He didn't vanish into the darkness—he was part of it.

  The city glowed in a haze of neon lights, casting long reflections on the wet pavement. The wind tugged at Cain's black-and-orange track jacket, fluttering it like a battle flag. Moonlight danced along the edge of his katana, a cold shimmer of steel that mirrored his silence. He moved like a shadow—silent, calculated—drifting through empty streets and glancing into windows without emotion. The stillness of the night was broken only by the soft rhythm of his footsteps—precise and cold.

  When the moment came, Cain slipped into the wealthy man's house without hesitation, picking the lock with deliberate ease. Then—an alarm. No panic. In one swift motion, the internal mechanism was severed by the katana. Silent once more, he slipped into the room like a wraith. The door exploded inward, a violent burst, and there he was—the target—already dropping the phone.

  The man rose from his desk, panic twisting his face. He lifted his hands in a futile attempt to shield himself.

  "No—please! Don't kill me!" he cried, fear stark in his eyes. His trembling hand reached for a pistol, and he fired wildly. But the katana moved like lightning, slicing through the bullets mid-air before they could touch Cain.

  Unflinching, Cain stepped forward. Calm. Predatory. Every movement was deliberate—as if he already knew the outcome.

  "I'll give you everything! Money, cars... I can make calls! I have connections! You can have it all, I swear!" the man pleaded, falling to his knees. But Cain only stared, unmoved.

  Silence.

  As the man shut his eyes, it was as if time paused. The world faded into a quiet void, where nothing that had been—or would be—mattered anymore. And then, with a breathless grace, the katana passed through flesh. Life fled the body, leaving nothing behind but blood pooling on the floor.

  Cain retrieved the man's passport, now stained red, and exited without a trace. By the time the police arrived, he was already gone—like he'd been swept away by the wind.

  "I killed him," Cain said into the phone, standing in an abandoned house, the weight of what came next already pressing on his shoulders. "They'll be coming for me now. I'll lay low for a while."

  "You did well, as always," came the calm reply of the informant. "That politician should've known he was playing a dangerous game. All corrupt men eventually meet the edge of a blade."

  "When will the payment come?" Cain asked—this time, there'd been no money upfront, unlike usual.

  "Give it a few days. You know me—I don't play games with you."

  Cain ended the call without another word.

  He didn't need to say anything.

  Cain waited out the police in an abandoned house, silent as the dust settling around him. When the streets finally quieted, he slipped out, unseen. Moving like a shadow through narrow alleys, he crossed rooftop after rooftop, heading toward a bar known as a haven for the city's outcasts. To Cain, any one of them could be a target—if the price was right. The police never bothered with this place. The right bribes kept their eyes closed.

  Before entering, Cain pulled on a dark green cloak, hiding the katana beneath it. He stepped up to the door and knocked once, then waited in front of the peephole. A few seconds later, the door creaked open. He said nothing. He just walked in.

  The bar was thick with smoke and noise. Laughter, shouting, the clatter of cards and broken bottles. People drank, fought, gambled—and no one cared who was watching. Cain made his way to the bar. A few drunks turned their heads.

  "Hey, who let the schoolboy in here?" one man shouted, slurring his words like he'd forgotten his own name. The others laughed, eyes now on Cain. He didn't react. Just kept walking.

  "Hey! You deaf or something? Lose your parents, kid?" another man chimed in, stumbling closer.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Cain slowly turned his head, and the cold, predatory stare in his eyes shut the man up immediately. He stepped back without another word. The rest fell silent, murmuring among themselves.

  Unfazed, Cain continued toward the bar.

  "Whiskey," he said simply.

  The bartender nodded and poured. Cain sipped his drink, then sensed someone approaching.

  A woman.

  She slid into the seat beside him. Dressed in black, a crimson headband tied across her forehead, and a belt lined with knives. She gave him a look—half curiosity, half caution.

  "What's a kid like you doing in a dump like this?" she asked, her eyes scanning him.

  Cain took another sip. Said nothing.

  She motioned for the bartender to pour her a beer.

  "Not much of a talker, huh?" she smirked. Still, he didn't respond. His gaze remained distant. Calm. Cold.

  "I see you're not just any kid," she added, nodding toward the edge of his cloak. "That katana's showing."

  Cain shrugged. After a beat, he said, "Just finished a contract. Payment's late. That's why the cloak's still soaked in blood."

  The woman raised an eyebrow but kept her composure. "Ah... I see. I'm a merc too. Doesn't bother me. I just came here to unwind."

  Cain took another drink, and the noise of the bar slowly filled back in around them. Yet a strange quiet lingered between the two—like the chaos couldn't touch them.

  "There's not much to find out about you, is there?" she said after a pause. "Young guy. Already a killer. Intriguing."

  Cain finished his drink, then slid some bills across the bar—for both of them. She blinked in surprise but didn't object. He stood up, heading toward the door.

  As he reached it, he said without looking back,

  "If you ever learn my name, you'll be surprised."

  "Really?" she called after him, her voice almost lost in the din. "Wait... no... it can't be..."

  "My name's Lina!" she shouted after him. "We'll meet again!"

  Cain didn't answer.

  He vanished into the darkness, and Lina stood there, watching him go, thoughts racing behind her steady gaze.

  Cain walked the dark street, his katana once again gleaming in the night. Just hours ago, he had stained it in battle, but now, beneath the hush of the sleeping city, he took the time to wipe it clean. He wasn't tired yet—but boredom was creeping in. Peace was hard to come by in this city.

  Stepping lightly across the rooftop of a nearby building, Cain spotted two men trying to rob an electronics store. The security guard was clearly asleep at his post, head bobbing with each snore. The thieves were loading stolen goods into a van, completely unaware that danger was already watching.

  Cain didn't move immediately. Instead, he kept polishing his blade, almost savoring the ritual. Normally, this kind of petty crime wasn't worth his attention. But something felt different tonight. Maybe it was the way one of the thieves chuckled while dragging boxes of tech to the van.

  Cain looked up, tightening his grip on the katana.

  "Time to act," he thought, raising the blade into ready position.

  But before he could move, his phone rang.

  He hesitated a moment—then answered. The informant never waited.

  "Hope I'm not interrupting?" The same calm, distant voice.

  "I'm a little busy," Cain said, eyes still locked on the burglars.

  "Just a quick update. The transfer for your last job—should be in your account in an hour."

  "Great. What about the next contract?" Cain's voice was level, detached.

  "Don't worry. There'll be more than enough work. With your skills, it's easy money."

  Cain ended the call without another word. Time was running out.

  He moved.

  The thieves were just about done, stuffing the last box into the van. They were seconds away from fleeing.

  Cain picked up speed, preparing to strike—but the van roared to life and peeled away just as he leapt.

  "Damn it," he muttered, missing them by inches.

  But he wasn't done.

  He launched himself onto the roof of the speeding vehicle, clinging tight as it accelerated down the street. Then, with a fluid motion, he plunged his katana into the hood and held on, watching as the men inside panicked.

  "DEREK! FLOOR IT! THERE'S A PSYCHO WITH A KATANA ON THE ROOF!" one of the thieves screamed.

  "I'M TRYING, MAN!" the driver yelled back.

  Sirens wailed in the distance—the police were joining the chase. Cain just smirked. He knew he'd be hunted after this. But fear never entered the equation.

  He leapt through the window with deadly precision. One clean strike—his blade pierced the driver's heart.

  "CLANCY?! CLANCYYYY!!!" the second thief howled in panic. "I'LL KILL YOU, FREAK!" He tried to steer with one hand and draw a pistol with the other, trembling in rage and fear.

  But before he could fire a single shot, Cain was on him. The katana swept across the cab in a silent arc. The blade struck true—another fatal blow. The second man collapsed beside the first. No struggle. No screams. Just silence.

  Both bodies slumped onto the asphalt as the van veered out of control, skidding to a stop.

  Cain jumped down, steadying the van before it could crash into anything. Sirens neared.

  "What happened?" the commissioner barked as he arrived, staring at the two lifeless men in the street.

  "Some sort of assassin," the detective replied, still watching the scene unfold. "Killed both suspects and stopped the getaway."

  "That damn samurai again," the commissioner growled, clenching his fists. "Always one step ahead of the law... Why do I even bother?"

  Far off, the sirens wailed louder. But it was already too late. Again.