget the bad things that happened to you?" Hollist asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Seriously. That could help."
Shinji inhaled slowly. "Are you guys sure you won't laugh at me?"
The entire crew shook their heads at the same time.
"We're not," they said.
Shinji fiddled with his fingers, leaning back into his chair like he was preparing for a confession.
"When I was a kid, alright? I thought—"
But before he could even finish, Derek let out this dying-wheeze kind of laugh, clutching his stomach like someone told the funniest joke alive.
Everyone turned to look at him — confused, stunned — while Shinji just stared at him with that face that screamed I trusted you.
"No—no, I'm not laughing at you!" Derek tried to explain between breaths, wiping tears from his eyes. "I just— I imagined you as a kid and— bro, I'm sorry—"
Shinji closed his eyes, exhaled sharply, and muttered, "…Unbelievable."
Hollist smacked Derek lightly on the shoulder. "Dude. You said promise we won't laugh."
"I wasn't laughing at the trauma!" Derek protested defensively. "I was laughing at the— the mental image! Tiny Shinji with the same serious face? Come on!"
Shinji rubbed his forehead. "This is why I don't open up."
Fred slid closer with a cup of coffee. "C'mon, Shinji. Continue. Derek's just stupid."
"I second that," Hollist added.
Shinji sighed. "…Fine."
He sat up straight, cleared his throat like it was some dramatic scene.
"So. When I was a kid… I thought that if I just ignored the memories long enough, they'd delete themselves."
The room went quiet.
Derek blinked. "Like… a phone?"
"Yes," Shinji snapped. "Like a phone, Derek."
The crew exchanged looks.
"That's… honestly kind of adorable," Hollist admitted.
Shinji glared. "Say adorable again and I'll throw you off the balcony."
Fred nodded thoughtfully. "But hey… it explains why you're good at forgetting stuff."
Shinji leaned back, lips twitching into the tiniest smirk. "Yeah… guess it stuck."
Derek finally stopped laughing and stretched his arms behind his head.
"So basically you trauma-silenced your own brain as a kid and it just… stayed?"
Shinji shrugged. "Pretty much."
"Damn," Hollist murmured. "Wish I had that skill."
Suddenly Shinji's phone vibrated creating a buzzing sound loud enough for the crew to hear, "Just a second."
He slid his finger across the phone and pressed it against his ear, "Hello?"
His expression went from neutral to serious; the three, Fred, Hollist, and Derek glanced at Shinji's changes of expression.
"Now you want my help?" he looked at the nail of his fingers, "I see, now let's make a deal. You give me the files about Tokyo Blackout and we'll assist you—wait wait wait, I don't care if U.S.O asked you to keep the files restricted by anyone. Tell them I'm the one who's asking."
"Yeah, we'll be there in a minute." Shinji added.
He hung the phone call before sliding the phone in his pocket; Shinji turned to his crew with his dead serious look, so serious he wants to kill an army.
"Pack your things, we're going to the U.S.O department."
Fred puts down his tea-cup, "Base on every words and syllables, I believe the Cipher Unit called you."
A nod was an answer.
"U.S.O? What kind of cheesy abbreviation is that?" Derek asked.
"U.S.O stands for United Secret Organizations, it's a group of undercover organizations," Hollist explained.
"Call Riles," Shinji cracked his fingers. "Tell him we got business."
————————————————————
Somewhere inside a certain room, the chairs were arranged in a circle with tables between them; the place looked like a private senate hearing. Only two people occupied it: a woman in a sharp corporate suit, and the same black-haired man in the white hoodie.
"One member refused to give the files to me—may I ask why you're so interested in that new recruit?" the black-haired man asked, narrowing his eyes.
The woman lazily sucked on her lollipop before pulling it out with a loud bop.
"Have you watched the surveillance footage the government leaked between departments? He wiped out two-hundred and thirty Street Dogs alone. Like it was just another Tuesday."
The man—Kael Draven—blinked in disbelief. "A single operative took down an entire squad? My own gear wouldn't last that long. I'd be on the floor before my shield could even recharge."
"That's what makes him interesting," she purred, crossing her legs. "And he's the one who took Marquez down. Imagine what we could build once we get our hands on his file… especially if we're planning to start our own organization." Her grin turned wicked. "You still want that army of Lost Fixers, don't you?"
Kael closed his eyes, arms crossed. "My message was seen by the Cipher Unit. Looks like they're finally responding."
"I can't wait to tame that new recruit," she murmured with a seductive smirk. "He's really hot."
Kael scoffed. "Tch… disgusting."
————————————————————
Back at the U.S.O briefing hall, one of the senior officials spoke into the mic, his voice echoing.
"One member of the Cipher Unit was found dead in an alley at the Third District. A single gunshot to the head. No signs of struggle."
Shinji nodded, unimpressed. "And I believe I can count on you to hand over the files about the Tokyo Incident. How's that for 'counting on each other'?"
The gray-haired man stiffened but maintained his composure. "You'll receive them once the case is handled."
Shinji tilted his head. "Hm. Try not to lie to me, sir. I don't handle disappointment well."
He turned to his crew.
"Phantoms—pack up. We're heading to the U.S.O's crime scene."
Fred stood, adjusting his tie. "Judging by the timing… it seems the killer sent a message to the Cipher Unit."
Hollist frowned. "Using a dead agent?"
Derek smirked. "Guess someone wants attention."
The room lights dimmed as a hologram flickered to life. The projection zoomed in on the alley: neon reflections, blood trailing across the concrete, and the Cipher agent lying cold with a single bullet wound.
Then the audio switched to a distorted recording:
"Send the Phantoms.
Let's see how long your toys last against mine."
Static.
Derek's jaw tightened. A slow, dangerous smile formed.
"Alright, daddy's going hunting."
————————————————————
The Third District's alley sat in suffocating silence, broken only by the distant rise and fall of police sirens. The narrow stretch of concrete was lit by nothing but two trembling beams from the officers' flashlights, slicing through the darkness like thin white knives.
Officer Paul Murry knelt beside the corpse, the cold pavement biting through his knees. He gently tilted the victim's head, searching for any trace of struggle—anything that might explain why a Cipher Unit agent ended up dead in a filthy alley.
"Wood Valley never changes…" Paul muttered, letting out a tired breath. "Maybe the name already means chaos."
He stood, jaw clenched. A coroner and several medics hurried past him, the metallic clatter of their equipment echoing against the brick walls.
One officer spoke from behind, voice hard and bitter.
"None of this would be happening if it weren't for the government screwing up everything. They're the reason these streets are falling apart."
Paul looked over his shoulder. "And there's nothing we can do about it. If heroes really existed…" He sighed. "I'd hope they'd take down this corrupt mess once and for all."
He stepped back as the coroner covered the body.
"There will be," Paul added quietly, almost like a prayer to the cold night. "There will be one."
————————————————————
Inside the U.S.O headquarters, the hallway buzzed with chatter. The hum of the advanced coffee machine blended with muffled footsteps and hurried voices, creating a constant low rumble that filled the refrigerated air.
Derek sat slouched in one of the steel chairs, arms crossed, legs stretched forward, eyes shut. He looked like someone trying to sleep but silently thinking of twenty different ways to kill time. His foot tapped restlessly.
A familiar voice cut through his half-nap.
"Derek."
He opened one eye slightly, vision adjusting to the figure in front of him. Hollist, holding two canned coffees, looking tired but alert.
"What?" Derek asked, voice raspy. "You're gonna tell me I can finally use my baby, right?"
Hollist raised an eyebrow and tossed a can into Derek's lap.
"You're an animal before caffeine, you know that? Drink before you start growling at people."
Derek cracked the can open with a hiss.
Hollist leaned closer. "Shinji's summoning us. They want us in the comm room."
Derek squinted. "For what? Another lecture about 'professionalism'?"
"Not this time." Hollist inhaled sharply, his expression turning more serious. "The killer sent a message. They intercepted it a few minutes ago."
Derek stopped mid-sip. "A message?"
Hollist nodded. "Yeah… and it's weirdly confident."
He pulled out his phone and showed the screen.
Call me later, CIPHER UNIT.
9 PM.
Derek stared at it for a moment, then let out a small, humorless laugh.
"Man's scheduling his own death. Ballsy."
"They think you're the only one bold—or stupid—enough to talk back to him," Hollist said with a sigh. "So congratulations… you've been nominated."
Derek stood and stretched his arms like he just woke from a nap. "Great. Guess I'll go say hello to our mystery tough guy."
Hollist placed a hand on Derek's shoulder before he walked off.
"Shinji wants us prepped. And Derek…"
"Hm?"
Hollist lowered his voice.
"Be careful, they're not ordinary."
Derek smirked.
"Good. Ordinary's boring."
He walked down the hallway as the hum of machines and murmured conversations faded behind him, heading straight into whatever mess waited next.
"Don't worry, I'll be nicer."