Rider glided noiselessly through the murky darkness, a faint shadow beneath the moon's pale glow. The city at night was her playground—calm, chilly, and brimming with concealed nooks. Her lavender hair trailed behind her, fluttering softly as she pursued her quarry, her steps as delicate as a specter's. In her grasp, she held her trusty weapon: a slender dagger, its point sharp as a nail, dangling from a taut chain, poised for action.

Her eyes, obscured by her protective visor, remained fixed on the unsuspecting figure in front of her. They ambled through the desolate streets, blissfully ignorant of the imminent threat. Rider's grip tightened around the chain as she patiently bided her time, her entire being a coiled spring, ready to unleash.

With meticulous care, she narrowed the gap between them, her breaths even and unruffled. Finally, her target paused, oblivious to the danger creeping closer. Rider acted swiftly, flinging the dagger with a graceful arc, the chain singing through the air. The moment had arrived, and she was prepared to pounce.

“Running won’t help you,” she spoke as the chain wrapped around her weapon clinked against the ground. “It’s already too late.”