Chapter 1-Before the mission
The cold metal door hissed open with a mechanical sigh. Harsh white light spilled into the room, burning away the shadows Noir had learned to make his shelter. He hadn't even fully opened his eyes when the guard's voice reached him.
"Wake up. You're wanted."
Noir blinked. The air felt heavier than usual.
He rose without protest. Obedience was habit now — a survival instinct more than submission.
They led him down the hallway. The scent of bleach and blood clung to every tile. On both sides, rows of other inmates filled the corridor. Some cried quietly, whispering to no one. Some didn't speak at all, just stared, hollow and still. And some... weren't moving at all.
He didn't need to check for a pulse.
They were dead.
---
They took him deeper into the facility than he'd ever been. Then, suddenly, the corridor opened into a massive chamber — the Armory. Rows of weapons lined the walls. Guns. Knives. Experimental tech he didn't recognize. It was a museum of violence.
And then he saw him.
The man.
The President.
Clean suit. Black gloves. A smile carved with precision.
"So," the President said, hands behind his back. "This is the boy?"
A woman stood beside him — mid-thirties, dark hair, sharp eyes. Nila.
"Yes," she replied.
The President clicked a small remote. A hologram buzzed to life in front of them — a rotating image of a man's face, angular and scarred. Red digital text labeled him:
> UN CLASS A-1 THREAT
Wanted for Global Terrorism
Ten Attacks. Ten Nations.
United States. Canada. France. Italy. Japan. The list scrolled endlessly.
"This man is an enemy of the world," the President said casually, like he was reading a weather report. "What do I want from you? Kill him. Bring him here. Torture him. I don't care."
He stepped closer to Noir.
"You want to see your family, right?"
Noir didn't respond.
No nod. No glare. Nothing.
"Great," the President said. "You'll be deployed in three hours. Get ready."
He walked away, whistling some old, cheerful tune.
---
As the guards prepared gear, Nila approached him. Her voice lowered.
"Hey," she said. "I need to talk to you. Alone."
Noir stared at her for a long second... then nodded.
They stepped into a quiet corner of the armory.
"You're being played," she said.
Noir's eyes narrowed slightly.
"The President," she continued, "he's lying. He'll never let you see your family."
Noir's silence pressed against her words like stone.
"How do you know?" he asked.
"Because," she said, "I was one of the scientists who helped build this program."
She paused.
"And now... I'm his assistant."
Noir scoffed. "Bullshit."
Without flinching, Nila pulled out a small voice recorder. She pressed play.
The President's voice echoed:
> "Would you ever let him see his family?"
Laughter followed.
> "Hell no."
Click.
The recording ended.
Noir stared at the device. His expression didn't change — but his fists clenched ever so slightly.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. "Feeling pity?"
Nila didn't reply. She just looked at him. Not with superiority. Not with fear.
But with something he hadn't seen in a long time.
Humanity.
Noir turned and walked away.
The mission was coming.
And now, it meant more than just pulling a trigger.
It meant choosing who he really was.
Suddenly-
The room turned red, alarms have gone off, three boys escaped, without a trace.
A voice from the radio
"Three inmates have escaped, I repeat three inmates have escaped!"
Warning all the guards.
A guard grabs him and leads him back to his room.
---
"How's the situation?"
President asked
"It is bad" A guard replies
"Three boys escaped without a trace, they planned it from the start."
"I see.."
Chapter-2 the mission
7 hours later..
The twin-bladed helicopter thundered across the night sky, its rotors slicing through the air like scythes. Inside, Noir sat wordless, strapped in among a small team of armed operatives. The red light above pulsed rhythmically, casting shadows across their helmets and gear.
No one spoke to him — until one man did.
"You ready, kid?" the soldier asked.
Noir didn't answer.
The man smirked, unfazed. "Quiet one, huh? Never mind."
The bay doors began to open with a hydraulic hiss. Wind rushed in, wild and frigid, biting at their faces. The land below was a desolate patchwork of concrete and ash, the kind of place forgotten by maps.
Noir didn't hesitate. Without a single word, he stepped forward and jumped.
---
The air screamed around him.
His body sliced through the night, arms tight, eyes locked on the distant terrain.
The fall was fast. Cold. Ruthless.
But Noir didn't feel a thing.
Not fear. Not thrill. Nothing.
FWMP.
The parachute burst open, yanking him upward with a jerk.
Far ahead, through the haze, a massive watchtower loomed — rusted, broken, but still standing.
His earpiece crackled.
"Noir, you see that tall tower there?"
He responded calmly. "Yeah."
"That's the target. Get there. Secure the top. Copy?"
"Copy that."
---
He landed in a crouch, boots skidding on dry dirt. The rest of his team followed, forming a tight formation as they approached the base of the tower.
He carried only two things:
A black-standard pistol, and a survival-grade combat knife.
That was enough.
The base level was empty — a skeleton of old machinery and dust. Noir swept his sights through each corner, clearing rooms with practiced silence.
"All clear," he whispered into the comm.
"Copy. Move to upper levels."
He climbed the staircase, steps featherlight, barely making a sound.
Each floor passed like a breath.
Each breath held like a prayer.
Then—
He felt it.
Cold metal, pressing against the back of his skull.
"Don't move," a voice snarled. "You move, you die."
Noir froze. Slowly lowered his weapon. Let it clatter to the floor.
"Now," the voice said, shaking slightly, "turn around. Slowly. Look at me."
Noir obeyed.
He turned.
And met a face frozen in terror.
A boy— eyes wide, jaw twitching — held the pistol, but his hands were trembling. Not because of Noir's weapon.
Because of Noir himself.
Recognition hit like lightning.
"You—no… it's you," the boy stuttered. "You were the kid… the one from the trials… the one they said didn't break—"
Noir didn't wait for the rest.
In a blur of movement, he stepped to the side, snatched his pistol from the floor, and fired point-blank.
BANG.
The body slumped to the stairs, a smear of red painting the concrete.
A teammate rushed up behind him.
"You good?" the comrade asked, eyes scanning the body.
"Yeah," Noir replied. "He escaped the White Room. Must've deserted."
"Shit." The man clicked his tongue. "We don't have time. Let's move."
Noir looked down one last time.
The boy's eyes were still open — staring at something long gone.
A flicker stirred inside him. Something close to recognition. Maybe even guilt.
But it passed.
Noir turned and followed the rest of the team.
The mission wasn't over yet.