Chapter Text
Niji City is a place that never sleeps.
Even in the darkest alleyways, bright neon lights and distant music always fills the emptiness, bringing a tiny hint of life in an otherwise cold, unfeeling place. There’s always people walking around, most of their heads hanging low in exhaustion, their steps almost synchronized like the robots that populated the streets.
(A sleepless modern city that drains its inhabitants dry. A living hell that cares not for anyone’s survival but its own. For a select view however, this place is paradise.)
Amongst them, a young man with a blue hoodie walks along with the crowd, a hint of grayish-blue hair peeking out of the darkness of his hood. He flicks his gaze up to watch the news playing by the gigantic holographic on one side of a skyscraper, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips as he sees a familiar face popping up, a bold “cold blooded murder” written underneath the mugshot.
It’s always a treat to see his work being shown to the public like this. The exposure brings fame, fear, and he uses it to enhance the impact behind his name. A good passive marketing strategy, so to say.
“Police are still unsure of who the perpetrator is, but from the evidence they’ve gathered at the crime scene, it seems the perpetrator uses some sort of sharp object to slit the victim’s throat.” The reporter says, face remaining pensive despite the horrible news she relays. “We advise all to stay vigilant and careful for the upcoming days. Make sure to report any suspicious activity to the authorities.”
And the young man is moving again, humming a tone as he skips his way back to his home.
Most people assume hired thugs like him live in luxury, perhaps in those highly futuristic apartments people dreamed of living in, but he’s different. The young man lives in a dingy apartment on the third floor, facing the street. It’s always loud at night, and his window creaks like a bitch whenever he tries to open it, but it is home, and home is where he can just be himself.
(Underneath layers upon layers of lies and trickeries and false smiles, he is just an ordinary person. Human.)
He walks in, shimmies out of his boots and goes straight to the bath to clean himself. The moment he peels off his hoodie, his bloodstained shirt is free for all to see. He turns to the mirror, looking at the dried blood sprayed across his nose. With a huff, he wipes it off and goes to the shower.
Another job well done for Ike Eveland tonight.
000
Whenever Ike is not playing as a bloodthirsty killer, he plays the act of being a harmless, shy novelist, working his ass off day and night to create another wonderful story for all to read. He makes sure to greet his neighbors whenever he walks past them on the road, makes sure he’s always smiling, always acting like he fits with the others.
(Is this the real him? Or is the bloodier version of him the real one? Even Ike doesn’t know the answer for that.)
After his little performance the other day, Ike receives a nameless email in his inbox. Another contract has come knocking, this time to deal with a young, cocky businessman. The contract doesn’t specify how Ike should go around his killing, but there’s a faux invitation attached to the email, written in a made-up name. It’s for a ball party hosted by his target, scheduled to begin in a few days. Ike already knows what to do.
At the night of the party, Ike pulls up to his destination with the best suit he has on hand, a charming smile across his face. He can feel eyes on him as he walks past the robotic guards, whispering, scheming . Resisting the urge to sneer at them, Ike instead goes to the dessert section, taking a small cake and taking his sweet time eating it.
From a distance, he can spot his target in the center of the room, talking with the other guests. The man wraps his hand around one of his guests, smirking playfully at her. Ike couldn’t hold back the disgust painting his face.
(They’ve always been the same; rotten pigs who drown themselves in carnal pleasure as if they’ll die tomorrow morning. Ike always hates people like them. Which is why he never refuses a job to kill these so-called socialites.)
Ike quickly glances to the side, checking the time. There’s still a few minutes before the main show starts. He finishes his dessert and makes his way to his target, quietly reaching out for his weapon underneath his suit when the light dims.
An array of fireworks explodes outside, their colorful sparks glinting off Ike’s glasses. He ignores the beautiful display and keeps his eyes on the target, going closer, and closer, until he’s merely inches away from his target.
Ike grabs the man by the shoulder, pulling him closer. Before the man can comprehend what’s happening, Ike stabs his neck with a sharpened letter opener, making sure to twist the knife before he slits tender skin apart. The man gurgles, blood mixing with his mutes scream before he falls to the ground.
By the time someone is screaming, Ike is no longer there.
000
The money comes in by midnight. Ike whistles, his smile growing as he watches the numbers on his bank account doubling. This much is enough to last him a year, maybe more if he’s careful with his finances. To think such an easy job would bring him so much money—this must be good luck.
Ike finishes eating his cup noodles and throws the empty styrofoam to the bin without even looking back. It lands perfectly inside. He grabs his laptop and goes to bed early, thinking of watching a movie or two to treat himself. Before he can put on his earphones and lie down however, he hears a knock on the door.
Ike pauses, eyes flitting to the holographic clock he has on his nightstand. It’s almost midnight by now, and unless there’s an emergency, there is no way in hell his neighbors are going to disturb him. With the gracefulness of a cat, Ike grabs his weaponized letter opener and tiptoes to the door, keeping his body flush to the wall. He takes a peek out of the peeping hole and finds someone standing there, a stranger with blonde hair and purple eyes.
“Hey, anyone there?” The blonde gives Ike’s door a few good knocks. “Hello?”
Though the man poses as someone innocent, Ike knows better. This man uses the same tactics as he is, acting all cute and passive before going for the kill, so of course Ike can see through his facade easily. He gulps and silently backs away, glancing towards the window at the other side of the room—
The door suddenly rattles with a force so big it sends a shockwave throughout the whole apartment.
A beat passes before the stranger laughs, so utterly childish and innocent that it sends shivers down Ike’s spine. “I know you’re there, Novelist.”
Ike takes off into a sprint, jumping straight into the emergency ladder outside his window the moment the front door breaks apart into smithereens. The stranger’s eyes seem to glow underneath the shadow, a hint of madness in his smile.
“Novelist~” He calls in a singsong voice.
Ike bites off a curse and jumps down into the alleyway down below, taking off into a sprint, bare feet and all. The man follows with a boisterous laugh, hunger in his eyes. Ike tries to shove a trash bin towards him, but the man easily plows through it, practically denting the metal with barely any effort.
So he has his body modified too, Ike thought to himself. He would rather not use his trump card so early, but he has no choice. Ike activates the chip implanted at the base of his nape, the tiny machine whirring to life. He looks back and sees a metal pole thrown his way—
And manages to duck his head just in the nick of time.
He starts to move faster, his movement like a mirage, and in the blink of an eye, Ike disappears. The blonde stops chasing after him, the smile on his face morphing into an ugly scowl. He punches a wall out of frustration, leaving a gigantic crater behind.
“Don’t get your head in a mess, Luca. Our target is still out there.”
“I know.” Luca sighs. His rapid heartbeat is slowly going down. “But I have a reputation to keep. Leo would never let his prey go.”
“Hound is currently sniffing his track.” The voice coming from Luca’s earpiece grows muffled, as if the person on the other side is moving away. “Asura is right behind you too. He said he’ll help you.”
“Thanks, Oracle.” Luca smiles again. “I’ll make this up for you, promise.”
“Sure, bring me some unagi when you’re back and I’ll consider forgiving you.” Oracle snickers. “Oh, Hound found him! Here, I’ll send you the coordinate.”
000
Ike takes a long, deep inhale and slides off the wall, crumpling to the ground. He ran all the way here, hiding in an abandoned construction project. The chip planted in his nape starts to beep, warning him, so Ike turns it off before it can berate him any longer. His vision is tilted, ears ringing, body feeling like it’ll break and shatter into a thousand pieces.
This is the reason why he doesn’t want to use his trump card.
It’s costly—a single use will turn him into a useless heap of meat for the next hour. Ike usually uses it when he’s in a pinch, a last ditch effort to save his life. Now that he used it, he can’t activate it again for the next hour unless he wants to break his body further.
(There’s a time where he had to use his power continuously, back when he’s still young and inexperienced. By the time Ike got home, he was bleeding from his nose, feeling like the world had collapsed on him.
Ike couldn’t get up from bed for almost a week. The money is not worth the pain.)
A distant footsteps alerts Ike.
He immediately grabs his weapon, scanning the environment through hazy eyes. The footsteps are getting closer, but Ike has yet to see anything. He can feel the presence of someone else, lusting for blood. Ike holds his breath and takes a peek around the corner—
There’s nobody there.
Ike exhales as quietly as he could, eyes wide in shock. The footsteps disappear too, which means whoever is approaching him is gone, or worse, they’re sneaking up on him now. With a muffled curse, Ike crouches and crawls away, going straight to the nearest exit.
Before he can reach it however, a set of footsteps rushes at him—
And Ike barely has enough time to dodge the sword coming his way.
Ike falls to the ground, scrambling like a panicked deer when he sees his killer smirking at him.
“Come on Novelist, I thought you’re better than this.” He says.
Ike goes to the emergency stairs, tripping over himself as he makes his way down. His killer follows, golden eyes following him like the eyes of a predator in hunt. Ike goes straight to the ground floor, moments away from reaching freedom before he skids to a sudden stop, eyes wide when he sees a familiar face smiling at him.
“Yo,” The smile on Luca’s face grows wider when he realizes Ike is shaking in place, afraid of him. “What’s the matter, Novelist? Scared of a little lion?”
“Fuck off.” Ike hisses. He tightens his grip on his weapon and lowers his body, preparing himself for any incoming attack.
Luca laughs at his face, flexing his fingers in anticipation. He can feel his blood pumping faster and faster, heart thumping out of his chest, eager for another deadly dance. “I was expecting more snark from you, but oh well, I’ll take what I can get.”
Luca is the first one to move, rushing straight ahead and grabbing Ike by the collar, practically manhandling the smaller man and throwing him into a pile of concrete pipes. A sickening crack comes from Ike’s body at the impact and he gasps, air punched clean out of his lungs. He flops to the ground, unable to get up, and Luca uses that chance to throw him to the other side of the room.
Another sickening crack comes from Ike’s body, blood spurting out of his lips. He’s pretty sure his ribs are no longer in one piece. Luca laughs at the horrid display and throws him again, and again, and again—
And by the end of it all, Ike lies motionless in the ground, glasses smashed to bits and body contorting in all the wrong ways.
Luca stops then, panting and sweating, a victorious smile etched upon his face. He thought he killed Ike for good, but then he hears him taking one wet inhale, lungs rattling from the force of it all. He clicks his tongue and grabs a metal pipe, lifting it above his head and ready to deliver the final blow—
“Wait, Luca.”
And stops moments away before the pipe can reach Ike’s face.
Luca turns around, glaring at the approaching Asura, his teammate. Instead of fear, the brunet greets the animosity with a pleasant smile. “They never said we need to kill him, right?”
“What’re you planning, Vox?” Luca throws the metal pipe to the side.
“Nothing malicious, I can assure you that.” Vox says, looking down at Ike’s beaten up face with a plotting smirk. “You can bring him back to base. I’m getting Mysta.”
“Alright.” Luca huffs, clearly disappointed by Vox’s decision but he’s not complaining about it. “ Oracle, can you hear us?”
“Loud and clear.” Oracle says over their earpiece. “Mission accomplished, everyone. Please come back safe.”
000
The smell of medicine and too bright fluorescent light greets Ike when he’s awake. He groans, shielding his eyes from the offending light before sitting up, feeling like he just got hit by a truck. This place is unfamiliar; Ike is used to dingy and shady clinics, but this one is clean, minimalistic with a touch of luxury here and there. The unfamiliarity immediately triggers an alarm in his head.
“If you’re thinking of using that IV as a weapon, I’m beating your ass again.” Ike swivels his head to the side and sees the same brunet that chased him earlier, smiling at him. “Good morning, princess. How are you feeling?”
Ike replies with a punch, but the brunet easily catches it. He puts pressure on Ike’s fist, just enough to deter him from trying out anything funny again, and Ike cringes, immediately pulling his hand and cradling it close to his chest. Knowing it’s useless to fight back, Ike just glares at him instead. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Leader of the Luxiem Special Ops team, Vox Akuma.” The man says fluidly, as if he’s used to saying it. “And you’re the infamous Ike Eveland, a.k.a. the Novelist, one of underground’s best assassins.”
Ike scoffs at that. “You flatter me.”
“I’m merely relaying what I’ve read in your files, but enough of that.” Vox’s expression turns serious. “I’m here to propose a deal with you.”
Ike stays quiet, urging Vox to spill whatever he has in mind already. Vox leans back, his pose lax as he says his next words.
“I want you to join our team.”
Ike blinks once, twice, before he lets out a thundering laughter and keels over a second after, ribs aching from pain. Vox merely shakes his head at the sight.
“I refuse.” Ike hisses, forcing himself to straighten his back again. “What sort of idiot would want to work with their own enemy anyway?”
“I do, but if you refuse my offer, then I don’t mind.” Vox hums. “The state has decided to execute you for all the crimes you’ve done, so make sure to enjoy your remaining time, Eveland.” He stands up from his seat and gives Ike one last glance. “It’s a shame, really. I think you have potential to be a very useful asset by my side.”
Ike doesn’t say anything as Vox leaves the room. He balls his fist, frustration nipping at his heels. Outside, a few drops of light drizzle start to appear, pitter pattering against the street in quiet chaos before it turns into a storm, thunder rippling across the dark sky.
For once in his life, Ike feels like the entire world has turned its back on him.