Kassandra | AI0001

// 23 October 2040 // 08:00 Hours // Safehouse Gamma, Vermillion Region // A Few Hours Before

Upon the rooftops of the skyscrapers, it was rainy, the rain that could burn skin; it was the lingering, acidic liquid that always followed a major Rift-event around HAVOC City, You brushed the strange, otherworldly liquid off your shoulders, immune to the effects from the rain, for a reason your "family" never told you. You watched it fall onto the puddle on the sidewalk, sizzling, but not corroding the protectively coated infrastructure, turning the view of the neon-drenched city into a blurry watercolor of sorrow and light under the soft rain.

Walking down the streets, your thoughts kept invading your mind:

who is OP20, What is their relationship with the "family", And why are they dangerous?

Your handler, a person you knew only as AI0001 or "Kassandra," had been cryptic. The message, received yesterday evening via a one-time-pad encrypted channel, was simple: "Package secured. Asset activation imminent. Stand by for final briefing. Location: Graveyard of those who breath in crimson."

// 22 October 2040 // 19:30 Hours // The Briefing Point // The Day Before

You had been in a different safehouse then, after decoding the encrypted message through various means, the place was a sterile, smell-free cube in a corporate arcology, which was a stark contrast to the warehouse basement it was hidden in. Kassandra, her face illuminated only by the cool blue light of the hologram, had laid out the preliminaries. She was a woman cold and calculative, who would discard you if you did not have any value, she had begun speaking in her clinically cold and detached tone.

"The target is a high-value individual, codenamed 'OP20'," Kassandra had said, her voice almost robotic. A file, mostly redacted and within cardboard coloured brown paper, placed above the table. A single, blurry photo showed a figure in a long coat, face obscured by shadow and a high collar. "Target Individual represents a threat to the family. Not a Rift-born, not a 'superhero' Any further information and details will be unnecessary to your mission."

The pay was astronomical, enough to disappear from the family forever. The risk, She assured you, was mitigated by one factor: OP20 didn't know they were being hunted. Not by you at least

// 23 October 2040 // 14:00 Hours // The Armory // Few Hours before

A few hours ago, you had visited a seemingly ordinary locker in the central W-corp station, biometric-locked to your print. Inside was the mission kit. A standard-issue "Whisper" pistol that was matte black and cold to the touch likely 3D printed and biodegradable with one bullet. And a few other necessities for the mission.

You took it all, your movements automatic, practiced. The weight of the Whisper in its shoulder holster was a familiar comfort, a solid fact in a mission that felt increasingly abstract.

// 23 October 2040 // 19:45 Hours // Undefined location // 16 Minutes before

Now, you sit in a designated booth at a seemingly random Teahouse. out the window you could observe flying cars whizzing past, the W-corp Train traveling at the speed of light to get to one part of the city to the other in seconds. The air is thick with the scent of bergamot, steam dumplings, and the low hum of discreet conversations. The teahouse is a neutral zone, a place where deals are made and information is traded away from the prying eyes of the city's emerging superhero factions and the grotesque, unpredictable Rift-born as well as surrounded by innocent civilians on dates who knew nothing.

Across from you sits SL0067 (Public persona: Silas) and SL0045 (Unknown), both tech specialists. Silas a nervous man and SL0067, A person in a hood and mask, you couldn't tell if they were a man or woman, Silas's fingers constantly flinching over the surface of his black-slate tablet, his eyes flicking towards the entrance every time the bamboo chime rings. They are the ones who will give you the final green light.

"Kassandra sends her regards," Silas mutters, not looking up from his Tablet. "The package is authenticated. Target is confirmed to be en route. ETA, fifteen minutes. They frequent this place. Likes the Dumplings Like you do."

SL0045 slides the data-chip across the polished bamboo table. "This is the final confirmation. Once the work is finished... Upload it into the files and it will automatically be confirmed by the family's 'Left Hands'. That is the most we can do for you... good luck PA21"

// 23 October 2040??? // Time: ??? // Location: ??? // Present moment...?

You stood in the kitchen, the teahouse had conveniently been emptied... Likely the work of the family, now in the front, there was a person, eating the dumplings you always liked. This was it, your target confirmed... You stood behind the curtains, gazing at only the silhouette of the person sitting on the lone chair of the food counter, eating dumplings, the pistol was a reassuring weight in your hands... this was it, Your last mission and then... the family will give you your freedom... but... something felt very foreign and at the same time familiar...