Silence.
That was the beauty of it.
A two-story warehouse at the edge of a city slum — externally plain, internally laced with motion detectors, private guards, and a hidden lab two floors underground. Agent 47 had cleared it all. Methodically. Efficiently. Without a wasted bullet.
Now he moved like a phantom through the dim halls beneath, silent as death, both silverballers reloaded and holstered. The mission brief had called for data retrieval, but what the ICA hadn't accounted for… was the door marked UNREGISTERED — DO NOT ENTER.
He entered.
Inside: a darkened lab with humming tech far more advanced than any military contractor should own. At its center stood a massive pod, pulsing faintly, as if... breathing.
47 approached. He scanned it — no network signal. No external power source.
Just as his fingers brushed the control panel, the pod lit up in white.
Too bright. Too fast.
Then—
BOOM.
Sound vanished. Light devoured everything.
He woke lying on cold tile.
Groaning steel above. Shattered glass glinting from a long-abandoned freezer aisle. Vines crawled along the walls, snaking through broken fridges and over discarded cans. A faded 24/7 Mart sign barely hung on.
47 blinked.
No footsteps. No guards. Just the quiet groan of a world long dead.
He checked himself:
Silverballers? Both holstered. Loaded.
Suit? Intact. Black, pressed, the blood-red tie still clipped.
Body? No injuries.
But something had changed.
He stood slowly, scanned the aisles, moving toward the exit with sharp, economical steps. His instincts told him he wasn't alone — not in the ordinary sense.
He pushed open the rusted doors.
What waited outside looked like the corpse of civilization.Skyscrapers loomed overhead — overgrown, cracked, bleeding ivy down their ribs like veins. Entire chunks of buildings were missing. Some looked like they'd been clawed open. The streets were cracked, split with roots, rusted-out cars fossilized in time.
It wasn't Earth anymore. Not the one he knew.
Then, a sharp ping echoed directly inside his head.
His hand snapped to a pistol — but no enemy. No gunfire.
Instead, a window blinked into view before his eyes.
Transparent. Holographic. It hovered midair like a heads-up display:
[NEXUS SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
Welcome, Subject 47
Title: KING OF ASSASSINS
Class: Apex Executioner
Stats:
Strength: 128
Dexterity: 147
Intelligence: 121
Perception: 160
Endurance: 135
Charisma: 96
Luck: 99
Skills (Master Level):
Stealth
Firearms
Disguise
Close Quarters Combat
Tactical Awareness
Marksmanship
Tracking
Execution
Escape Artist
Environmental Adaptation
Interrogation
Psychological Manipulation
Poison Use
Trap Detection
Weapon Improvisation...and more.
Another ping.
[You have received a QUEST]
Objective: Save Jeol from being assassinated.
Reward: ???
Penalty: DEATH.
47's jaw tightened. His face, unreadable as ever, remained calm.
He stepped onto the cracked pavement, scanning rooftops, alleys, vantage points — analyzing the landscape as though the city still lived. Every ruined building became a potential sniper's nest. Every car a trap.
No fear. No confusion.
Just… the mission.
He muttered under his breath, voice low and steel-cut:
"Understood."
And then, like always —He moved.