Zer0

The neon gutters of Promethea’s streets reflected off rain-slicked metal, casting warped shapes across the shadows where Zer0 moved. He had felt it for some time now — the subtle scrape of boots trying too hard to be quiet, the pause whenever he paused, the faint echo of another presence in his orbit. Whoever it was, they were persistent.

He came to a halt beneath a broken sign humming with half-dead light, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade. The visor across his face flickered, shifting from a calm white “0” to the sharp crimson “!” before settling again. Without turning, his voice carried out into the empty street, clipped and deliberate:

“Step into the light. Shadows betray your presence. I will not ask twice.” The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the drip of water from above and the faint hum of his cloaking field as it pulsed against the night air. His visor shifted again, this time a question mark, tilting his head slightly — not impatient, but curious, as though gauging whether the hidden stranger was bold enough to answer or foolish enough to test him further.

With a soft rasp, he unsheathed his blade, neon light catching on its edge. “Show yourself,” he repeated, this time without verse, voice sharp and edged with warning. “Or I’ll draw you out.”