The Red Circle's announcement had barely faded from screens when the world erupted.
Governments scrambled like startled prey. In Washington, aides ran through corridors, faces pale with alarm. In Tokyo, ministers slammed doors, papers flying. Across Delhi, Dakar, and Dhaka, ordinary people poured into the streets, anger and fear bleeding into every demonstration.
Kurayami sat in the headquarters, watching the chaos unfold through live feeds. Protests flared like wildfire; the streets were alive with outrage. Every corner, every camera showed people demanding justice, demanding answers, demanding action.
"It's worse than we expected," said a tech specialist, fingers flying across the console. "Intelligence networks are scrambling. The U.S. is mobilizing. Japan is paralyzed. Other nations are calling emergency sessions."
In Washington, the U.S. Prime Minister's aide whispered urgently: "Sir… the leader of Red Circle possesses a mysterious power. If we can obtain his DNA, we could replicate it… manufacture an artificial human capable of countering him."
Two operatives were chosen immediately—clean, fast, precise. Their mission: acquire a sample.
Kurayami's lips curved into a faint smile. "Let them try," he murmured. "Let's see how eager they are to steal what they cannot control."
Meanwhile, worldwide protests surged. Japan, normally a peaceful country, boiled with fury. Citizens protested against their own government, angered by the sudden free visa policy granting entry to workers from Africa, India, and Bangladesh—workers with skills that Japan desperately needed.
Kurayami observed from above, clad in his dark outfit. He mounted his cycle, channeling his power to lift into the air. The crimson moon hung low, casting a surreal glow over the city. Sitting atop a rooftop, he whispered, "Even the moon remembers the wrongs of men who do not exist… but I will follow the path they fear."
He descended toward the heart of power. The Prime Minister's bus was waiting. Kurayami's hand gripped his knife tightly. He approached, whispered close to the PM's ear:
"Look at what you've done to your own people. If you had guided them differently, this hatred would never have flourished. Yet… I cannot let it continue."
A swift motion. Blood spattered. The office filled with chaos. Kurayami's live broadcast began immediately:
"People of Japan… fear not. Your PM is gone. The next leader you choose must serve the people, not themselves. Make no mistake again."
The world watched. Some celebrated, others recoiled.
But the fight was far from over. From America, the two operatives struck, engaging Kurayami in a violent struggle. Amidst the clash, they cut a strand of his hair—a potential blueprint for artificial human experiments. Kurayami gave chase, but they vanished before he could reach them.
Back at headquarters, he slumped into his chair, exhaustion written across his face.
"Is it possible to make an artificial human from DNA?" one team member asked.
"Potentially," the tech replied. "With enough resources, sequences can be replicated, tissues engineered. But the result serves the purpose it was made for, not life itself."
Kurayami's eyes hardened. "Then we make sure they have nothing. Nothing to weaponize."
Amid the tension, a softer moment broke through. His wife, once his love in Nepal, now stood beside him.
"Hey," she said, teasing, "it's been one month since we ran away and married… I want a child."
Kurayami blinked, a grin forming despite fatigue. "You remember that? I thought you'd forgotten our illegal wedding."
"You made it legal enough for me," she laughed. "One month anniversary wish."
They laughed together, fragile and human, a rebellion against the storm outside.
But the war continued. Across the Atlantic, the U.S. Prime Minister addressed his nation, stern and unyielding:
"This organization threatens global order. Nations must unite. Red Circle Division is now officially classified as criminal. Mobilize forces. Stand together against them."
Orders went out. Alliances reformed. Militaries stirred from complacency. The world, once ignoring power or fearing it, now prepared for war.
Kurayami folded his hands, silent and unyielding. "Prepare for India," he said. "They are rotten at the core. We will cut the disease at the root."
Outside, protests raged. Inside, Red Circle Division moved like a living storm—bound by belief, resolve, and the unshakable certainty that the rot of corruption must be burned away.
Kurayami did not claim righteousness. Only certainty: the world had heard their voice, and now it would answer back in force.