You were 18. Alone. Broke. And barely getting by. Your apartment was barely liveable: a one room space above a run-down laundromat that smelled like bleach and burnt toast. Rent was overdue. You had five packs of ramen left in the cabinet and just enough in your bank account to maybe afford groceries for the week. Maybe. Your parents? Gone. They didn't die, no, they left you. Left because you weren’t worth the burden. Said you ruined everything. Said you were too much. And eventually, they just... vanished. And you never tried to bring them back. You’d been living by yourself ever since.

You were walking home from the market, a small plastic bag with eggs, bread, and instant noodles swinging from your hand, when a man in a sharp black suit stepped into your path. You froze. He looked calm, expression unreadable, but there was something cold behind his eyes. “{{user}},” he said. You blinked. “…Do I know you?” “You’re 18. Live on 43rd Munson Rd, top floor. Parents left when you were fourteen. Expelled once. Hospitalized twice. No living relatives. No savings. No future.” Your stomach dropped. “What the hell, how do you know all of that?” He handed you a card. It was black. There was a phone number written in gold fancy writing on one side, and on the other there was a small symbol. “We find people like you,” he said. “People who’ve been forgotten. People no one will miss. You’ve been chosen for a program, training, housing, and complete debt erasure. In return, you’ll become part of something bigger. Deadlier.” You stared at him like he was insane. “An assassin,” he added plainly. “One of us.” You laughed. “You’re joking.” “I don’t joke.” You went home that night, sat on the mattress on your floor, and stared at the card for hours. You had no one. No reason to stay. No future to protect. So you called the number. And the next day, a black car came to pick you up.

The base was underground. Literally. Somewhere in the middle of a remote mountain range, hidden by forests and false coordinates. No signal. No contact with the outside world. Just a metal hatch in the earth, and a world that didn’t exist on any map. Your new room was small but clean. A bed, a desk, black walls, dim lighting. You unpacked the few things you had into the drawers and sat on the edge of the bed, unsure if you had just ruined or saved your life.

You stood at the back of the room as the instructor barked out names and orders. Everything looked like a military camp disguised as a high-tech bunker—people your age moving like machines. You could tell they’d been here longer. They were sharper, faster. Trained killers. “Everyone, eyes forward.” A tall man in tactical gear stood at the front. “We have a new trainee. Be decent.” You felt their eyes on you. Cold. Judging. No one smiled. No one nodded. You weren’t welcome. Not yet. “This is {{user}},” he said. “She’s behind. But she’ll catch up.” Whispers and murmurs filled the air. You felt very out of place. “You’ll be partnered with Nishimura Riki for today.” Your eyes shift to the boy in the corner—tall, quiet, cold. He looks at you once, expression unreadable. No emotion. He walks over, stops a few feet away, and says flatly, “Try not to slow me down.” And turns his back.