There was a child, a boy running through the halls of his family's estate. He slid doors open one by one, heart pounding, until he reached the back garden. The familiar green of the garden stretched before him, cobblestone paths leading to a peaceful pond. But peace was far from his mind. His eyes widened in horror.

There, lying motionless near the pond, was his mother. She was still. Unmoving.

He turned his head, desperate, and saw his father nearby. His father's body was crumpled, bleeding profusely from wounds in his arm and leg. Though barely alive, his eyes snapped to the boy.

"Kumojiro…get awa-" But the words were cut short. A silent, swift bullet pierced through his skull. The boy's father collapsed in front of his eyes, dead before he hit the ground.

Kumojiro's eyes widened, a mix of shock, sadness, and fear flooding his small body. This couldn't be happening.

"Mom, dad!" he screamed, his voice cracking with pain.

He ran toward their bodies, dropping to his knees beside them. His trembling hands clutched his mother, shaking her, miserably attempting to wake her up.

But there was nothing. No response. She was gone.

Tears streamed down Kumojiro's face, his body wracked with sobs. He couldn't believe it. This couldn't be true...No, it simply couldn't. But then, a shadow loomed over him. A man approached.

The stranger wore a black jacket, black-styled hair, and round black sunglasses. Over a white shirt, a waistcoat, and a black tie completed his cold, formal look.

With one hand deep in his pocket, the man casually pulled off his sunglasses with the other, revealing cold, detached eyes that bore into Kumojiro's soul.

He gazed at the boy without a trace of emotion, the corpses around him seemingly insignificant.

"Who...are you?" the boy stammered, holding his mother's lifeless corpse tighter, as if he could protect her even now. 

Was this man responsible? If so, why? Why would he kill his parents? What had they done?

Kumojiro's body began to heat up, his mind overwhelmed. He could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness.

The man's mouth moved, saying something, but the boy couldn't make out the words. His vision blurred, and the man extended a hand, as if about to reach for him.

But just before the boy collapsed, he heard a voice. A soft and familiar, cutting through the haze. He felt the voice coming from the surging warmth in the hands where he held his mother. It was her voice.

"...Live, Kumojiro."

Kumojiro jolted awake, his chest heaving, eyes darting around the room. Sweat clung to his skin, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His hands gripped the bed sheets as if he were still clutching his mother's lifeless body.

The remnants of that dream, no, nightmare, the memory, began to fade, but the pain remained as raw as it had been on that day. It haunted him every night, the same scene replaying over and over. But his mother's final words always stood out.

"Live, Kumojiro."

She had said more. There had been more after that moment, he was sure of it. But no matter how hard he tried, his memory always cut off there.

It had been years since that fateful day, yet the wound remained fresh, as if it had only happened yesterday With a deep breath, Kumojiro pushed the thoughts aside. He couldn't linger on the past. Not now.

Kumojiro's apartment was a mess, but it was home. Clothes were strewn across the floor, leaving the tiny room in disarray.

The walls were painted a dull spruce color, the bed covered with a blue blanket striped with stone-gray. The mattress itself was worn, with a few visible holes, but it didn't matter. 

He felt the fresh morning air seep into the room through the crack in his window. He knew he had to get it fixed one of these days, but it was the least of his worries now.

The apartment was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic outside. He had gotten used to the constant noise of the city long ago.

He wanted to stay in his bed a few minutes longer and sleep lazily, bu he knew it was time to start the day. With a deep breath, he stood up, forcing himself off of his bed.

He grabbed some neatly folded clothes from a pile and walked out of his room into the small living area. The kitchen was compact, barely separated from the living room.

He turned on the coffee machine, the familiar whirring sound filling the space as he placed a cup beneath it.

While the coffee brewed, Kumojiro slipped into his morning routine.

He stepped into the bathroom, setting his clothes aside and grabbing a toothbrush. He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror as he brushed his teeth. His empty eyes stared back at him, unchanging.

After a quick rinse, he showered, letting the water run down his muscular, lean body. Kumojiro hadn't spent the years slacking off, he honed his body.

He tried to wash away the lingering traces of the nightmare, but they clung to him like a shadow.

Once he was done, he dried off and dressed in his picked clothing:

A black, hooded jacket. The jacket was layered, with multiple panels. The hood on the jacket had a subtle point at the top. The jacket had an asymmetric zipper and a sleeve patch with a Cloud insignia.

A crossbody bag with zippers across his chest, which is angled diagonally.

Pants which are slim-fitting, with a few pockets and straps. Black sneakers with a strap over the top and a slight platform. And lastly a strangely expensive necklace.

Not once did he think he went overboard. He styled his hair, short and parted, the bangs long enough to brush past his eyes but neatly pushed aside. He stared at his reflection one last time, his face still expressionless 

The ding of the coffee machine pulled him from his thoughts. He walked back to the kitchen, turning off the machine and grabbing the cup.

Sitting at the small table, he took a sip, letting the bitter warmth ground him in the present.

"...Good enough."

His eyes drifted to the table. A single dart lay next to a folded piece of paper. They were today's news. He glanced at the headline: Temptline Productions Promoting New Narakuma Products. Probably more cybernetics or other shitty Narakuma branded products, he thought, without much interest.

Kumojiro's eyes narrowed as his mind shifted to the task at hand. His fingers instinctively reached for the dart on the table, the cool metal a familiar weight between his fingers.

Without thinking, he stood, turning toward the fridge where a map of Stratus Point was pinned by magnets.

The map was worn, crisscrossed with notes and symbols, but his focus was fixed on a specific alleyway. His eyes locked onto a crudely drawn snake emblem.

That was their territory, a small gang, not powerful, but not insignificant either.

With a swift flick of his fingers, the dart flew from his hand, striking the map dead center on the snake symbol.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the dart. The gang wasn't his real target. They were gatekeepers, keeping something, or someone hidden he needed to reach.

To him, this wasn't another turf war or anything of the like. This was personal. Unfinished business. And they were to key to that.

Without wasting time, Kumojiro grabbed a worn black bag, tossed it over his shoulder, and carefully placed a hilt inside. The hilt made a dull metallic sound as it clanged against other objects hidden in the bag.

More metal. More tools for what lay ahead. He had a job to do, and he wasn't leaving without results.

But for Kumojiro, this day was different. It wasn't just about survival or routine. Today, he was hunting. And he wouldn't stop until the job was done.

As Kumojiro moved toward the door, the resolve in his eyes hardened, but when he opened it, he was greeted by a familiar face.

Miss Agnes, the elderly woman who lived next door, stood in the hallway with her small dog. Her soft, kind eyes were a contrast to the world outside. She had always been one of the few who weren't intimidated by Kumojiro's aloof demeanor.

"Good morning, Kumojiro!" She chirped, her voice warm and motherly. "I baked some cookies for you. I'll leave them by your door later."

Kumojiro tried to offer her a smile, but it came out as more of an awkward, crooked grin, something closer to a grimace.

"Thank you, Miss Agnes. I'll grab them later. I have something I need to take care of first."

Miss Agnes gave him a knowing nod, patting her dog's head as she moved aside to let him pass.

"Just don't stay out too late, Kumojiro. The city's no place to be wandering around at night. It's dangerous."

"I'll be careful," he responded with a short nod, appreciating her kindness despite the edge in his voice.

He stepped past her and headed for the elevator.

Kumojiro pressed the button for the -2 floor, the lobby. As the elevator descended, he took a deep breath, his mind refocusing on the mission ahead.

When the doors slid open, he stepped out into the busy, chaotic morning of Cipher City.