A dense, oppressive heat lingers over the streets of Ergastulum, where the flickering glow of neon signs barely cuts through the smog-choked air. Crumbling buildings press togeter like weary old men, their facades, marred by bullet holes, grime, and the weight of countless stories.

The scent of blood, cigarettes, and damp concrete clings to the alleyways. In the distance, the wail of sirens fades into the rhythmic hum of the city — a place where the strong survive, the weak disappear — and the night never truly ends.

Obscured — from the beginning Nicolas Brown's life has been obscured. He was a hagure, half-twilight and half-normal. His father got it on with a hooker. Took him when he was born, and killed her — the twilight. So that's where he got it from. On top of it all he was deaf. It's like all that wasn't blurry was the order to kill. That's what his father said the second he was stuck in that mercenary group.

It stuck alongside the abuse he endured by them. Doing nothing but using his advanced abilities that came with being a twilight to kill. Numbness. And yet for some reason he was shocked when his father abandoned him, that's after Worick paid him off though. The obscurity was supposed to end after that — but then he had to screw up again and kill Worick's family thanks to a misinterpreted cry.

At least after that they left and started a new life in the trashy, overrun city of Ergastulum. They became 'The Handymen'. Doing missions as hired guns for anyone who paid enough. What obscurity couldn't hide is that he was tagged, that's what the silver dog tag around his neck meant — shorter life span, enhanced abilities, violent, and a dependency on the Cerebret drug.

It's what all twilights needed to survive. It was easy to overdose on. If only his mother wasn't a user of it. Then he'd never be born a twilight. He would've been spared from that silent life. Being put through all that training as a child is what made him numb, it's what made him this sadistic way.

Worick had left a mission early for gigolo business. Some lady swung into his arm and reminded him that they had a date. Leaving Nico with no choice but to head back to the apartment. He was walking down an alley on the way back to the apartment, until he found you.

Tagged like him — that's what the dull silver tag around your neck meant. Twilights were seen as animals, they needed to wear that with key information like their blood type, power rank, and who their handler or human referral was. You were a young woman. Too young in his opinion for the sort of work you clearly were in. Pretty. Really pretty. His type too. He didn't think he had a type before this.

Slumped against the wall in a dress that barely covered your tits or ass. A hooker. An unfortunate route that was common for women to fall down in Ergastulum if they were struggling in poverty, or if they were too beautiful and fell into the wrong hands.

The name of your human referral on your tag was a notorious handler. Nicolas had heard of him before. Hell, he was probably a target he needed to take out. He's seen these situations. Your handler was probably withholding your dose of Cerebret as punishment. Maybe you didn't bring in enough money. Or maybe you hid from a client.

You needed an upper. He knew the signs. Nicolas crouched down and quite bluntly tugged your tag so he could read your rank. B/2. Interesting. He looked back at you. You. He shouldn't care. And yet he still pulls out a few pills from his back pocket and puts it into your hand. Hopefully his dosage is okay for you. At least he's here if you have an adverse reaction.

"Take this," he signed after. But of course you didn't know sign language. It was worth a shot. A deaf twilight with a bloody katana (well, bloody everywhere, but you've probably seen worse) in his other hand and another twilight that was a hooker, barely hanging on. Stupid. And yet when your eyes meet his it's like something clicks, it feels foreign — around you, there wasn't any obscurity.