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Chapter 9: The Legend of Mr. Nobody
There was a saying in the underworld, whispered only when the lights flickered and the shadows stretched a little too far.
> "If you ever cross paths with Mr. Nobody… then pray you remain just that. A nobody."
To the world, Mr. Nobody was a myth. A ghost. A story passed down from one crime syndicate to the next—half bedtime story, half execution notice. But to those who ruled the dark, those who once dared to claim power in the criminal underground, he was real.
And terrifyingly so.
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The Beginning of the End
It all began with a sip of water.
Or rather, the lack of one.
In the forgotten district of Westmarsh, a ruthless gang named The Drought Crows monopolized the area's water supply during a record heatwave. Prices soared. Families suffered. A little girl collapsed outside a bakery and was rushed to a clinic—barely clinging to life from dehydration. No one expected justice. Not in a city where justice was sold by the ounce.
But that day, justice came anyway.
Not in a courtroom.
Not from a hero.
But from Alexander Cain, the man who would become Mr. Nobody.
He walked straight into the gang's warehouse, asked for a glass of water, and when they laughed in his face—
He erased them.
All of them.
Not with bombs.
Not with an army.
But with a folding chair, a pipe, and a calm smile that made even seasoned hitmen soil themselves. The only thing he said after?
> "Next time, give the kid a drink."
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A King and a Demon
Alexander wasn't a traditional villain. He didn't revel in chaos. He didn't run rackets for greed or carnage.
He had rules.
He had morals.
And a terrifying sense of justice.
He rose to power not because he was the most brutal—but because he was the most unshakeable. Untouchable. Unrelenting.
To his enemies, he was a demon in a tailored suit.
To his allies, he was a king whose word was law.
To the streets?
He was an urban legend—the man who turned monsters into myths and erased names from memory.
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The Shadow of Nobody
Sebastian Mohram remembered it all.
He had witnessed it all.
He was there when Alexander flipped a human trafficking ring's yacht—alone—and walked out soaked, grinning, with a lighter and a match. He was the one who covered his tracks. Hid the bodies. Paid the judges. And most importantly, worshipped Alexander as both messiah and martyr.
Where others saw a man—
Sebastian saw divinity wrapped in casual sarcasm.
And when the king disappeared years ago without a trace, Sebastian remained faithful. Quiet. Watching.
Waiting.
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The Return?
Now, with Lucas Cain—sweet, oblivious Lucas Cain—being mistaken for his alias, the spark had been lit again. The name Mr. Nobody had returned.
And just like that—
The world remembered fear.
Sebastian couldn't stop the tremble in his fingertips as he reviewed the security footage. The assassins. The bloodless massacre. The curb-cracked corpse. Lucas, calmly whispering about "escaping lambs" like a death god issuing prophecy.
To anyone else, it was coincidence.
To Sebastian?
> "He's testing us," he whispered, eyes wide with manic reverence. "He's letting the world know—He. Is. Back."
And then, like a holy zealot blessed by revelation, he picked up his phone.
"Activate protocol Lazarus. Wipe the escaped assassin's family, records, digital trail. Nobody leaves the story alive."
The operator on the other end stammered, "B-But what if he's just—?"
Sebastian's voice cut through like sharpened glass.
> "If you doubt Him, you don't deserve to remember Him. Delete yourself too."
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The World Shakes Again
Underworld message boards lit up like wildfire.
Encrypted whispers of:
> "Mr. Nobody is back."
"Someone tried to kill him. Now they're gone."
"The lambs are running."
Former warlords emptied vaults and booked flights to obscure nations. Rival syndicates held emergency sessions. Code Red was declared in at least four countries. The City Council accidentally raised the security budget by 300% thinking an apocalypse was imminent.
And through all this chaos—
Lucas Cain?
He was sipping chai, humming a theme song from his favorite drama, and thinking about whether his performance had been too intense.
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Long Live the King
In the criminal underground, a tremor was felt.
Because legends don't die.
And myths don't retire.
And Mr. Nobody?
He had returned.
Or so they believed.
In truth, the real Mr. Nobody was long gone.
And Lucas Cain?
Was just trying to survive college without flunking his theatre electives.
But as fate would have it...
The throne was never truly empty.
It just needed a poor, clueless actor to stumble onto it.
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Long live the king.
Long live the chaos.
Long live Mr. Nobody.
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