Arena District Perimeter, First Week of August 2323
Four months had passed since he left Sid's unnamed cafe. However, Ren was still not entirely safe in social crowds, due to one physical sign: his rare red retinas.
On a cold afternoon, Ren traveled to the Arena District perimeter to look for an optical shop. Mid-range optical shops and shopping centers in Rich City were almost non-existent in the factory- and industrial-dominated Merge District, making his trip to this border a necessity.
Ren stood inside one of the less crowded mid-range optical shops. He wore a dark hoodie and glasses that disguised most of his black hair. The place felt uncomfortable for him; he felt like a bullet held too long in a barrel.
Lately, he had been hiding behind glasses when in public spaces. However, Ren hated it; the thick frames reduced his periphery by 12 percent and gave him a mild headache. It was the price of the false freedom from Daniel who still included his face on the Platinum Tier fugitive list.
In front of him, a shop assistant—a patient young woman—showed him various trays of contact lenses.
"Please, Sir. These are some of the products that are currently popular. Brown and deep blue are this week's best sellers," the woman suggested, her tone friendly.
Ren simply shook his head gently. "I need a color that isn't conspicuous, but also doesn't make my eyes look lifeless." The problem lay in his pupils. That rare red color, even under glasses, could still draw attention under certain lighting.
His gaze focused on selecting colors from the row of contact lenses on the tray, making his instinct for his surroundings slightly dull. He even ignored the arrival of other customers in the optical shop.
"Today is the last day, Nad."
"But you're still sixteen, how could I just—"
Ren, whose instincts were naturally alert, felt a movement that was about to collide with him from the adjacent cash register line in a fraction of a second. His reflexes took over. His hand moved very subtly, slightly turning his shoulder and lightly touching the person's arm at the elbow to brace and deflect the collision momentum. The action was barely visible, just a quick postural adjustment, ensuring he didn't falter and didn't attract attention.
Ren only turned his head. He saw a young girl, wearing a neat school uniform with long pink hair swept to the side.
"I'm sorry, we were too carried away joking around." The girl looked down apologetically while holding a box of blue sapphire contact lenses. The black-haired girl next to her also bowed.
Ren noted the hair color—a hue he recognized well from the past—but immediately dismissed it. In Rich City, which was transitioning into a modern dystopia, strange hair colors were just a growing trend.
"No problem," Ren's voice was low and cold from behind his disguise.
The girl looked up and smiled, a smile so bright it felt alien in that place. For a moment, their eyes met. Ren's red irises, accustomed to witnessing darkness and bloodshed, met a pair of innocent pink irises.
She looks fragile and naive, Ren analyzed inwardly, like a child who has never been touched by the real Rich City.
Ren turned his face away from the two girls, returning to scanning the contact lens catalog, considering his work environment: the dark alleys of the Merge District interspersed with colorful neon lights. After analyzing the data, he realized that Dark Gray or jet black lenses would deaden his eye expression too much and slightly reduce night vision. He needed optimal contrast.
"I'll take this one," Ren said, pointing to an orange-colored contact lens. Briefly, the color reminded him of the purplish-orange sky the last time he enjoyed warmth from his mother's lap, thirteen years ago. Ren immediately dismissed the thought, forcing his focus on the technical function of the color, which he knew would provide effective contrast for night vision under the cold city light spectrum. "Make sure the durability is good."
The shop assistant smiled. "A unique color, Sir. Payment is over here."
As Ren paid for his new contact lenses, the voices of the two girls were heard again, along with their steps towards the exit.
"I'm sorry, I was too much, Rena." The black-haired girl said, her voice sounding apologetic.
"You need to be more careful, Nad." She replied with a sweet smile. The optical shop door closed as if forcing their worlds apart.
Ren froze.
His heart pounded, not from fear of his identity being exposed, but because of a name. Rena. It was the name Riko had entrusted to him, a moral promise he had to fulfill.
He almost dropped his wallet. The nervousness crippled his efficiency. Ren slowly turned, his eyes locked on the exit door where the pink-haired figure had just vanished. He knew he had to follow that step immediately. However, Ren was too focused on the name and his emotional panic that his visual tracking skills were dull. He failed to note crucial details like the school uniform characteristic or badge, something he should have done instantly.
"...Sir."
The shop assistant's voice brought Ren back to consciousness. He immediately paid the amount stated on the bill, while trying to return to an efficient and vigilant mode.
With the paper bag containing the orange contact lenses in his hand, Ren rushed out of the optical shop, trying to find the trace of the pink-haired girl. But it was too late. A genius assassin who even managed to win freedom from the Prime Minister, now stood powerless facing fate and a lost moral promise due to an emotional disturbance that crippled his efficiency.
In his hurried breath, Ren realized that the path to atoning for his sins and moral debt to Riko was still very long. Fate never gave him an easy way out. Until that day came, Ren had to keep walking, running, and fighting for every drop of blood he spilled.
As Ren was left behind, caught in his emotional consequences at the district border, Rena was speeding up, pulled directly into the heart of the power she sought.
Rena sat in the passenger seat of a Rolls Royce upholstered in expensive leather, feeling the soundproof and deadly silence. In the seat next to her, Zero sat calmly, his dark tuxedo seeming perfectly matched with the car's interior.
The silence in the car felt cold and tense. Zero seemed to observe Rena's silhouette with an analytical gaze that never blinked. While Rena only stared out the window, grappling with her own thoughts.
The last day before quarantine, when Zero appeared, Nadia left instead. Yet I wanted to spend time with her, Rena thought inwardly. There was a small sense of betrayal held back, worsened by Zero's silence.
Previously, shortly after Rena and Nadia left the optical shop, a gleaming black Rolls Royce that looked too expensive for the streets on the district perimeter, blocked the two of them at a crossroads. From behind the car window that slowly rolled down, Zero's figure emerged and smiled, offering them a ride.
As if speaking through his gaze, Nadia knew very well that Zero wanted time alone with Rena. Although Nadia's instinct said don't leave Rena, Zero's calm but intimidating gaze managed to defeat her. Nadia then gave Rena an excuse that she wanted to buy something for dinner first.
What dinner, your fridge was just stocked yesterday, Nadia. I'll get back at you when we get to the dorm room. Just as Rena's mind was filled with annoyance towards Nadia, her eyes caught a familiar figure outside the window. The boy she met at the optical shop, now looking frustrated with sweat soaking his temples. Rena's curiosity shattered the wall of calm she had been trying to maintain.
That minimalist movement caught Zero's attention.
"Something wrong, Rena?" Zero looked at her attentively, as if reading her eye movements.
Rena glanced at Zero before answering, "Nothing, Mr. Zero." She emphasized the formal address, creating an artificial distance. "I was just thinking about my best friend."
Zero smiled faintly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "She said she needed to shop, and you don't have time for that on your last free day before quarantine, Rena."
Zero moved slightly closer, breaking Rena's comfort boundary. "And one more thing, don't be too formal with me. I knew your mother, Doctor Riko. She was an extraordinary figure in the Palace."
Rena only stared at Zero, her silence feeling like a steel barrier that suddenly turned fragile. She didn't know how to respond. At a time like this, she didn't want to talk about her mother who also died in the Palace. She let out a heavy sigh, more an attempt to stabilize herself than to express annoyance.
"I know your goal, Rena. Leverage to find who killed your mother. Am I wrong?"
Hearing that, Rena's eyes widened in horror, not curiosity. A cold sensation on her back quickly ran to her neck and nape.
Zero leaned his body toward Rena, his control now feeling absolute. "It's not a difficult thing. Show me the results of next year's quarantine, you must occupy the center position and the peak of popularity."
Zero is a terrifying monster, and I have to ally with him to get that leverage. Whether she liked it or not, Rena followed Zero's will.
"I will be at that point, Zero." Unconsciously, Rena dropped all her formalities because Zero pulled the hook about Riko's past, signifying that the transaction was official outside of the CLOVER agreement. "So, don't break your promise."
Zero smiled with satisfaction, a calm, terrifying, and final smile of victory.
"I never break a promise."
Three months later, as Rena broke through the bright entrance of power through quarantine, Ren was moving towards a much darker abyss. If Rena's ambition was aimed at the political future, Ren's mission was now tied to a bloody past. He left the hustle and bustle of the Arena District perimeter, exchanging that artificial luxury for the harsh reality on the outskirts of the city.
Jungle District Perimeter, Second Week of November 2323
Ren let the names of the elite nobles stay in his memory—they were long-term targets. However, the name Santino burned the remnants of Ren's humanity. He could forgive Daniel's threat, but he would never forget the man who traded his childhood for a monetary nominal.
Ren spent two weeks in the Jungle District, disguising himself in low-class coffee shops and bars frequented by Santino's mid-level couriers. He didn't need high-level contacts; he needed a steady rhythm.
From the fragments of information he bought and collected—from drunk courier complaints to leftover shipping notes—Ren concluded: Santino never left his base in the Jungle District except for one thing: Supervision of the arms warehouse in the Venezuela Warehouse.
The warehouse was located in Sector 5 of the Jungle District, an area around the Old Port rarely monitored by Rich City patrols and quite isolated. It was the place where Santino, due to his paranoid nature, always came alone at midnight to check important inventory before a large shipment. Santino trusted no one, and that was his biggest weakness.
Ren's plan was fully prepared. He successfully turned Santino's paranoia into a boomerang. The Venezuela Warehouse was not given an excessive number of special forces, to prevent suspicion from the authorities.
Ren would not enter the warehouse when Santino was there. Ren had to turn the tables; he had to be inside the warehouse before Santino arrived, making it Ren's own control room.
Ren had successfully bypassed the external security layers at the Venezuela Warehouse perimeter with his infiltration skills. He moved quickly through the shadows, avoiding motion sensors and thermal cameras he detected. He didn't waste energy on outside targets.
Now, Ren was inside the vast, dark inventory room. Only a little light penetrated the frosted glass windows, creating a deceptive visual illusion. Three armed guards patrolled in a constant triangular pattern between stacks of illegal cargo crates, each guard holding an automatic rifle and a Handy Talky (HT) attached to their shoulder.
Ren waited, squatting on top of a row of wooden crates, counting the rhythm of their footsteps and their HT communication breaks.
The first guard, closest to the cargo container wall, was the easiest to isolate. As he turned, Ren launched from above, like a shadow detached from the ceiling. His orange lenses cut through the darkness, giving perfect focus on the target. Not a bullet, but a thin black steel dagger was faster.
Ren's hand covered the guard's mouth from behind while the dagger plunged into his nape, cutting off the main blood supply and nerve in a silent jab motion. Ren held the body to prevent it from falling and snatched his HT to save it. Time elapsed: 1.8 seconds.
The other two guards walked close together, about five meters apart in the narrow aisle. Ren had to deal with both almost simultaneously before they realized their comrade's absence.
Ren pulled out one more black dagger blade from his harness. The dagger in his left hand was held with a reverse grip, while the dagger in his right hand was held with a forward grip ready to thrust.
The first dagger, hurled from his left hand, flew like a silent arrow toward the second guard's right arm, aiming to temporarily paralyze the muscle and causing the automatic rifle to clatter to the concrete. Simultaneously, the dagger in Ren's right hand shot forward, slicing into the third guard's thigh, pinning him momentarily and preventing any immediate counter-movement.
The wounded second guard tried to reach for his HT hanging on his shoulder, but Ren was already there. Ren slid on the concrete floor with unexpected speed, stepping on the second guard's hand, crushing his fingers. Ren snatched the HT and destroyed it with his heel. He also quickly snatched and destroyed the HT of the third guard whose scream was now suppressed by the dagger in his thigh.
Without radio warning, without a scream, and without a chance to shoot back, Ren finished off the two guards. The dagger in Ren's left hand, plunged exactly into the second guard's heart, penetrating the anti-bullet vest at a weak point. At the same time, Ren pulled the dagger from the third guard's thigh and thrust it into the third guard's carotid artery, cutting the main blood vessel with deadly precision.
Ren put the HT he saved—belonging to the first guard—to his ear, setting the volume to the lowest level. He confirmed the channel was quiet; all patrol communication seemed normal, Santino had not yet arrived.
Only silence remained. Ren dragged the three bodies behind the dark shadows of the weapons stack, ensuring the warehouse's main door was now his sole focus of attention.
Inside the warehouse filled with rows of crates containing illegal weapons, Ren hid behind a supporting beam, staring at the main door that would bring Santino within his range.
The Venezuela Warehouse felt damp, smelling of a mixture of rust, sea salt, and gunpowder lingering in the cold air. Ren stood motionless behind a pile of wooden crates, his new orange lenses piercing the darkness, filtering sharp details of the silhouette approaching behind the iron door.
A single set of footsteps broke the silence. The main door creaked open, and Santino entered, his old body wrapped in an expensive trench coat, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. As Ren predicted, he was alone. No bodyguards. Ren's earlier panic was now fully paid off.
Santino walked two steps, his hand raised to turn on the main light hanging from the high warehouse ceiling. The first flash of the obsolete bulb revealed three shadows lying on the concrete floor.
"Why are you sleeping? Get up!" Santino yelled angrily at his negligent subordinates.
As Santino approached, he realized the guards weren't just sleeping, but lifeless. Santino's cigarette dropped from his mouth and hit the floor, panic spreading through his old body. He turned, his instinct ordering him to flee, but the iron door was already tightly closed and a thick shadow stood blocking the way.
It was Ren.
Ren's posture was rigid, yet deadly. He didn't utter a word, just stood silently between Santino and the only way out.
Santino, who had lived decades in violence, reacted as fast as his pressing instincts. His right hand snapped under his coat, pulling out an automatic pistol. "Who are you?!" Three bursts of bullets split the warehouse air, gunpowder smoke instantly spreading.
But the bullets only pierced the cold air where Ren had stood a fraction of a second ago.
Ren's movement was an anomaly. He didn't run, he slid. When Santino's pistol fired, Ren was already at an unreachable distance. The assassin's speed created a blurring illusion, and in the next moment, Ren was very close—too close—until the smell of Santino's cigarette and fearful sweat was clearly noticeable.
A dry, precise strike hit Santino's wrist, not a fist, but the hard side of his palm, designed to cripple. The pistol detached, falling to the concrete floor with a painful clang sound. Santino staggered, opening his mouth to scream for help that would never come, but Ren's hand already tightly gripped his coat collar.
In one highly efficient movement, Ren slammed Santino's back into the stack of crates behind him. Santino's head hit the wood, his consciousness swimming. Ren pressed him down hard with his knee, eliminating every chance to fight back.
Ren was no longer enveloped in shadows. His eyes, disguised by the orange lenses that now glowed under the warehouse's dim light, stared straight into Santino's panicked eyes. In his left hand, Ren's thin, unassuming black dagger blade was now less than an inch from Santino's carotid artery. It was a deadly position, but Ren could still hold back.
Ren lowered his voice, colder than the warehouse air. He didn't ask why Santino was panicking; he went straight to the core of the trauma he had planned for years.
"You disappointed me, Santino," Ren whispered, his eyes tightening. "Is this all the result of you selling my 'silver hair' that time?"