The night hung over the city like a suffocating shroud. From the rooftops, Reiji could see the veins of light running through the streets far below—neon blues, fractured reds, all shimmering against a fog that refused to lift. Smoke rose from the western sector again. Another warehouse had burned. Another name would be forgotten by morning.
He exhaled slowly, feeling the ache in his ribs as he crouched near the edge of the building. Even from here, the air stank of oil, rust, and cheap chemicals. The city was dying, piece by piece, yet the world kept pretending it was still alive.
"Shinomiya Reiji," a woman's voice whispered through his commlink. Her tone was calm, almost too calm. "You're late again."
Reiji smirked faintly. "You sound surprised, Kaede."
"I'm not surprised," she replied. "Just tired of covering for you."
"Then stop doing it."
"Not an option," Kaede said sharply. "You're still one of us."
Reiji didn't answer. The words one of us no longer meant what they used to. He stood, brushing off the dust from his coat as rain began to drizzle, blurring the lights of District 7. Somewhere down there, a man waited with what the Silent Court wanted—data from the Ashfall Archive. A fragment of truth buried under decades of lies.
He jumped from the rooftop, landing soundlessly in the alley below. His boots splashed through shallow puddles, scattering ripples across the reflections of broken signs. He moved quickly, knowing that hesitation in this city meant death.
At the end of the alley, a nervous man stood under a flickering lamp, clutching a small chip between trembling fingers.
"You're… you're the one they sent?" he stammered.
Reiji nodded. "You have what I came for?"
The man hesitated, looking around as if the shadows themselves might be listening. "Yes, but… there are others. Watching."
Before Reiji could reply, a single gunshot shattered the air. The man collapsed instantly, the chip rolling from his hand and landing near Reiji's boot. Blood spread across the wet ground, black in the dim light.
Reiji's gaze lifted. A figure emerged from behind a dumpster—a woman in a black tactical coat, her face hidden behind a porcelain mask bearing the insignia of the Silent Court. Her voice was quiet but sharp.
"Orders are orders. Witnesses are liabilities."
"You didn't have to kill him," Reiji said flatly.
"Neither did you have to care," she replied. "You're slipping, Reiji. The Court notices."
He stooped to pick up the chip, his gloves wet with rain and blood. "Maybe they should notice themselves for once."
The masked woman tilted her head slightly, almost amused. "Careful. Words like that echo."
Before he could respond, she vanished into the mist as silently as she'd appeared. Reiji stood alone once more, listening to the quiet hum of the rain. Beneath the soft patter, he could almost hear the heartbeat of the dead city—steady, cold, mechanical.
---
By the time he reached the hideout, the rain had turned into a steady downpour. The Safehouse of the Silent Court wasn't much to look at: a decaying theater, its neon sign flickering weakly, "G—LAX CIN—MA." Inside, the scent of mold and metal filled the air.
Reiji tossed the bloodstained chip onto the table. "Target's dead. The data's not."
At the far end of the room sat Arata Mikazuki, strategist and manipulator extraordinaire. His silver hair was tied back neatly, his eyes sharp behind thin glasses. He didn't look up from his holographic screen as he asked,
"Collateral damage again?"
Reiji met his gaze coldly. "Witness."
Arata smiled faintly. "The Court prefers the word 'containment.' But semantics don't matter. What matters is efficiency."
"You talk about efficiency," Reiji said, "while we keep burning entire districts to bury our mistakes."
"That's how order survives," Arata replied. "Don't pretend you don't understand."
Reiji didn't argue. He'd stopped believing in the illusion of order a long time ago. He only stayed because leaving meant something worse—becoming a ghost among ghosts.
Arata studied him for a long moment. "The higher councils are losing patience. You act like a man searching for redemption. There's no such thing here."
"Then I'll make one," Reiji said quietly.
That earned him a faint chuckle. "You always were the idealist among killers."
Reiji turned to leave. "Maybe that's why I'm still alive."
---
The city greeted him again with silence and rain. He walked through the empty streets, passing old posters half-torn from the walls—propaganda from the old regime, reminders of promises no one believed anymore. The puddles reflected his face distorted by ripples, like a man fading from his own reflection.
"Reiji," came a voice behind him.
He turned. Kaede stood under a broken umbrella, her short black hair damp, eyes filled with something between concern and exhaustion.
"You look worse than usual," she said softly.
"Long night," he replied.
"They're watching you," Kaede warned. "Arata reported your attitude. They think you're questioning orders."
Reiji shrugged. "Maybe I am."
"Then stop," she said, stepping closer. "You don't have to like the Court to survive it. Just… don't fight it head-on."
He looked at her, studying the faint tremor in her hands, the fear she tried to hide. "You sound like you've already accepted the system."
Kaede's expression hardened. "I accepted reality. There's a difference."
Rain fell harder, drumming against the pavement. Reiji let it soak through his coat, washing the blood from his gloves. For a brief moment, he thought about the man in the alley—the look of hope just before the bullet ended it.
"I used to think we were the good ones," he murmured.
Kaede's voice was barely a whisper. "Maybe we were. Before the ashes."
He nodded, eyes lowering. "Ashes of the forgotten," he repeated quietly. "That's all that's left of us."
She didn't answer. The silence between them said enough. When she finally turned away, disappearing into the fog, Reiji stood there alone, his reflection staring back from a puddle that looked deeper than the street beneath it.
And for the first time in years, Shinomiya Reiji felt something he didn't recognize—something dangerously close to guilt.