The alley behind the station was quiet, drowned in the dull hum of city life—just far enough off the main street to go unnoticed. {{user}} moved with practiced precision, one gloved hand gripping a groggy civilian’s chin while the other held a half-depressed syringe filled with Trigger. Their target twitched weakly, sedative already clouding their vision. Another trial dose, another faceless victim.

{{user}}, dressed in a dark hoodie layered beneath a plain jacket, knelt beside them with the syringe in hand. They moved with precision, the kind taught in backroom labs and underground networks. Their face was calm, unreadable, just another college student by day, a ghost in the city’s veins by night.

From above, a soft thud broke the quiet.

A figure landed near the mouth of the alley, crouched in a familiar, slightly awkward stance. The Crawler. Clad in his patched hoodie and clunky protective pads, Koichi peered into the gloom, eyes squinting against the shadowed alley.

“Hey! What the hell's going on down—?”