Broken Oaths, Burning World

On 28th January 2042, Chief Wen-Li stood alone in her dimly lit bedroom, a single lamp casting a warm but slightly eerie glow across the room. Clad in a dark crop top, she seemed almost a shadow herself, barely disturbing the silhouettes that clung to every corner. Her long, sleek black hair cascaded down her shoulders, blending seamlessly with the surrounding darkness. Her gaze was intense, fixed firmly upon the large pinboard mounted on the wall before her.

The board was chaotic yet purposefully arranged, covered with faded photographs, yellowed newspaper clippings, and hastily scrawled notes. At the centre of it all were two poignant images—her parents, the late Chief Wen-Luo and Lieutenant Ren-Li—captured in the prime of their lives, their stern eyes reflecting the unyielding resilience and dedication they embodied in their roles. Their presence on the board seemed almost alive, as if watching over her from another realm, silent guardians in her pursuit of truth.

Scattered around these central images were multiple references to Agent-90, linking him to mass killings and alleged connections with high-ranking officials who bent the law to their own ends. He was, on paper and in person, a force of unnerving power—a shadowy figure working, perhaps, for a clandestine organisation, though exactly who remained elusive. Red strings connected various photographs and notes, forming a web that seemed to tighten around her parents' images at the board's centre. Dates, locations, and single-word clues—"Unknown," "Revenge"—decorated the lines, each fragment a clue, each step drawing her closer to avenging those she had lost.

Wen-Li's fingers traced the strings slowly, her mind racing over each connection, each hint. She suspected Agent-90's ties to a covert group tied to high-ranking officials, but the faces and names evaded her. Her heartbeat was steady, though a flicker of unease lingered, like a shadow on her consciousness and keeps thinking what's the relationship between her parents and Agent-90. She'd pieced together fragments of her parents' final mission and the looming threats they had faced, yet the complete truth felt maddeningly just out of reach.

With a deep breath, her resolve sharpened, although her eyes betrayed the weariness gnawing at her. Ready for some rest, she moved to close the window curtains but paused when she noticed a black car gliding past a nearby construction site. Dismissing it as inconsequential, she drew the curtains shut.

Morning arrived in Veilmoor, casting long shadows over the newly developing construction site. The usual hum of machinery filled the air as workers began their day, oblivious to the discovery awaiting them. In a quiet corner, Jiro, a construction worker, paused as he moved a stack of rusty barrels near the concrete mixer. A shiver ran down his spine as he spotted something strange. There, protruding faintly from one of the barrels and partly buried in dirt, was a slender but unmistakable trail of dark hair entangled in the concrete.

"Oi! Guys, over here!" Jiro called out, his voice strained with tension.

A small group of his fellow workers wandered over, their initial curiosity turning to horror as they examined the long, dark strands clinging to the barrel's edge.

"Is that… human hair?" one muttered, his face blanching as he recognised the grim possibility.

"Seems like it," another replied, his voice grim as he glanced nervously around at his colleagues, each of them grasping the disturbing implications. This was no ordinary find.

One worker quickly pulled out his phone. "We'd better call this in."

Within minutes, local precinct officers arrived on the scene, swiftly cordoning off the area. Shortly thereafter, Chief Wen-Li arrived, her expression resolute and steely as she took in the scene. She stood in silence for a moment, processing the disturbing discovery before addressing the officers.

"Seal off the area around this barrel. Summon a full forensic team immediately," she instructed. "I want every detail documented—this is more than just an accidental find."

The officers hurried to execute her orders, while Wen-Li remained by the barrel, her gaze lingering on the unsettling sight.

She approached the small group of construction workers, her presence a mix of authority and urgency. Scanning their faces, her gaze rested on Jiro, who still appeared visibly shaken.

"Who found it first?" she asked, her voice calm but commanding.

Jiro, still transfixed by the barrel, raised his hand slightly, swallowing hard. "That... that would be me, Chief."

She moved closer, assessing him carefully. "Can you tell me exactly what time you discovered it, Jiro?"

He paused, rubbing his temples as he mentally retraced his steps. "It was around 8:30, just as we were moving the barrels for the day. I noticed the hair sticking out while checking near the mixer."

Wen-Li nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Did you touch anything? Shift the barrel or any of the equipment nearby?"

"No, ma'am," Jiro replied, shaking his head. "I backed off the moment I realised what it was. I called the others over to take a look, and we phoned the police straight after."

Wen-Li's eyes lingered on him, assessing his reaction. "Thank you, Jiro. If you remember anything else, no matter how insignificant, let one of the officers know. For now, stay close by."

Jiro nodded, stepping back as Wen-Li turned her attention to the forensic team, who had begun setting up around the barrel.

Her gaze then shifted to the site's security guard, an older man with a weary look and a nervous posture. She approached him, her stare unwavering.

"Where were you last night?" she asked, her tone sharp yet measured, fixing him with her gaze.

The guard shifted uneasily, avoiding eye contact. "I… I was making my rounds, Chief. I do a check every hour," he stammered, clutching his cap with both hands.

Wen-Li narrowed her eyes. "Every hour? Did you notice anything unusual in the area near the barrel?"

He shook his head. "No, ma'am. But…" He hesitated, looking down. "I did take a break around 2 a.m. It was quiet all night, so I didn't think much of it."

"Did anyone come by? Hear or see anything unusual?" Wen-Li pressed, her voice edged with intensity.

The guard hesitated, his eyes darting around as he tried to recall. "I… thought I heard a faint noise. Maybe a truck or something nearby, but it didn't seem close. Could've been from the road."

Wen-Li crossed her arms, taking in his every word. "When exactly did you hear this sound?"

"A little after 2:15 a.m., maybe closer to 2:20," he replied, wiping his brow. "It didn't sound like it was on the property, so… I didn't check."

Wen-Li nodded, her mind already threading pieces together. "If anything else comes to mind, however small, report it immediately. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, visibly unsettled by her intensity.

Just then, Sakim approached. "Chief, I've found something!"

"What is it?" Wen-Li asked, surprised.

"A white cement bag, without any industrial branding," Sakim replied. "I checked, and all the cement used here has Veilmoor Manufacturing Corporation's name on it."

"What's the industrial name?"

"It's Veilmoor Manufacturing Corporation," Sakim confirmed. "And, Chief, when I showed the bag to the construction team, they all said they hadn't seen or used any cement without branding."

Wen-Li's thoughts raced as she walked back to the main scene. Too many questions still hung in the air, but she intended to find the answers, starting with this barrel. Just then, her eyes caught a surveillance camera mounted on the nearby streetlight. She immediately called Lan Qian and instructed her to check all surveillance footage from Veilmoor. "Yes, Ma'am," Lan responded.

Robert approached with additional information from the neighbours, who claimed they'd heard a car engine and the unmistakable clanking of something heavy rolling. It sounded like a barrel being moved in the middle of the night. This recollection sparked Wen-Li's memory—she had indeed seen a black car pass by her window that night.

"Wait! Just a moment," Robert said, frowning. "Chief, you saw a black car?"

She nodded.

"What type of car?"

"I don't know," she replied. "But we'll find out."

At 10:30 a.m. in the dimly lit, blue-tinted surveillance room of the SSCBF Headquarters, Lan Qian sat intently before a large monitor, eyes locked on the grainy footage from Veilmoor's surveillance cameras. The screen displayed various angles of the construction site near Wen-Li's residence, taken during the late hours when the crime had supposedly taken place.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard, pausing as she zoomed in on one particular timestamp. There, faint but unmistakable, was the outline of a dark car pulling up to the construction site at precisely 2:13 a.m. She increased the brightness and sharpened the image, revealing the sleek, shadowy form of a black car, almost invisible against the night, parked just beyond the site's fence.

Lan Qian leaned in closer, noting every detail she could discern: the car's model seemed generic, almost intentionally unremarkable, and its licence plate was obscured. She rewound the footage, searching for any signs of movement. Suddenly, she noticed a figure emerging from the car, silhouetted faintly in the darkness. The figure moved with a sense of purpose, avoiding any direct light as they approached the concrete barrel.

At that moment, Chief Wen-Li entered, her expression tense with anticipation. "Any leads?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

Lan Qian nodded, replaying the footage from when the car had arrived. "The vehicle pulled in at 2:13 a.m. This individual"—she pointed at the dark figure—"exited, approached the barrel, and, based on the timing, likely concealed the body then. The figure is careful, quick, and avoids all sources of light."

Wen-Li studied the screen, her expression hardening. "Any clear shot of the face?"

"None so far," Lan replied, frustration evident in her tone. "Whoever this is, they're skilled and took every possible precaution to avoid detection. Look…" She pointed at the footage. "After positioning the barrel, they take one last look around, as though checking for any loose ends, then get back into the car and drive off."

Wen-Li's jaw clenched. "What about earlier footage? Anything that might help us identify the person or vehicle?"

Lan Qian nodded, pulling up footage from earlier in the night. "I'm examining it frame by frame, but it's clear that whoever this is, they know precisely how to avoid surveillance."

Wen-Li placed a hand on Lan Qian's shoulder. "Keep at it. We're close, Lan Qian. We can't let this one slip."

Lan Qian gave a determined nod as Wen-Li turned and strode down the hallway, her silhouette purposeful against the dim light, her thoughts fixed on the brutality of the crime as she made her way to the forensic room.

In the bright, sterile confines of SSCBF's forensic room, Dr. Abarar stood over the concrete barrel, half his face hidden behind a surgical mask as he meticulously examined the contents. The intense examination lights cast a glaring glow over the barrel, revealing every fracture, every crack in the hardened concrete that had entombed the victim. Dr. Abarar observed the scanner's screen, which showed the faint outline of a human form beneath the cement layer.

Adjusting his gloves, he carefully positioned a rotating saw along a marked line on the barrel, his focus unwavering. The low hum of the saw filled the room as he applied steady pressure, guiding the blade through the concrete. Each movement was calculated, as any slip could destroy crucial evidence.

Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he switched to a small hammer and chisel, tapping cautiously along the fracture lines. Gradually, bits of concrete chipped away, revealing fragments of the victim's clothing beneath. He paused to take photographs, documenting each stage meticulously. "Female, certainly," he muttered, noting the slender wrist and a glimpse of dark fabric that had somehow survived the cement's grip.

A lab assistant approached, her eyes wide with apprehension. "Doctor, do we have an identification yet?"

Dr. Abarar shook his head, now using a screwdriver to loosen a stubborn piece of concrete. "Not yet. But, based on the height and attire, we may be able to narrow it down soon. Patience is key; we need every fragment intact to piece together what happened."

With one final tap, a large section of concrete fell away, revealing more of the victim's features. Dr. Abarar took a deep breath, his gaze taking in the bruises and other marks of struggle that told a silent story of violence.

He turned to his assistant. "Contact Chief Wen-Li. I believe we're ready to identify the victim."

"Yes, sir," replied Anne, briskly exiting to relay the message.

A few minutes later, Dr. Abarar stood at his workstation, a sombre expression on his face as Chief Wen-Li entered. One glance at his face told her that he had uncovered the truth. A palpable tension filled the room as Dr. Abarar's grave expression confirmed the weight of his discovery.

Dr. Abarar gestured towards the barrel, now cleared of concrete, where the victim's frail form lay on the examination table. "Chief," he began, his voice soft yet steady, "we've identified the victim. It's the missing student from Won-Jushi College."

Wen-Li's face darkened, her jaw tightening as she absorbed the news. "The one reported missing two weeks ago?"

Dr. Abarar nodded, pointing to a few personal belongings extracted from the concrete—a worn backpack strap, the edge of a notebook with handwritten notes, and a charm bracelet dangling from her wrist. Each item was a small but haunting reminder of a young life cut short. "Yes, her name was Haneul Park. She went missing after leaving her dorm one evening, and her family and friends have been searching since."

Wen-Li's gaze lingered on the evidence, piecing together a story of a vibrant life cruelly extinguished. "What can you tell me about her injuries, Doctor?"

Dr. Abarar sighed, holding up his chart. "From preliminary examination, it appears she suffered blunt-force trauma before being encased in concrete. Defensive wounds indicate she tried to fight back, and there are signs of bruising consistent with restraint. This was a calculated, merciless act, Chief. Whoever did this wanted her permanently silenced."

A fierce resolve flashed in Wen-Li's eyes. "They'll pay for this, Doctor. I'll see to it." She took a final, hard look at the young girl's lifeless form before facing Dr. Abarar. "Is there any evidence that could lead us to the perpetrator?"

Dr. Abarar held up a sample of concrete fragments. "This blend has a unique composition, typically used in industrial settings. I've sent it for chemical analysis, and with some luck, we might narrow down possible locations."

Wen-Li nodded sharply, her voice filled with steely determination. "Good work, Dr. Abarar. Let's make sure justice is served."

Dr. Abarar handed her a printed sheet detailing potential industrial locations based on the composition of the concrete sample. "Our preliminary analysis points to a few sites where this specific concrete blend is commonly used," he explained.

Graystone Foundry Park – Known for its specialised concrete use in heavy machinery production.

Ironwood Manufacturing District – Houses factories that use dense concrete for structural support in automotive manufacturing.

Silverpine Chemical Works – A chemical hub, regularly using reinforced concrete in containment units, with similar material sources.

Harborvale Construction Zone – Situated near shipping docks, frequently using high-density concrete for secure container storage.

Copperhill Industrial Complex – A remote area producing unique concrete blends for both construction and defence.

Dr. Abarar pointed to the accompanying map. "Graystone and Ironwood have the closest match to this composition; those would be the best places to begin."

Wen-Li scanned the list, her mind already working through connections and potential suspects. "Thank you, Doctor. This could be the lead we need."

Dr. Abarar added gently, "Chief, Haneul Park's family has been in deep distress since her disappearance. They deserve closure."

Wen-Li looked away, the weight of the tragedy evident in her voice. "Call them. If they ask who did this to her…" She paused, steel hardening her tone, "tell them we're hunting the ones responsible."

Dr. Abarar nodded, though he hesitated. "But, Chief… the media's already buzzing with news about recent killings of criminals who were supposedly in custody—starting with Mai-Ja's sudden execution, and others. They're starting to question how this is happening."

"Just do as I say," Wen-Li commanded, her voice sharp, an intensity that sent a chill down Dr. Abarar's spine.

Later, in her office, Wen-Li sat at her desk, lost in thought. A white dandelion sat in bloom beside her, casting soft light. Behind her, portholes overlooked the skyline, while a small cherry tree graced the room's corner. She leaned on her hands, fingers crossed, gazing absently at the wall while piecing together events. Her mind returned to the recent execution of Mai-Ja and Ju-Jong. Both had been killed under peculiar circumstances, and she'd distinctly noticed Agent-90 slipping unnoticed through the crowd.

She rubbed her temples, recalling his words from a recent, intense encounter:

"I told you, Wen-Li, the truth will come to you. You'll find out who truly killed your parents. People blame me, but they are the ones responsible."

"You and I share the same goal, the same destiny—to make this world better. You seek your parents' killer… and so do I. Soon enough, you'll understand."

She exhaled slowly, shaking her head as she wondered aloud, "Why are you doing this, and who exactly is behind all of it? And who, indeed, are those truly responsible?"

At that moment, Nightingale and Robert arrived at Wen-Li's office and respectfully asked permission to enter. She beckoned them in, her tone calm but purposeful.

"Chief, you called for us?" Nightingale asked, her posture displaying loyalty.

"Yes," Wen-Li replied, her tone unwavering.

"What's the mission, Chief?" Robert asked, standing straight with his left hand clasped behind his back.

"I've uncovered new clues that could break open the case," Wen-Li said, handing them the evidence, including a photograph of the black car. "Robert, you'll investigate Graystone Foundry Park and Ironwood Manufacturing District. These two locations have the closest match to the concrete composition we found."

"Understood," he replied, nodding.

"Nightingale, I need you to trace the black car and identify its owner," she continued.

"Yes, Chief," Nightingale replied. She then paused and asked, "And who exactly was the victim buried in the concrete?"

"Haneul Park," Wen-Li replied in a low, sombre tone.

"One more thing, Chief," Robert said, beginning to sweat with a look of unease. "The press is pressing for answers, and the victims' families are out in force, protesting and demanding an explanation for the recent spate of criminal killings."

Wen-Li sighed, then gave him a calm but firm response. "Let them know we're actively investigating the situation. Tell them we're committed to finding out who's behind these killings."

Nightingale interjected, "Chief, we suspect Agent-90 may be involved."

Wen-Li's voice was resolute. "We don't know that for certain, and we don't have the evidence to back that up. We have no time to waste. Now, both of you—get to work."

"Yes, Chief," they both replied in unison, heading out.

Once they had gone, Wen-Li rubbed her forehead, the weight of the case pressing down on her. Deciding to contact Gonda, an informant, she explained the current situation. Gonda promised to get back to her with any intel within a few hours.

Meanwhile, Graystone Foundry Park—a sprawling industrial complex spanning miles of interconnected factories, warehouses, and assembly plants—was known for producing advanced heavy machinery and high-density concrete. Its designs, towering walls, and dense, reinforced concrete construction reflected the heavy-duty nature of the equipment it housed and the intense mechanical processes it facilitated. The park specialised in a proprietary concrete blend that integrated carbon nanofibres and high-strength polymers for maximum durability, crucial for supporting its extensive overhead gantries and cranes, which moved vast components across various assembly stations.

The park maintained an atmosphere of secrecy, with production output rumoured to supply government-controlled sectors and high-level military projects. Patrolled by guards and under surveillance by drones, unauthorised access was strictly prohibited.

At precisely 1:15 pm, Robert and his team arrived at Graystone Foundry Park. The site was buzzing with activity—forklifts, cranes, and machines thrumming as workers operated at a relentless pace. Slowly, the machinery noises softened as the workers took notice of Robert and his uniformed team. Curiosity and tension flickered across their faces.

Robert addressed them firmly, "Continue with your tasks. We're only here to speak with your manager." His tone brooked no argument, and the workers quickly resumed their tasks.

A sharp-featured man in his mid-forties approached them, maintaining an upright posture. "Are you here from…?" he began, but Robert cut him off, flashing his ID card with "Captain Robert, SSCBF" printed in bold.

Hiragi Simanto swallowed nervously. "Follow me," he replied, leading them through a series of corridors lined with towering industrial equipment until they reached a thick steel door at the back. Hiragi knocked, calling out, "Sir, the SSCBF team is here to see you."

"Let them in," a smooth, calm voice replied from the other side.

Inside, Robert and his team found Sheigio Grayston, the head and founder of Graystone Foundry Park, seated at his desk surrounded by shelves stacked with technical documents. He regarded them with a cool, calculating expression, motioning for them to take seats.

After a formal nod, Robert spoke, "We're here regarding an investigation into Haneul Park. Her body was found encased in concrete containing compounds that led us to this facility. We need access to your records on recent orders and any unusual activity related to the materials in question."

Grayston's expression remained unreadable, though a flash of recognition crossed his eyes. "I see. Haneul Park's case is indeed tragic. Whatever you need, my records are open to you. Hiragi here will assist you."

Robert maintained his steady gaze. "We appreciate your cooperation. A thorough investigation is in everyone's best interest."

Grayston nodded curtly. "Then let's get to it."

Hiragi led Robert and his team through a series of corridors to a door marked "Records and Archives." Swiping his access card, he opened the heavy door, revealing a dimly lit room filled with rows of file cabinets and a softly blinking computer console in the corner.

"This is our main database," Hiragi explained, gesturing to the console. "All transactions, client orders, and material requisitions are documented here." He motioned for Robert to take the chair at the console.

Robert settled down, his eyes scanning the screen as Hiragi logged in and brought up the client records. Within moments, a list of recent transactions appeared, each catalogued with dates, times, and client names. Hiragi scrolled carefully until he stopped at a particular entry.

"There," Hiragi said, pointing to the screen. "This batch of concrete and binding chemicals was ordered the same month Haneul went missing. The client was Shigeki Contractors, who ordered an unusually large quantity of fast-hardening binding agents—almost double the standard amount."

Robert exchanged a meaningful look with his team. "Did Shigeki Contractors have a specific representative collecting these materials?"

Hiragi checked the delivery log, paling slightly as he read the entry. "Yes, it was picked up by a representative named Hitoshi Nagai. The pickup was logged just a few days before your estimated disposal date."

"Print a hard copy of this transaction," Robert said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky nod, Hiragi printed the document, handing it to Robert, who scanned the details carefully, each line tightening the case against their suspect.

Robert and his team arrived at the corporate headquarters of Shigeki Contractors at 2:30 pm—a polished, modern building standing starkly against the surrounding industrial landscape. Inside, they were guided through a labyrinth of glass-walled offices to the top floor, where Shigeki Sosamu, the head of the corporation, awaited them. His demeanour was calm, each movement exuding precision and control.

Robert wasted no time. "We're here to speak with Hitoshi Nagai. We have questions about a particular shipment of cement and chemicals he picked up—materials connected to a serious case."

Sosamu nodded, recognising the gravity of the situation. "Of course. Nagai is available, but there's something else you should know. One of my security guards reported suspicious activity involving the shipment in question."

He signalled to a security guard nearby, who approached with a somewhat tense expression, adjusting his cap as he nodded to the SSCBF team.

The guard cleared his throat, glancing briefly at Sosamu before addressing Robert. "I remember that night well. I was on my usual patrol when I saw someone—a shadowy figure, though I couldn't make out any details. This person was lingering around the storage area, near the cement barrels. Initially, I thought it was another worker."

"What time was this?" Robert asked, his gaze steady.

"Around midnight," the guard replied. "I attempted to approach, but the person vanished into the shadows before I got close. Later, when I checked the area, some of the cement and other supplies were gone."

A tense silence followed as Robert and his team absorbed the information. The stolen materials matched exactly what they had found used in concealing Haneul Park's body.

Sosamu's face showed genuine concern as he leaned forward. "This was never reported to us. Such a lapse in security is unacceptable. I will personally ensure that all resources are at your disposal to aid the investigation."

Robert gave a nod, his resolve firm. "Thank you. Any leads are invaluable." He turned to his team. "Let's proceed."

As they departed from Shigeki Contractors, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place, each clue tightening the circle around their unknown suspect.

Meanwhile, at precisely 12:40 pm, in the city of Wraithfall—a mid-sized metropolis on the fringes, known for its secrets and shadowed past—a sense of intrigue hung heavily in the air. Wraithfall's dense architecture, multi-layered with a labyrinthine quality, fostered an atmosphere of quiet tension even in the dim midday light. With its narrow streets perpetually misted over, the city served as a haven for exiles, informants, and fugitives alike, moving purposefully yet cautiously through the shadowed streets. It was a city seemingly poised on the brink of some hidden revelation or disaster, its inhabitants going about their lives with a quiet, unspoken vigilance.

In Wraithfall, the dim midday light barely made a difference, the towering structures blocking out much of the sun. Buildings stacked at odd angles created a maze of narrow streets snaking through the heart of the city. A faint haze clung to the lower levels, casting an eerie, soft glow. Vehicles navigated the winding alleyways, while vendors hawked their wares from dimly lit corners where sunlight weakly filtered through layers of shadow.

The Market District, the bustling heart of Wraithfall, was spread across a series of elevated platforms halfway up the city's heights, catching what little sunlight broke through. Merchants sold everything from rare tech parts and worn artefacts to fresh produce grown in hydroponic gardens. Traders called out from their stalls, some featuring holographic displays, enticing passers-by into haggling over prices.

Atop the Market District lay the rooftop bazaar, accessible by spiralling staircases and narrow elevators. Here, colourful tents and bustling crowds filled the space beneath a latticework of pipes and tarpaulins, with sunlight filtering just enough to illuminate the kaleidoscope of sights. Overhead, drones hovered, monitoring the crowds and broadcasting occasional news bulletins or wanted alerts, reminding the citizens of the ever-present surveillance.

In the centre of Wraithfall lay the Silent Plaza, a square paved in polished concrete and flanked by grand, decaying buildings adorned with faded murals of political leaders and revolutionaries from the past. Statues of unnamed heroes stood solemnly, their features worn down by pollution and the passage of time. Though the plaza served as the city's symbolic heart, it remained eerily silent, as if preserving the memory of Wraithfall's tumultuous history.

In the midst of the plaza's quiet, only a handful of people lingered, engaged in hushed conversations or conducting discreet exchanges. Surveillance cameras and subtly armed guards dotted the square, a reminder that Wraithfall was always under watch. This quiet vigilance lent an air of restraint and suspense to the city's already tense atmosphere. Here, informants and spies moved among the crowd, their whispered exchanges disappearing into the mist and shadows.

In Wraithfall, even the most mundane acts—shopping, trading, or grabbing a meal—seemed tinged with mystery. People kept their voices low, their faces concealed, moving with quiet determination, as though everyone had a secret to hide or a hidden agenda. This was a place where daily life felt like an interlude, a fleeting pause in the city's relentless web of intrigue.

Nightingale arrived in Wraithfall with her team, including Lingaong Xuein, Demitin, and Daishoji. Their destination: the Albani Wraithfall Car Shop. There, Nightingale approached the shop owner, Albani Mustafa, to discuss the recent sale of a specific black car. Albani, calm and collected, explained that the vehicle—a Mercedes-658k—had indeed been purchased from his shop by a trio of men. They were large, muscular, dressed in black suits, with shady tattoos and dark sunglasses. When asked about their residence, Albani could only shrug, as the men had given no address.

Nightingale's expression turned sly. "We're getting closer," she remarked with a smirk.

Lingaong Xuein nodded in agreement. "Piece by piece, we're closing in."

By 4:30 pm, back at SSCBF Headquarters, Robert and Nightingale briefed Chief Wen-Li on the information they had gathered. They shared details about the possible locations and clues that connected the suspects to the murder of Haneul Park. Wen-Li nodded, taking it all in, before her phone rang. It was Gonda, their informant, who had crucial intel for her. He requested a meeting.

At 5:00 pm, with the evening sun casting long shadows, Wen-Li arrived at a darkened alleyway in Ravenhollow, accompanied by Robert and Nightingale. This location was infamous, the same place where Katoge and Agent-90 had once met Chelsea to plan the downfall of Edward Vistalonia. There, they spotted Gonda, leaning against the wall with a cigarette, his face partially obscured by the smoke.

"Did you find the intel I requested?" Wen-Li asked, her arms crossed, her voice laced with expectation.

Gonda removed the cigarette and, after a moment, looked skyward. "Yes. Haneul Park, the Won-Jushi College student, was murdered by none other than Oniwa Kihio."

A stunned silence fell over Wen-Li, Robert, and Nightingale, their faces reflecting shock and barely suppressed anger.

Oniwa Kihio was none other than the son of Oniwa Kugo, the Chief Minister of Justice. Gonda detailed how Haneul had been killed in cold blood. One evening, as Haneul cycled at evening when she was out from her dom, she had passed Oniwa Kihio and his gang—Tando Yumio, Arano Ryukenji, Shimoto Shirasuke, Ikuda Kihisuke, Yamoto Yotajiro, and Nakada Yazutaito—who were smoking and loitering near an alleyway. Although Haneul ignored them, Kihio had kicked her bicycle, causing her to fall. Laughing, they dragged her to Tando Yumio's basement, where they assaulted her and used her as a punching bag, even dropping a heavy iron weight on her stomach. She died within weeks from her injuries. They later transported her body in a Mercedes-658k, dumping her in a concrete-filled barrel at the Veilmoor construction site under cover of night around the time between 2:13 am.

Wen-Li's expression hardened as she connected the dots leading back to Kihio, her mind set on seeking justice. Nightingale voiced her concern. "How are we going to bring him in, Chief? His father is the Chief Minister of Justice."

Robert spoke up, his face red with anger. "We must bring him in, regardless of his position. Late Chief Wen-Luo once told me, 'Power should never shield one from justice, and those who abuse it are no less guilty.' We owe it to the victims."

Wen-Li's eyes softened momentarily but quickly turned steely as she looked to Gonda. "How do we bring Oniwa Kihio and his father's corrupt influence into the light of justice?"

Gonda chuckled, handing her a phone number. "I know someone who specialises in high-profile eliminations. He's feared by criminals and the guilty alike."

Wen-Li's face showed a flash of realisation. "Agent-90," she murmured, her eyes widening slightly.

Gonda nodded.

Meanwhile, Agent-90 stood at the towering black radio tower in Ashenport, a gritty, smoke-filled port city known as a hub of underground trade, smuggling, and covert dealings. Shrouded in a permanent twilight of fog and pollution rolling in from the surrounding waters, Ashenport was as infamous for its corruption as it was vital for trade. It was a city of contradictions, where legitimate business mingled freely with the criminal underworld, its strategic location marred by a perpetual haze and an air of uneasy

As one steps into Ashenport, the air grows thick and pungent with the tang of seawater mingling with diesel fumes and industrial smoke. The skies above are perpetually overcast, casting the city in an ashen hue that gives Ashenport its name. Towering warehouses, corroded shipping containers, and crumbling docks line the waterfront, where colossal cargo ships come and go at all hours. Flickering lights from smokestacks and the constant hum of heavy machinery blend into a background noise that underscores the city's relentless, unyielding pace.

Amid the dense fog and grime, Ashenport's narrow streets are crowded with vendors peddling dubious goods while shadowy figures conduct business in dimly lit alleyways. Here, black-market deals and contraband are among the city's primary exports, making Ashenport a notorious haunt for smugglers, mercenaries, and fugitives alike. The local law enforcement is either overwhelmed or conveniently complicit, and in Ashenport, justice is often dealt by those with the deepest pockets, the strongest influence, or the most powerful weapons.

The docks themselves are a sprawling maze of rusting metal and splintered wooden piers, stretching out into the polluted waters of the harbour. Large freighters and trawlers are moored along the docks, many of which bear markings from distant and exotic ports. Although a portion of these ships carries legitimate goods, a significant number are fronts for illegal trades, transporting everything from weaponry to forbidden tech and human cargo. Seedy bars and shanty taverns dot the waterfront, catering to dockworkers and travellers alike, offering cheap liquor and often stolen goods.

As Agent-90 observes the scene with cold, calculating eyes, his phone buzzes. He answers, hearing Wen-Li's voice on the other end—there's an urgency, even a slight tremor, in her tone as she entrusts him with handling the Haneul Park case. He nods his understanding and ends the call, his focus sharpening.

Night falls over Ashenport, casting the city into an eerie shroud. Amid the fog and grime, the narrow streets become even more crowded, with vendors hawking goods of questionable origin and shady characters brokering deals in the obscured alleyways. Black-market deals thrive under the cover of darkness, and Ashenport, renowned across Nin-Ran-Gi for its black-market dealings, becomes even more of a hub for mercenaries, fugitives, and smugglers. Here, justice is a term dictated by those with power, wealth, or the latest arsenal.

The docks, bathed in a dim, unsettling glow from sparse street lamps, are blanketed by fog. Dockhands, clad in heavy coats and gloves, work through the night unloading crates and containers under the vigilant gaze of private security forces, hired by the city's crime syndicates to safeguard their precious cargo. The muffled sounds of the harbour—waves lapping against the piers, distant shouts, and the occasional clanging of metal—add to the haunting atmosphere.

Beyond the docks sprawls Ashenport's Industrial District, an area dominated by blocky, imposing structures, warehouses, and factories. Here, smokestacks release billowing clouds of pollution, with conveyor belts and assembly lines running at full tilt around the clock. These factories produce goods and components that support Nin-Ran-Gi's underground economy, though much of their output remains entirely off the books.

The Industrial District is sparsely lit, with old fluorescent lights flickering intermittently above the assembly lines. Workers, many treated as little more than expendable resources, labour in hazardous conditions, wearing outdated and often inadequate safety gear. Outside the factories, rows of grimy vehicles queue to transport goods in and out of Ashenport, with many heading directly to cities controlled by crime syndicates.

Agent-90 remains in place, cloaked in shadows, his gaze fixed on the entrance to the district. He waits for his target, knowing that Oniwa Kihio and his gang frequently come to these parts to stir up trouble. The night air hangs thick and damp, and in the eerie silence, the distant echoes of machinery and murmured voices drift through the fog-laden streets.

The time had come. The night lay thick with fog over the desolate Ashenport docks as Agent-90 slipped through the shadows, his gaze fixed on Oniwa Kihio and his gang gathered near a shipment crate. Oniwa, the notorious son of the Justice Minister, exuded confidence, flanked by his loyal enforcers—Tando Yumio, Arano Ryukenji, Shimoto Shirasuke, Ikuda Kihisuke, Yamoto Yotajiro, and Nakada Yazutaito—all armed and exuding the swagger of men who feared nothing. They chuckled amongst themselves, oblivious to the fate that was silently approaching.

Agent-90 stepped into the dim glow of a solitary streetlamp, a calculated smirk curving his lips as he locked eyes with Oniwa.

"Well, well, if it isn't the infamous Agent-90," Oniwa sneered, idly twirling a knife. "Out for revenge, are we? Shame that girl didn't hold up too well, eh?"

Agent-90's expression turned to stone, his gaze glinting with icy calm. "You talk too much," he replied. "Shame no one's taught you some basic hygiene."

Oniwa's face flushed red with fury as he lunged forward, but Agent-90 met him with a blindingly swift punch to the jaw, sending him staggering backwards. In a flash, Agent-90 turned to Shimoto Shirasuke, delivering a calculated blow to his throat that left him clutching his neck, gasping for breath.

The others sprang into action, circling around him. Tando Yumio swung a metal baton towards Agent-90's head, but he ducked, retaliating with a vicious kick to Tando's knee, sending him crumpling to the ground in agony. Arano Ryukenji and Ikuda Kihisuke attacked simultaneously, attempting to overpower him with numbers. Agent-90 sidestepped smoothly, employing a Krav Maga technique to slam one into the other, their heads colliding with a sickening crack.

"Is that all you've got?" Agent-90 taunted, his voice calm, almost mocking. His unyielding composure unsettled Yamoto Yotajiro, who faltered, eyeing an escape route.

Nakada Yazutaito seized the moment, pulling out a knife and lunging towards Agent-90's back. But Agent-90 anticipated the move, spinning around to disarm him with a sharp twist of the wrist, snapping it in the process. Yazutaito cried out, and Agent-90 finished with a brutal elbow to his temple, knocking him out cold.

Now only Oniwa Kihio and Yamoto Yotajiro remained standing. Realising his gang had been dismantled, Oniwa's face twisted with rage as he threw a wild punch. Agent-90 sidestepped effortlessly, retaliating with a ruthless knee to Oniwa's abdomen, followed by a calculated punch that sent him sprawling to the ground.

Agent-90 knelt, gripping Oniwa by the collar and pulling him close. "This is for Haneul Park," he intoned, his voice devoid of mercy.

Bloodied and dazed, Oniwa managed a weak grin. "My father… he'll never let this go…"

Agent-90's gaze remained steely. "Then let him come."

With one final punch, he left Oniwa unconscious, his gang scattered and broken around him, their once-proud confidence shattered in the chilling silence of the Ashenport docks.

Agent-90 dragged Oniwa Kihio and his subordinates—Tando Yumio, Arano Ryukenji, Shimoto Shirasuke, Ikuda Kihisuke, Yamoto Yotajiro, and Nakada Yazutaito—through the desolate corridors of the abandoned Ashenport Concrete Factory. Their shoes scraped against the cold, unyielding floor as Agent-90 steered them towards a massive, rusted metal container standing ominously at the heart of the factory, its structure looming like a tomb in the bleak, echoing emptiness.

The gang stumbled and struggled, shouting threats and hurling curses, their voices reverberating off the concrete walls. Oniwa Kihio, defiant even as fear flickered in his eyes, spat, "Do you think you can do this? My father will find you. He'll make you pay—just wait and see!"

Agent-90 halted, releasing a low, humourless chuckle. His eyes, cold and calculating, met Kihio's hostile gaze. Without a word, he pulled out a tablet and pressed play. A video flickered to life on the screen, capturing the exact moment Oniwa Kingo—the once untouchable Chief Minister of Justice and Kihio's father—crumbled under the weight of scandal before a wall of journalists. The press, undeterred, demanded answers about leaked evidence that tied Kingo to corruption, bribery, and backdoor dealings that had irrevocably stained the Justice Department. His once-pristine reputation lay in ruins.

Kihio's defiant expression faded as he watched his father's veneer disintegrate under the unrelenting scrutiny. The video continued, showing Kingo floundering before the cameras. Then, with shocking suddenness, a shot echoed from a distant rooftop, and Kingo's figure collapsed amidst a maelstrom of shouts and screams.

Agent-90 regarded Kihio with a chilling smile, his gaze devoid of pity. "Your father's power couldn't save him," he intoned, his voice as frigid as steel. "And it certainly won't save you."

With unwavering calm, Agent-90 pressed a button on the control panel beside him. The ceiling of the container creaked open, revealing an overhead system of pipes that hissed ominously. A toxic mist of boiling methane, aluminium chloride, and hydrogen fluoride began to seep into the container, forming a vapour that seared the captives' skin, raising painful welts as their screams tore through the air.

Tando Yumio, clutching his face in horror, collapsed to his knees, gasping as the acidic fumes gnawed at his flesh. Arano Ryukenji and Shimoto Shirasuke clawed frantically at the walls, coughing and tearing at their throats, their eyes streaming as they fought for a breath of clean air, their once-arrogant faces now contorted with sheer terror.

Oniwa Kihio, choking as he flailed against the searing mist, managed to scream, his voice raw with desperation. "This is—murder!" he gasped, his voice cracking. "You're—no better than—us!"

Agent-90 leaned close, his icy eyes piercing Kihio's. "This," he said, each word deliberate and unyielding, "is for Haneul Park."

With that, he turned away, leaving them to their fates as he closed the door with a final, resounding clang. His silhouette faded into the darkened factory as the desperate cries from within the container waned, leaving only the sinister hiss of chemicals and the lingering scent of vengeance in the air.