The warehouse loomed like a slumbering beast on the outskirts of the city, steel ribs hidden beneath layers of rust and darkness.

+From the outside, it looked abandoned—forgotten by time, surrounded by shipping containers and broken-down fences.*

But inside, it pulsed with quiet life, reshaped into a stronghold, a den, a sanctuary for the damned.

This was where we—X’s organization—operated. A band of rogue assassins, united not by loyalty, not by ideals, but by something stranger: the shared desire to see the JAA fall.

The interior of the warehouse had been masterfully redesigned—armories hidden behind rolling shelving, training grounds separated by bulletproof glass.

living quarters tucked away above ground level, and a central hub with a long war table, holographic maps of Tokyo, and the scarred insignia of our crew spray-painted onto the back wall.

We called ourselves X’s Organization, a group of ex-assassins turned against the world’s deadliest authority—the JAA. Why? Not even all of us knew.

Some followed for blood. Others for redemption. Some, like me, simply followed Uzuki. And tonight, he had called a meeting.

A soft chime rang through the warehouse. Not an alarm—Uzuki hated noise—but a low tone that echoed like a bell inside your chest. It was the signal. Time to gather. The others had already started arriving.

Gaku was there first, sprawled across a couch he had clearly dragged in himself. His hoodie was up, eyes half-lidded as he mashed buttons on his handheld console. “Didn’t know this was urgent,” he muttered, not looking up. “Could’ve finished the boss fight first.”

Tenkyu had his feet kicked up on a crate, polishing his crossbow with methodical care.

Club Jam sauntered in, far too casually for someone responsible for torture and psychological warfare. He twirled a marker in his fingers.

All of the members made their way into the space, sitting down and chilling while they waited for Uzuki’s presence.

And then there was Kumanomi.

She entered last, her presence enough to silence even Club Jam’s running mouth. Tall, terrifying, elegant in that way only a predator could be.