NOTICE: NONE OF THE ORGANISATIONS, EVENTS, NAMES, AND PLACES ARE RELATED TO ANY KIND OF REAL LIFE EVENTS! IT IS SOLELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES, PLEASE ENJOY MY WORK .
The air outside the parliament house crackled with tension as the president emerged, flanked by the unyielding formation of the Elite Force's Special Guards. His weathered face, etched with years of power and compromise, bore a scowl of irritation as he muttered curt instructions to his assistant.
A swarm of reporters surged forward, their faces painted with equal parts anxiety and determination. Their desperation to uncover the truth made the air heavy with anticipation. Yet, the guards stood as an impenetrable wall, keeping the crowd at bay—or so they thought.
From the throng, a voice rang out, cutting through the murmur like a blade.
"MR. PRESIDENT! ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO PASS THE BILL? WHAT IF THIS MAKES US ENEMIES OF OTHER NATIONS?"
The president's sharp eyes scanned the crowd, narrowing at the one who dared to challenge him. Yet, when he spoke, his lips curled into a forced, practiced smile.
"I understand your concern."
With a measured signal to his guards, he stepped closer to the restless crowd. All eyes locked on him, awaiting an answer—an answer to the burning question of why he insisted on passing a bill that pointed missiles toward neighboring nations in the name of security. Was this truly safety, or an invitation to chaos?
The president's voice, firm yet insincere, cut through the silence.
"It is a simple safety measure to ensure that our state remains secure. We desire no conflict with our neighbors, but if they—"
The sound of a gunshot shattered the moment.
SHOOT!
THUD!
"AAHHHHH! THE PRESIDENT IS SHOT!"
In an instant, the leader of the nation lay sprawled on the cold pavement, blood pooling beneath his head, his lifeless eyes staring into nothingness. Chaos erupted like a tidal wave. The Elite Guards sprang into action, shrouding the body as their captain issued a single, chilling command through his earpiece:
"Code Red."
But amid the pandemonium, no one noticed the faint smirk that played on the captain's lips.
---
Fifteen stories above, on a shadowed balcony of the tower adjacent to the parliament, a figure stood cloaked in black. Her leather hoodie clung to her frame, and her loose pants brushed against her boots as she surveyed her handiwork. Her silver hair, tied haphazardly into a messy bun, shimmered faintly under the dim light. Eyes like crystalline blue fire reflected no joy, no remorse—just a dull, relentless indifference.
The sniper rifle lay abandoned at her feet. She dismantled it with the precision of a surgeon, placing the parts into a guitar case. Pulling her hoodie lower, she glanced at the buzzing watch strapped to her wrist.
A single message glowed on the screen:
"Congratulations on successfully completing CODE RED, SHADOW HUNTER."
She rolled her eyes, her lips curling into a faint sneer.
"Shadow Hunter," she murmured, her voice dripping with disdain. "They really need to come up with better names. I'd prefer my own, for once."
Crushing the earpiece beneath her boot, she turned her gaze to the chaos below. A faint flicker of something—satisfaction, perhaps?—passed through her, but it was gone before it could settle.
"Rest well in hell, Mr. President," she muttered coldly, her voice barely audible above the distant wails of sirens. "Though I doubt a devil like you will find peace anywhere."
Without another glance, she disappeared into the shadows, her movements fluid and unhurried. This was her life: a solitary dance of secrecy and death, bound by duty yet driven by something deeper—something far darker.
Vengeance.
It was more than an emotion; it was her existence. Ten years of burning rage had carved her into what she was now. And until her mission was complete, she would remain a ghost in the darkness, untethered and unstoppable.