The room was softly blue, the shadows falling across his face sharp. His eyes read the map leisurely. Veins of lines crossed the digital surface. Routes. Entry points. Hidden markers. He could sense them. Not merely to see them--but to feel them throbbing with significance
Shepherd was in front of the map that was glowing.
"The mission is clear," the figure said, his voice chilling. "Get in, get the Ember Bloom. Bring it back."
"Why this one?" Shepherd asked, his gaze narrowing slightly. "Why this plant?"
The figure didn't hesitate. "Because it's vital for our next sequence. A plant like the Ember Bloom could change everything for us."
"Right," Shepherd muttered, not satisfied with the answer. But he didn't push. The Syndicate never gave answers unless they had to.
The map zoomed in, focusing on the mountain facility buried in the heart of Eastern Europe. Shepherd had already studied the layout, memorizing every detail, every guard shift. This was his first mission and he had to make sure it was perfect
"You'll be dropped in early tomorrow," the figure said. "The rest is up to you."
Shepherd didn't answer. He just nodded grimly and turned, walking away from the glowing map.
---
Time flew away in a mist.
Shepherd was already awaiting command by the time the transport was ready to move. His suit was light and cut to his figure. His gloves were clenched. Each of his steps was silent. His breath was even trained--slow and controlled.
The mission went smoothly at first.
Shepherd was dropped off under the cover of darkness, his boots sinking into the soft earth. The mountain air was crisp, and the facility—surrounded by towering ridges—was nearly invisible from the outside. Shepherd moved with purpose, his body sprinting low to the ground, his eyes scanning for any movement.
He waited for the perfect moment—when a guard's flashlight flickered away—then he slipped past him, into the compound's shadowed outskirts.
The building ahead was solid steel, hidden behind rows of trees and heavily guarded checkpoints. Shepherd's cognitive sight gave him the edge—he could feel the guard movements like they were written on the air. Perfect timing. With each step, he moved closer to his goal.
Inside the compound, Shepherd navigated the clean, sterile halls of the lab. His heart raced, not from fear, but from something else—something he couldn't quite name. The guards were routine, predictable. Camera movements, sensor sweeps, every pattern was memorized in seconds.
The vault containing the Ember Bloom was just as the map had described. Locked tight, with a biometric pad, but nothing Shepherd couldn't handle.
---
He took out his needle-thin tool, inserted it into the lock, and waited. The click of the vault door echoed in the silence. Shepherd stepped inside, eyes on the glowing Ember Bloom housed in a glass chamber.
The plant's roots moved like fingers, slow and alive. It was beautiful, dangerous in its own way. He took it, sealed it in a small, tight carry case, and locked it shut.
But as soon as the case was closed, the room lit up in red. An alarm blared.
---
"No." Shepherd cursed under his breath. Someone had tampered with the system.
---
As he turned to leave, a figure stepped from the shadows.
The man was masked, his posture familiar, as if they had once met. The figure took a step forward, and Shepherd's pulse quickened.
"You shouldn't have taken that." The voice was low, edged with something masked but familiar.
Shepherd squinted, trying to make sense of the situation. "Who are you?"
The figure took another step, tilting his head. "Your worst nightmare "
The scent.
Shepherd's heart skipped a beat. He knew that scent but he didn't know whose scent it was.
"Who sent you?" Shepherd said, stepping back, suddenly on alert.
The figure's lips twitched behind the mask. "\\Why? Scared that your ghosts are hunting you? Or because the syndicate couldn't protect you from them? ."
---
Before Shepherd could react, the figure lunged forward, his body moving swiftly, a blur of motion. Shepherd barely dodged, feeling the force of the attack rush past him. He instinctively drew his weapon, but the man was already on him again, his gloved hands locking onto Shepherd's wrist, twisting.
"I've been watching you, Shepherd. You think you escaped, that you're all powerful now. Lies! ." The man growled as they grappled, rolling across the floor in the tight space. Shepherd barely had time to adjust before the figure's knee drove into his ribs, knocking the wind out of him.
---
Shepherd shoved him back, his strength pushing the man into a steel counter. The blow stunned the figure, but he was already recovering, charging again. This time, Shepherd was ready.
---
The fight was brutal. They were evenly matched—both fast, skilled. The masked figure attacked with precision, each movement deliberate and calculated. Shepherd's senses flared, his cognitive sight picking up every shift, every moment of opportunity. He dodged a punch and countered with an elbow to the man's gut, knocking him back.
"You are still the same Shepherd Nexon, weak and helpless ." The masked man snarled, rising to his feet. "You couldn't even save your sister! ."
---
Shepherd growled, feeling the fire rising in him. "Don't you dare talk about Zoya."
The fight continued in close quarters, their bodies slamming into walls, their grunts filling the air. Every strike had weight behind it now. The man was fast, but Shepherd's instincts had been sharpened, honed for moments like this.
Finally, Shepherd saw his opening—a low sweep, tripping the masked figure, sending him crashing to the floor.
The figure groaned, trying to rise, but Shepherd was faster. He locked the man's arms behind his back, pressing him against the floor with his knee.
"I don't know who you are or who sent you." Shepherd's voice was cold. "But let it be known that Sheperd Nexon is a changed man .Not helpless,not weak. I control the game now, and I'm already winning.."
In one swift motion, the figure was on top of Shepherd holding him by the neck.
The figure spat, grinning beneath his mask. "It's not over Nexon. The game has just begun."
Before Shepherd could react the figure disappeared into the fog.
Shepherd grabbed the carry case with the Ember Bloom, rushing toward the exit.
As the helicopter soared into the sky, Shepherd looked down at the burning facility, the flames licking the night sky. The mission had been a success. But Shepherd had just found out he had an enemy within. A powerful one.
(At the facility)
The compound doors sealed behind him as he returned.
He handed the sealed case to the masked figure without a word.
The man inspected it. Nodded once.
"Your next mission will be communicated soon."
System read : First Mission successful
Reward: Debt paid ($50,000)
Shepherd said nothing.
He returned to his quarters, every muscle aching.
He sat at the edge of his bed.
The room was dark, quiet. Too quiet. Just the hum of the lights and the ticking of the wall panel. His fingers tapped the tabletop slowly.
But his mind wasn't here.
It was back in the Sinclair mansion.
Back in the wet forest ground.
Back with Arielle and Darion.
Back with the Masked figure.
The people who had almost destroyed his life were still out there. Happy and Celebrating and scheming their next move.
He turned on the TV, needing noise.
The news played.
But what he heard next made his blood freeze.
"Breaking News," the anchor said. "A five million dollar reward has been issued for information on the whereabouts of Shepherd Nexon. Believed to be dead, new footage suggests otherwise."
Images flashed. Old photos of him holding a smiling Zoya.
A news clip of Darion standing at a podium. Next to him was Arielle holding back fake tears.
"The Sinclair Group has promised full medical assistance and legal protection to anyone with knowledge of his condition, he is important to us as a family. Help us find our brother. Thank you."
Shepherd stared at the screen.
His fists clenched slowly.
His breath came cold.
He was aware of what this was.
Darion did not want him to live.
He desired a body. A dead, cold body. One who could not talk. One which could not be returned.
Arielle was not an exception.
Her perfectly dolled face stained with tears. .Her trembling voice. Her gentle words. It was all pretense. A perfectly scripted play.
They were evil and there was no saving them.
Shepherd leaned over and switched off the television. The screen went black. The silence was deafening.
He gazed a long time at nothing, his fists clenched at his sides.
They had stolen everything from him. Including his sight
But now he was already a step ahead.
The old Shepherd Nexon was gone.
The Syndicate had strengthened him. Smarter. Faster.
They had made his weakness into weapons. And he had paid the price with his freedom.
And it was time to use those weapons.
Shepherd entered the long steel and silent hall. He strode on, head held up, heart beating.
The day of his next evaluation came quickly. Shepherd stood before the same masked figure, the same person who had overseen his training and missions thus far. His body was stronger now, his senses sharper, and he could feel the pressure building with every step he took toward the room.
He hadn't been sent on any real missions yet—just small tasks. Analysis. Surveillance. Tracking. Nothing to test his full potential, but enough to make him feel like he was being used, like he was being prepared for something bigger. Something that would come when they were ready.
But today, he wasn't here for menial tasks.
He had a request.
The figure didn't waste time with pleasantries. "What is it, Shepherd?"
"I want to be sent back into the world," Shepherd said, his voice steady, resolute. "I don't belong here—in the shadows. I want to get back to the streets, back into the people's lives where I can do more than sit and wait."
The figure didn't react. He remained still, staring at Shepherd with those cold, unreadable eyes behind the mask. The silence stretched on, and Shepherd felt his heart rate increase. This wasn't the easy answer he was hoping for.
Finally, the figure spoke. "You understand that going back into the world will put you at risk. The Syndicate's enemies will find you. The Leclairs will be looking for you, too. You can't afford to be seen."
"I'm not afraid of them," Shepherd snapped, his eyes narrowing. "I don't care about the risk. I need to take action. I have to find them before they find me."
The figure finally moved, stepping back toward the wall, considering Shepherd's words. "You'll be sent back into the world, but on our terms. You will sign a contract that binds you to our operations. You will do whatever we ask of you, without hesitation. You will remain in the shadows, and you will follow our commands, or you will be dealt with."
Shepherd hesitated for only a moment. This was his only way out, his only chance to move closer to his goal—to hunt Darion, to hunt Arielle, to make them pay.
He didn't hesitate long.
"I'll sign."
The figure nodded, and a small black contract appeared in his hand. Shepherd took it, his fingers grazing the paper. The ink on the document was stark, professional—nothing personal, nothing that hinted at humanity. Just terms, obligations, and consequences. A life for a life.
Without another word, Shepherd signed his name at the bottom. He could feel the weight of the decision in his chest as he did. This was it. There was no going back now.
After signing, the figure handed him a small device—a tracking phone, for communication. "You'll be placed in a safe location. Your cover will be that of a bartender. You'll live as you did before, blending into the world. In the meantime, you will continue with small tasks. Surveillance. Assessing clients. Evaluating investors. Prepare for what comes next."
Shepherd took the phone, nodding. "I'll do it. But I'm not going to wait forever."
The figure's tone was final, cold. "That's not up to you."