The city woke with its usual grey breath, a cold mist crawling along the
rusted rooftops and broken windows of Halworth. But under the muddy ground at
the edge of District 7, beneath a lonely, patched-up tent that flapped like old
lungs, something far more alive stirred.
The British boy slid inside his tent, brushing the dust off his jacket. The
air smelled of tar, old rain, and the plastic bags stitched into the walls to
keep out the wind. His bed—if it could even be called that—was made from folded
cardboard layered with plastic, covered loosely by two thin bedsheets.
Nothing about it seemed special.
Until he grabbed the corner and lifted.
Click—WHUM.
The instant the bed rose, a ring of lights flickered awake under the floor,
turning the dirt into a glowing outline of a hidden hatch. The boy smirked.
"Still works. Barely," he muttered in his British accent.
He pulled the hatch up. A deep breath of cold underground air rose to meet
him—sharp, metallic, tinged with oil and something older. He descended the
ladder, boots tapping softly until he reached the bottom.
The lights snapped on instantly.
A warm golden glow filled the cave, revealing his secret world.
A tiny, messy engineering lab stretched before him. Rusted
tables. Stacks of copper wires. Crystals glowing in jars. Half-built machines
and weapons. A massive blueprint of a winged device pinned to the wall. Papers
scattered everywhere like a hurricane had passed through.
And in the center, wearing round goggles and holding a wrench bigger than
her arm, stood Lily.
She didn't even look up.
"So," she said, tightening a bolt, "have you fixed the wings yet?"
The boy dropped his backpack on a stool. "Working on it. They just need a
bit of tweaking. And by tweaking I mean… a miracle."
Lily snorted. "You're terrible with machines."
He gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? I'm smarter than the smartest person in
the entire world, who happens to be me, thank you very much."
They both burst out laughing.
Lily grabbed something on the table—a tiny silver knife. It glimmered
strangely.
"What's this for?" she asked.
The boy nearly screamed. "Oi—don't touch that!"
He lunged, snatching it from her hand. The knife clicked as he set
it down carefully. A thin trail of grey smoke puffed out of the handle.
And then—
POOF.
Smoke filled the room.
Lily coughed. "Really, mate?!"
The boy grabbed two gas masks hanging behind a stack of manuals and slapped
one on her face. They both stumbled around blindly as the smoke thickened.
A dog—small, fluffy, with one ear missing—wobbled twice and collapsed into
instant sleep.
The boy took off his mask as the smoke cleared. "See? Perfectly safe."
Lily flicked his forehead. "You're insane."
"Not insane. Brilliant."
She glanced toward the entrance. "It's getting dark outside."
The boy blinked. "Already? Bloody hell, that was fast. Thought we still had
more time."
"Yeah. I'm gonna head out. People need warning." She slung her jacket over
her shoulder.
"Careful," he said. "Last time you tried that, the police locked you up for
a week."
She smirked. "This city has more crime than the entire world combined. I
don't think they've got time to babysit me again."
The boy chuckled. "Fair point."
Lily climbed the ladder out of the cave, and he followed, locking the hatch
behind them. The tent flapped softly in the evening wind as they stepped
outside.
"See you later," she said, walking off toward the main road.
"Try not to cause chaos!"
"No promises!"
He shook his head with a smile and ducked back into his tent.
But the moment he turned around…
He froze.
Someone was standing inside.
Tall. Silent. Unmoving.
Wrapped in darkness like it was part of him.
The figure's coat reached the floor, gliding without a
sound. The fabric looked like living shadow, absorbing the light instead of
reflecting it. Two curved knives hung at his hips, dark steel etched with
silver runes. A black pistol rested in a holster. And on his chest, attached by
a metal clasp, was a small black orb rolling softly with a
swirling, smoky aura. It pulsed like a heartbeat.
His jacket had a hood so deep it hid his entire face. Only two faint,
glowing silver eyes shone from inside.
The boy whispered, "Shadow…"
Everyone in Halworth knew the name.
Few had seen the man.
Even fewer survived meeting him.
Shadow tilted his head slightly, as if listening to the wind.
"You're early," the boy said, trying to sound braver than he felt.
Shadow raised a gloved hand.
A knife flew.
The boy ducked—barely.
The blade embedded itself into the tent pole.
The canvas ripped.
Wind rushed in.
Before he could react, Shadow vanished.
Not walked.
Not ran.
Vanished.
The boy reached for the knife to pull it free, but a cold breeze brushed
behind him—
He spun just as Shadow reappeared, inches away.
A whisper escaped from beneath Shadow's hood:
"Leave."
The boy swallowed hard. "Why?"
Shadow slid something into his hand.
A folded piece of ragged paper.
Then the assassin stepped back, lifted his coat, and dissolved into darkness
like smoke being pulled into the ground.
The boy slowly unfolded the note.
Only three words were written, messy and rushed:
"ABANDONED HOSPITAL. MIDNIGHT.
The boy slowly unfolded the note.
But this time… something was wrong.
The paper wasn't just dirty.
It was wet.
Dark red fingerprints streaked across the edges, smeared as if someone
struggled while writing it. His stomach dropped.
Four shaky words were written in a rushed, uneven hand:
"IF YOU WANT HER ALIVE—"
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Lily.
His fingers tightened, crumpling the paper.
A cold fear crawled up his spine, but anger—hot, sharp—flooded right after
it.
He clenched his fist so hard his knuckles went white.
"I swear… I'm gonna kill Shadow," he growled under his breath.
His voice shook—not from weakness, but from the terror of losing someone he
cared about.
Even though he feared Shadow more than anything in Halworth…
he wasn't backing down.
Not this time.
He stormed back into his underground cave, kicked open a metal locker, and
grabbed his gear.
Two knives.
Two guns.
The first gun—his newest invention—clicked open as he loaded a single
modified bullet.
It glowed blue, pulsing like a tiny star trapped inside the
shell.
"Let's see how you like this," he muttered.
He fired once at the wall.
BOOOOM—SSSHHHHHHH.
The bullet ripped through the stone like it was paper.
The edges of the hole dripped, melted, glowing faintly from
the heat.
He stared at the destruction he just caused.
"Good," he whispered.
He holstered both guns, slid the knives into his boots, and grabbed his
jacket.
He stepped outside into the cold night, the wind cutting across his face.
His voice was low… steady… deadly.
"I'm coming for you."
And then he walked toward midnight.
Toward Shadow.
Toward whatever fate waited for him next.
The building groaned above him like a dying beast.
The boy sprinted through the cracked lobby, boots splashing through puddles
formed by burst pipes. Smoke slithered down the walls in thick, grey ribbons,
carrying the sharp stench of burning cables and melting plastic. He yanked his
scarf up over his mouth, tightening it so the smoke couldn't choke him. His
eyes watered, but he didn't slow down.
He had no choice — someone was up there.
The staircase on the left had already collapsed, mangled steel hanging like
broken ribs. The boy swung toward the right, where the second stairwell still
stood, though barely. The first flight creaked under his weight, dust raining
down as each step protested.
He climbed.
One flight.
The railing vibrated violently. A ceiling tile crashed next to his shoulder,
exploding into white chunks. He ducked and kept climbing.
Two flights.
This one felt worse. Smoke poured upward, making the air thick and heavy.
Flames hissed somewhere below him, crawling up the walls like angry serpents.
The boy's heartbeat was loud enough to drown out the crackling fire.
Three flights.
These stairs were the worst. Each step sagged like wet cardboard. The
building shuddered again — not a gentle tremor, but a violent jolt, as if
someone had kicked its foundations. The boy nearly lost his balance, catching
himself against the wall as dust and hot air blasted up from the lower floors.
He pulled his jacket tighter and pushed forward.
At the top of the third flight, he reached the corridor — or what remained
of it. The hallway was a tunnel of flickering orange light, beams on the ground
forming jagged obstacles. The roof dipped low in the middle, threatening to
collapse completely.
And there he saw him.
Shadow.
Not a kid. Not some scared victim.
An adult — tall, tense, lethal even while struggling to stay conscious. His
long black coat was torn and covered in ash, his mask cracked on the right
side. He leaned against a half-collapsed doorframe, one hand gripping his ribs.
Even weakened, he radiated the energy of someone who had killed more men
than the boy had met in his entire life.
The boy froze.
Shadow lifted his head slowly, just enough to see him through the swirling
smoke. Their eyes locked — one pair frightened and determined, the other cold
but burning with something the boy didn't yet understand.
A huge beam of wood — half a support log — hung above Shadow, its base
burned through, groaning as gravity pulled it lower.
"SHADOW!" the boy shouted, but the smoke ate most of the sound.
Shadow glanced up, too late.
The boy leaped forward.
He grabbed the smaller splintered end of the log, shoving with everything he
had. His palms burned, muscles screamed, and his lungs begged for air. But the
beam twisted, shifted — and dropped.
Straight onto Shadow.
The assassin crumpled as the log slammed across his chest and shoulder. The
floor trembled. Firelight flashed across his mask as his head rolled to the
side, eyes half closed.
The boy tried lifting the beam again, but the heat had already scorched his
sleeves. The building roared around him — then the hallway ceiling snapped with
a deafening CRACK.
He stumbled backwards as firefighters rushed through the lower entrance,
shouting orders.
"Hey! Kid! Move away from there!"
Hands grabbed him, pulling him back down the stairs. He struggled once,
shouting Shadow's name, but the smoke swallowed his voice.
On the first floor landing, someone tugged at his scarf — but it wasn't a
person. A falling chunk of flaming debris clipped it, ripping it straight off
his neck as they dragged him outside. The scarf fell somewhere behind him, lost
in the blackened ruin.
Outside, the fire crews attacked the flames with high-pressure jets. One of
them glanced inside, squinting.
"Thought I saw someone up there…" the man muttered. "Tall, dark coat. Looked
like a bloody ghost."
The boy didn't answer. His chest rose and fell in sharp, painful breaths as
he stared at the burning window on the third floor — the place where Shadow had
been.
But Shadow was gone.
Vanished before the flames consumed the building.
And
the boy never found his scarf again