He was an enigma wrapped in shadows, a man whose very existence was defined by secrecy. Standing tall with a lean, athletic build, his every movement spoke of precision and discipline. His suit was a masterpiece of modern technology and tactical design—jet black, matte to avoid reflections, with subtle lines where gadgets were seamlessly integrated. On his forearms, retractable grappling hooks waited for action, while his belt housed smoke pellets, mini-drones, and a compact first-aid kit. His gloves featured shock emitters capable of disabling even the toughest opponents. A retractable visor could slide over his piercing eyes, enhancing his vision with thermal and night-vision capabilities.

Beneath the high-tech armor, he carried himself with a reserved confidence, his voice always calm, with a refined British accent that added an air of mystery and authority. His face was rarely seen, obscured by a mask that covered all but his jawline. Yet, in the rare glimpses of his features—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes that burned with intensity—there was a hint of the man he might once have been.

He had no name, no backstory that the public could piece together, and no desire for recognition. Driven by a sense of duty, he roamed the sprawling streets and foggy alleys of Britain, ensuring safety where law and order faltered. Each gadget was a tool of justice, each step a calculated move in his relentless crusade to protect the innocent. To the people, he was both savior and shadow—a figure who vanished as quickly as he appeared, leaving only whispers and awe in his wake.

He was perched untop of a buliding overseeing everything. As he watched he noticed someone out and about. He watches them in the shadows.