The warehouse sat on the edge of the city, a forgotten relic of industrial times. Its weathered exterior was cloaked in shadows, with flickering streetlights casting faint halos around the rusting metal. The air smelled of damp concrete and oil, mingling with the faint, acrid scent of cigarette smoke. Inside, crates were stacked haphazardly, some labeled with foreign symbols, others unmarked, their contents hidden from view.
A group of men huddled in the dimly lit center of the warehouse. Their voices were low, their tones clipped. The leader, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, was inspecting a sleek black rifle, its surface glinting under the weak overhead light.
"This one's military-grade," he said, his gravelly voice carrying authority. "Top-tier stuff. Payment better match the goods."
The buyer, a wiry man in a suit far too clean for the grimy surroundings, nodded curtly. "You'll get your money. My client doesn't disappoint."
Tension hung thick in the air as the exchange began. Briefcases of cash were placed on one side, weapons on the other. The deal was unfolding smoothly—until the shadows began to move.
---
Enter the Vigilante
From the rafters above, a figure watched silently, concealed by the darkness. Dressed in sleek, black tactical gear and a hooded mask, the vigilante moved with predatory precision. The faint glow of a digital earpiece was the only sign of modernity amidst his otherwise primal movements.
As the leader reached for the cash, the vigilante struck.
He leapt from the rafters, landing squarely on one of the henchmen. The man let out a startled yell before crumpling to the ground.
"What the—?!" the leader barked, reaching for his weapon.
Before he could raise it, the vigilante rolled forward, sweeping the legs out from another man. The movement was fluid, almost animalistic. The wiry buyer tried to flee, but the vigilante hurled a smoke grenade into his path, obscuring his vision.
Amidst the chaos, the leader fired blindly into the smoke. The crack of gunfire echoed through the warehouse. The vigilante darted between crates, his movements a blur. He grabbed a nearby crowbar and used it to disarm one of the gunmen, the clang of metal hitting concrete reverberating like a warning bell.
In the frenzy, the leader finally managed to pin down the vigilante's position. He fired again, but the vigilante anticipated the move, vaulting over a stack of crates and landing behind the leader. With a swift kick, he sent the rifle skidding across the floor.
The leader swung wildly, but the vigilante caught his fist mid-air, twisting his arm and forcing him to his knees. "Who sent you?" the vigilante growled, his voice low and menacing.
The leader spat on the floor. "You think I'll talk?"
The vigilante smirked beneath his mask. "No, but you'll remember this." With a quick jab, he knocked the man out cold.
---
The Aftermath
Silence returned to the warehouse, broken only by the muffled groans of the incapacitated criminals. The vigilante scanned the area, ensuring there were no threats left. Then, like a shadow, he slipped out of sight, scaling the walls with feline agility.
Minutes later, the wail of sirens cut through the night. Police vehicles screeched to a halt outside the warehouse, their lights painting the scene in flashes of red and blue. Officers stormed in, their expressions shifting from confusion to shock as they took in the unconscious men and the cache of weapons.
"The tip was real," one officer murmured. "But who the hell did this?"
---
Watching from Above
Perched on the warehouse roof, the vigilante watched the scene unfold. His hooded silhouette was barely visible against the night sky. He crouched near the edge, his sharp eyes following the movements of the officers below.
A soft chime in his earpiece broke the silence. He tapped it, and a familiar voice greeted him.
"Good evening, Hayato," Sid's voice came through, tinged with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
The vigilante, still masked, smirked. "Evening, Sid."
"You've had your fun for the night," Sid continued. "There's no more crime happening in the city, so you can head home now."
Hayato finally pulled down his hood and removed his mask, revealing his face to the night. His dark hair was slightly damp with sweat, and his sharp features were lit by the faint glow of the city lights. "Fun's over, huh? Shame. I was just getting started."
Sid chuckled. "Don't push your luck. Go home, Hayato."
"Fine, fine," Hayato replied, rolling his eyes playfully. "But next time, give me something more challenging."
"We will see about that later, my friend." Sid says with a smile on his face, as if he is satisfied.
---
As Hayato disappeared into the shadows, the narrator filled in the gaps of his story.
After being rescued from his isolated life as werewolf on that Bloody Night, Hayato struggled to adapt to human society. Despite his animalistic instincts, he had a strong sense of justice, shaped by his own experiences of survival and hardship.
It was Sid who first noticed Hayato's potential for something greater, as for now we all know that Sid is quite obsessed with superheroe stuff. He at first approached Remond who declined his offer saying that they will be in danger if he shows his powers in front of world as the 'Axiom Syndicate' will track him down.
So during one of their many conversations in Master Ho Dieng's house one year ago, Sid had casually suggested that Hayato's skills could be used to help others. What started as an offhand remark soon became a mission.
With Sid's guidance and technical expertise( for readers convenience I should also say that Sid may be jerk but he is good at computer and technological stuff, you can say it is his inbuilt skill), after a year Hayato transformed into the vigilante. Sid handled the logistics—monitoring police channels, gathering intel, and ensuring Hayato's activities went unnoticed. Hayato, in turn, channeled his instincts into calculated actions, becoming the city's shadowy protector.
Though he enjoyed the thrill of his nightly escapades, Hayato knew that being a vigilante was more than just an outlet for his wild side. It was a way to make sense of the human world—a world he was still learning to understand.