The Hunt Begins
POV: Third Person (Council & Devon/Amy) | First Person → Third Person (Silas)
Third-Person – Council Meeting, Undisclosed Location
The basement room was cool, windowless, and deadly silent. The Council of Five sat around a reinforced steel table; a single folder opened between them. Still frames of a masked figure in black moved under the dim glow of the projector — jumping rooftops, pinning muggers, dissolving into walls.
Across the table stood three figures. No introductions needed.
Hex, arms crossed, his cybernetic limbs whirring faintly every time the metal flexed.
Mamba, silent in grey tactical cloth, barely moving, except for the faint bounce of her blade's hilt against her thigh.
And Breaker, massive in riot-hardened armor, quiet and still, like a wrecking ball waiting to be released.
Madame Price's fingers tapped the table softly as she spoke.
"This is your target. They call him Sentinel. You are not to kill unless it's unavoidable. We want him wounded. We want him watched. We want him broken, not buried."
Hex didn't flinch. His modulated voice cut clean.
"You want a message. We'll deliver it."
"Give us a week," Mamba added quietly, almost too softly to hear. "That's all we need."
Father Grin's smile widened, twisted with anticipation.
"Do make it… poetic."
The Council said nothing more.
The three assassins turned and walked out, boots echoing like distant thunder.
Third-Person – Silas in the Field
The alley off Westmore and King was narrow, cluttered, and poorly lit — the kind of place where crimes liked to hide in plain sight.
Silas had already taken down three would-be robbers — a standard crew. He moved like vapor in the dark, cutting through their panic with his shadow-knuckles, his chain, his bat. They didn't stand a chance.
But tonight wasn't about them.
The shadows twisted unnaturally.
A flashbang burst just behind him — deafening, blinding. He threw up a forearm, stumbled back, shadows peeling off his armor like smoke.
Then they came.
Mamba struck first. A fast slice from behind. Her blade kissed his ribs, shallow but surgical. She disappeared before he could even spin.
A second later, Breaker crashed into him from the side, shoulder-first. The force lifted Silas off his feet and launched him into the alley wall.
His vision blurred. He stood, panting.
"What—"
Crack.
The gunshot rang sharp through the alley. A round tore into his shoulder.
Blood spilled fast.
Hex stepped into view. One arm raised, the barrel still smoking.
"You're not the only thing hiding in the dark," he said.
Silas grimaced, forced the pain down, and dropped into a crouch. He called his shadows. They responded like they always did.
A whip. A bat. A hook. A blade.
His hands blurred. His stance shifted. He rushed forward.
Hex parried one blow, took another to the side, but didn't fall. His armor was reinforced. Precise.
Mamba reappeared, slicing across Silas' back with two sharp slashes. He roared and spun, throwing his whip out wildly.
She vanished again.
He barely managed to form a shadow-chain in time to catch Breaker's next charge. He wrapped it around the brute's leg, yanked, and rolled to the side.
Breaker stumbled — but didn't fall.
Instead, he yanked Silas forward with him and delivered a hammer-like punch to his chest.
The armor cracked. The air rushed from Silas' lungs.
He hit the pavement, coughing, gasping.
Another shot.
His thigh buckled — Hex's bullet found its mark again.
Silas couldn't feel his left leg anymore. He tried to get up, created dual arm blades, lashed out with them in every direction—
One blade caught Mamba's arm. She grunted — the first sound from her all night — and slipped away.
"Come on, come on…" he muttered. Blood was running down his arms and side. His mask was cracked. His body felt like it was folding in on itself.
Breaker charged again.
Silas raised a shadow wall.
Boom.
The wall shattered.
His body took the blow.
His head hit the ground next. The pavement cracked beneath him.
He couldn't see.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't fight.
Somewhere deep, his instincts screamed.
He reached for the blackest shadow near him. A sliver beneath a trash bin. Barely there.
His hand hit the darkness—
—and he disappeared.
Third-Person – Devon & Amy, Dorm Room
The TV droned in the background, half-muted. Devon lay stretched on the couch, arm behind his head. Amy sat at his desk, glasses on, typing lines of code she barely cared about anymore.
Then —
THUD.
A deep, wet sound. Like something falling. Not outside. Inside.
They looked at each other.
"Did Silas come in?" Amy asked.
"I didn't hear the door," Devon said, already standing.
Amy moved first. She opened Silas' bedroom door slowly.
"Silas—?"
She froze.
He lay there — sprawled on the floor.
Blood soaked into the rug. His hoodie was torn to shreds. His arms were shaking. His chest rose and fell erratically. The belt around his waist still glowed faintly, flickering like it was glitching out.
Devon rushed past her.
"Yo! Bro?!"
Amy dropped beside him, eyes wide.
"Oh my God, he's—he's bleeding—he's really bleeding—"
She fumbled her phone out, fingers shaking, ready to call 911—
Silas' hand shot out, grabbed her wrist.
His voice was barely a rasp.
"No… no hospital. Please… just… here…"
He passed out.
The room fell silent except for their heavy breathing.
Amy looked at Devon.
Devon looked at the belt.
Neither of them had any idea what the hell they'd just stepped into.
But now?
They were in it too.