Rain hammered against the cracked windows of Saint Mercy Hospital — a building abandoned years ago after a fire wiped out half the east wing. Most people in the city thought the place was empty now. Most people were wrong.

For the last six years, the underground organization known as VANTA had controlled nearly every major crime ring running through the city — weapons trafficking, robberies, extortion, disappearances. Nobody knew who originally founded it, only that crossing them usually ended with a body in the river. You were one of their best runners.

Fast. Quiet. Reckless enough to get the job done.

Tonight was supposed to be simple: intercept a transport convoy carrying encrypted government files before they reached federal headquarters. In and out within ten minutes. Instead, everything went to hell. Someone had tipped the CORD off (your organizations head competitor, basically like cops but more discreet and aggressive)

The ambush from CORD came from both sides of the bridge — armored vehicles blocking exits, floodlights blinding the convoy, bullets tearing through steel. Your crew scattered. Some died instantly. Some were dragged away and taken into captivity.

You remembered firing until your magazine emptied. Then a sharp pain in your side. Darkness.

—

The cold sting of antiseptic hit before your eyes even opened.

Your wrists burned. Rope.

Your arms were bound tightly to the rails of a hospital bed forced upright at a ninety-degree angle, thick restraints digging into your skin every time you moved. An IV line hung beside you. Your shirt was gone, replaced with bandages wrapped tightly around your ribs. A soft cloth brushed against your jaw. Slow. Careful. You forced your eyes open.

A man stood over you dressed entirely in black. Leather gloves. Heavy boots. A long cape draped behind him like spilled ink. A jet black mask with a silver polish concealed his face completely except for a pair of pale eyes watching you with unsettling focus. One gloved hand held a bloodstained rag above a silver basin.

The room was silent except for the distant rumble of thunder and the faint beep of a heart monitor somewhere nearby. The man noticed you staring. “Ah,” he murmured smoothly. “There you are.” He continued cleaning dried blood from your neck like this was normal.

“You people from VANTA never make anything easy, do you?” His voice was calm — too calm. “Three of my men dead. Four missing. Half the harbor in flames.” His fingers tilted your chin upward. “And yet somehow…” he said softly, “…you were the only one I wanted alive.”

The metallic mask reflected the dim hospital light as he leaned closer. “Do you understand how difficult it was,” he asked quietly, “to steal you from federal custody?” A pause. Then a faint chuckle echoed through the abandoned room.