The air inside the apartment was still. No ticking clocks. No sound of traffic. Just the low hum of a portable fan in the corner.
In a rundown district near Greybridge's industrial zone, hidden among rows of abandoned flats, she sat in silence. Black Glass.
Now out of her jacket, she wore a dark gray long-sleeved shirt and loose black pants. Her hair was still tied back, her sharp grey eyes watching the muted television across the room.
On the screen, every channel was the same. Replays of the moment Councilor Vale collapsed. Reporters speculating. Footage looping. Panic in the city.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, cleaning the silencer barrel of her sniper rifle piece by piece, her hands moving with quiet precision.
A voice came from the screen:
"Breaking news: Greybridge reels after the assassination of Councilor Demetrios Vale. Shot at an astonishing range of 3,450 meters, sources claim the sniper used a high-caliber precision weapon fitted with advanced silencing tech. Authorities have no leads. The mysterious figure is now being called simply... 'the shooter.'
She glanced once at the anchor's expression. Shock, speculation, then transition to security footage.
Ground floor CCTV feed. Vale collapsing. Screaming guards. Blood on marble.
Nothing about her. No facial image. Not even a trace.
Good.
She clicked the cleaned barrel into its casing.
Across the city, digital newspapers and physical prints circulated:
"The Fall of Power: Councilor Vale Assassinated by Unknown Shooter""3,450 Meters of Justice?""A Clean Shot Heard in Silence"
Public reaction was swift. Outside the Argus Pinnacle, citizens gathered again — not to protest, but to celebrate. Flowers, cheers, fists in the air. For once, the people of Greybridge smiled.
But not everyone was smiling.
---
**Inside the Villeri Atrium – Velmura**
Nikolas Draeve leaned on the marble balcony of his office, a copy of the morning's newspaper in hand. The bold headline made his lips twitch.
Luness Arveil lounged on the couch nearby, flipping through live news broadcasts on her tablet.
"They're calling her a ghost now," Luness mused, swirling her champagne. "3,450 meters. That's not a sniper... that's a myth in motion."
Nikolas smirked, tapping the paper once. "And they'll keep calling her that. As long as no one sees her face, she's not real. And that's what makes her powerful."
Calren stood silently by the door, arms behind, watching them both.
"Shall we contact her again?" Luness asked.
Nikolas shook his head. "No. She knows what comes next."
He glanced at the article again.
Then out the window.
The city was waking up to fear... and admiration.
He smiled faintly.
"Let the legend build itself."
---
Back in Greybridge – Unknown Apartment
Black Glass finished packing the disassembled rifle into its lockbox. She didn't look at the screen anymore.
Her burner phone buzzed once.
UNKNOWN ID: "Proceed to location. Asset drop confirmed."
She stood up, eyes unreadable.
No names. No questions.
Just the next move.
And the silence before it.
Later – Villeri Atrium, Velmura
The elevator doors slid open with a soft mechanical hum.
She stepped out.
Wearing a plain black utility jacket zipped halfway, black straight-cut pants, and dark sneakers, she looked sharp but not flashy. Her black hair was tied into a low ponytail, and her expression, as always, was unreadable. She walked across the tiled hallway calmly, carrying nothing except the weight of her presence.
Inside the office, Nikolas Draeve stood behind his desk. He looked up the moment she entered.
Luness Arveil was seated on the long leather couch to the right, one leg crossed over the other, a half-filled wine glass in her hand. She turned her head toward the door, lips already curling into a smile.
"Look who's back," Luness said. "Right on time, too."
Calren stood at his usual spot near the wall. He nodded once in acknowledgment but said nothing.
Nikolas gestured to the desk. "We've been expecting you. The job was clean. Perfect, even."
He tapped a black briefcase in front of him.
"Your payment," he continued. "Five-point-five million yen. Count it if you want."
She walked over to the desk and stopped just in front of it. Her eyes went straight to the briefcase.
Without a word, she popped the latches open and lifted the lid. Inside, stacks of clean, banded bills. She checked the top layer, then moved a few stacks to see the rest. After a few seconds, she closed the case and looked at Nikolas.
Her voice was calm, but serious.
"Make sure it's always this exact. Every time."
Nikolas gave a short nod. "It will be."
"I'm not doing this for favors," she added. "If the numbers are ever off, I walk."
Luness raised an eyebrow and smiled. "I like her attitude," she said, glancing over at Nikolas. "Tells it straight."
Nikolas didn't seem offended. He looked slightly amused. "We understand. This is business."
She took the case off the desk and held it at her side.
Nikolas watched her for a moment longer, then asked, "By the way... What should we call you?"
She looked at him.
He clarified, "We don't know your name. Not your real one, anyway. And you don't talk much. Makes it harder to refer to you. Thought it might be easier if you gave us something."
Luness leaned forward a little from her seat. "It's a fair point. You can't keep doing jobs for us without a name to go by. Just something short. A handle."
Even Calren spoke this time. "A code name would be best. For internal records and tracking. Just something simple."
She paused.
Then she glanced toward the door, like she was already preparing to leave.
After a moment, she looked back and said, "What about... Black Glass?"
The room went quiet.
Nikolas gave a short nod. "Black Glass... Works."
Luness tilted her head. "Has a cold ring to it. It fits her."
Calren simply replied, "Understood. Logging it."
She said nothing else.
She turned around, walked to the door, and left the room.
No one stopped her. The door closed behind her, and the room fell silent for a few seconds.
Luness looked toward Nikolas. "I'm going to be honest. I like her. She's the only person I've ever seen tell you what to do and walk out like nothing happened."
Nikolas smiled slightly. "She's useful. And now we have a name for the ghost."
He turned back to his desk and sat down.
"Let's hope she keeps delivering."
---
Late Afternoon – Greybridge Central Authority Office
The skies over Greybridge dimmed into orange and grey as the sun began to sink behind the skyline. Inside the central authority building, tension remained high.
In the secure briefing room on the third floor — known officially as the Incident Response Conference Room — senior officers, analysts, and security directors sat around a long rectangular table. Screens displayed news coverage, CCTV snapshots, and highlighted aerial maps of the scene.
One of the city's lead investigators, Chief Nolan Vex, stood at the head of the table.
"We still don't have a face," Nolan said, frustrated. "No traffic cams, no rooftop footage, no signature. Whoever this shooter was… they planned this well."
A younger officer added, "That distance... Three thousand four hundred fifty meters? No civilian pulls off a shot like that. We're talking professional training — top-tier."
Another voice joined from the far end, "Could be military. Or a ghost operative. Someone off the books."
The door opened.
Rina Aisly stepped in, calm but urgent, holding a folder under her arm. She looked straight at Nolan Vex.
"I might have something," she said, walking toward the table. "A name — or at least, a code name."
Nolan raised an eyebrow. "You've been gone since morning. Where did you go?"
"I went to check the building where the shot could've come from," Rina replied. "With a police unit. There's a radio tower building 3,450 meters northeast of Argus Pinnacle — the angle lines up. We found old dust marks. Someone was there."
She placed a single sheet on the center of the table.
Written at the bottom, in pen: "Black Glass."
"Black Glass?" someone repeated.
Rina nodded. "It was scratched into the metal casing of an old electrical panel on the floor. Not deeply carved — more like a signature. It looked intentional."
Nolan leaned in. "You're sure it wasn't old graffiti?"
"No," Rina said. "It was fresh. It wasn't there last time the place was checked two months ago, and no one else has access. The dust pattern was disturbed only in that one spot. Whoever was there left it behind."
The room went silent for a moment.
"Who the hell is Black Glass?" one of the analysts muttered.
Rina took a breath. "I have a theory. But I need to show you something first."
She opened the folder and pulled out a few printed documents — old, slightly faded, but official.
"This is from a classified military unit report. Three years ago, the Defense Department had a unit called Phantom Unit-09, specialized in long-range operations, recon, and covert kills."
She placed the files on the table. Some had sections blacked out.
"There was one soldier," Rina continued, flipping to a redacted personnel sheet. "Young. Female. Never named — the records were damaged or tampered with. Possibly erased intentionally."
She pointed to the blank section where the name and ID should be. Just white smudges and blot marks.
"But her performance reports are still intact," she said. "Her kill confirmation records... show she could hit a moving target at two miles — and clear headshots at three. She was the best sniper in the unit."
Nolan looked closely. "If she's real, why haven't we heard of her before?"
"Because the unit's gone," another officer at the end of the table said grimly. "I know that name. Phantom Unit-09. They were ambushed on foreign soil during an intel mission. Everyone was presumed dead. Burned site. No survivors. That's what was reported."
Rina looked at him. "And what if someone made it out?"
A heavy silence followed.
Nolan exhaled slowly. "If she survived… then it makes sense. Training. Precision. Discipline. No traces. No name."
"But we still don't know where she is," someone pointed out. "Or how to find her."
Rina nodded. "We don't. Not yet."
Nolan looked at the word Black Glass again.
"Then that's what we'll call her," he said quietly. "Until we find her real name… if it even exists."
He leaned back in his chair.
"Start digging into anyone connected to Phantom Unit-09. I want locations, families, anything. Someone out there knows something."
Everyone began moving again, pulling up files and records.
But even with all their resources, they had no trace. No image. No location.
Only a name. A mark left behind.
Black Glass.
And she was still out there.
---
**Evening — Outskirts of Virelith City**
Fifteen meters away from a quiet, nondescript residential block, Black Glass walked steadily down the narrow, dim-lit alley. Her outfit remained the same: a black zip-up tactical jacket, fitted cargo pants, and worn black boots. The briefcase containing her 5.5 million yen reward was gripped in her right hand.
She didn't look around. No checking over her shoulder. Just calm, quiet steps toward a single two-story house squeezed between abandoned buildings. The lights inside were off. It looked uninhabited. But it wasn't.
This wasn't her real home — just one of many.
As she reached the door, she inserted a thin magnetic keycard into the side panel, waited for a soft beep, and entered.
Inside the temporary house
The front room was empty except for a rolled-up rug, an old shelf, and some used furniture. She moved straight to the window, scanned the area outside, and pulled the curtain down firmly before locking the latches on all visible windows.
Then she turned and walked down a short hallway.
At the end was a small laundry room.
She knelt beside the washing machine, pulled it slightly away from the wall, and tapped her knuckle on the tiled floor three times. One of the floor tiles clicked. She slid it back with her nails, revealing a recessed handle. With one clean pull, a narrow trapdoor opened downward.
She stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her.
---
**Secret Room – Below the Floor**
The room was small — a hidden basement bunker with plain concrete walls and a cold floor. Inside were a folding table, a worn black chair, and three dirty duraboxes stacked neatly in the corner. There was no decoration. No warmth. Only purpose.
She set the briefcase on the table, unlocked it, and confirmed the exact contents. Then she took out her slim black laptop, powered it up, and sat down.
A secure program auto-launched on the screen. She typed her login.
Username: 0x426C476C
Password: (typed silently)
The main interface loaded — a hidden dark web communication app used only by private contractors. A simple screen of inboxes and secure messages.
She scrolled through her inbox.
Nothing new. Mostly old logs. Closed contracts. Blacklisted clients.
But then— a soft ping.
[1 New Message Received]
She narrowed her eyes.
The subject line: "Is this Black Glass?"
She didn't react emotionally. She simply opened the message.
"Is this Black Glass?"
She began typing:
"Who's asking?"
The reply came quickly:
"I want you to kill someone. I'll pay money, but I want us to meet up."
She stared at the screen for a few seconds. Then typed:
"I don't meet clients face-to-face."
Another reply:
"I'll pay as much as you want."
She stopped. Thought for a second. Then responded:
"Fine. Meet me at the Derelict Subway Terminal, Line 3 — Sector 9, under Virelith. Midnight. Come alone."
A minute passed. No response yet.
She closed the laptop without hesitation and placed it back into a thin carrying sleeve. She stood up, walked to the back of the room, and opened a metal cabinet against the wall.
Inside were sets of carefully folded black outfits — coats, hoods, veils, masks, gloves. Not military. Not tactical. Just enough to erase identity.
No name. No face.
Only Black Glass.