chapter 1 : THE GHOST

The air in the old storage unit was heavy with the smell of neglected paperwork, mixed with the metallic scent of rusting shelves. But now, there was also the sharp, sickly sweet smell of fresh blood and the sour scent of fear. Water dripped slowly from a leaky pipe, each drop echoing in the dark, like a countdown for someone in trouble. A single flickering fluorescent light hung overhead, casting long shadows that seemed to move on their own across the damp walls.

Tied to a heavy metal chair in the middle of this grim scene was Mayor Davies from the Tyyanore Region. His fancy suit, once a sign of wealth and power, was now torn and stained. One eye was swollen shut, and blood dripped from a split lip, mixing with the sweat of panic on his face. He breathed in quick, ragged gasps, each exhale more like a whimper. His good eye darted around, looking for a way out, finally settling on the figure standing still in the weak light.

This figure exuded a chilling calm amidst the chaos. Standing straight in a black blazer over dark gear, he looked almost untouched by the grime around him. His gloved hands were clean, betraying nothing of the effort it took to get the Mayor in this position. But what really drew attention was the mask covering his face, made from some dark material that absorbed light. It was smooth and featureless, with only two narrow slits for eyes that glowed unnervingly, giving off a cold emptiness.

The figure stayed silent for a moment, letting the dripping water and the Mayor's heavy breaths fill the silence. He seemed perfectly content, his presence alone enough to terrify the Mayor, who squirmed in his restraints with a low moan.

Finally, the voice came from behind the mask. It was modified to sound harsh and emotionless, more like a machine than a person.

Name.

The word hung in the air, sharp and cold.

Mayor Davies flinched. D-Davies... Arthur Davies... M-Mayor of Tyyanore... he rushed out, panic creeping into his voice. P-please... what do you want? Money? I have money... offshore accounts... untraceable...

The figure didn't react to the Mayor's offer. The narrow slits of the mask stayed focused on him. More silence followed, broken only by the steady dripping of water.

The funds, the voice said, every word deliberate. The earthquake relief for the displaced in the northern Tyyanore sector. Allocated three months ago. Records show it was sent out. Eyewitnesses say nothing arrived. Where did the money go, Mayor Davies?

Panic flashed in the Mayor's good eye. I... I don't know! The funds were with the regional committee! Things just get delayed... His voice trembled, his lies wearing thin.

The masked figure took a step closer, fluid and silent, making the Mayor jump in fear, rattling the chair.

The committee's lead signatory is your brother-in-law. The transport company, which charged triple the rate, belongs to a shell corporation where your wife is the director. The first deposit into that company matches exactly the amount missing from the relief fund. Don't try to fool me with excuses.

Tears mixed with blood on the Mayor's face. It wasn't just me! Others were involved! They took their cut! I swear... I DON'T KNOW THE OTHER ACCOUNTS! he shouted, desperation breaking through his facade. Orders always come from above! I don't know the names!

The masked figure tilted his head slightly, a slow, unsettling movement that felt more threatening than any shout. Everyone is a pawn, Mayor Davies, the voice said flatly. Until they choose to become a player. Or until they become disposable. He raised a hand slowly, revealing a simple screwdriver with a sharply ground tip. And you, Mr. Mayor, are a pawn being sacrificed by them.

In the shadows, Layla leaned against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a calm detachment. She looked like she was in her early twenties, with dark hair and a practical outfit that felt oddly right in this brutal setting. One hand rested on her messenger bag, brushing against her tools. She seemed unfazed, almost bored, like she was watching a play unfold, waiting for the end. 

As the screwdriver approached, the Mayor let out a final, chilling scream, which was abruptly cut off as he slumped forward against his restraints.

Silence fell, broken only by the constant dripping of water.

The masked figure stood still for a long moment, taking in the scene. He loomed over the Mayor's lifeless body, a stark portrayal of retribution. In this world of corruption, he was an unforeseen consequence—neither a hero nor just a victim, but something far more chilling.

Finally, he turned away from the body. 

Layla, his mechanical voice said, regaining its steady tone. Dispose of the body. Follow the cleaning protocol. Remove all evidence. Contact Baron through the secure line. Let him know the Mayor knew nothing about the people above him. There's definitely more to this.

Oh, um... okay, boss, right away! Layla replied, her tone oddly cheerful, contrasting sharply with the grim situation. Yet, she quickly sprang into action. With a soft click, she opened her bag, revealing tools instead of personal items. She put on gloves and started spraying a cleaning solution on the blood near the chair. The strong smell of chemicals momentarily covered the scent of death. As she worked, she expertly collected the Mayor's wallet, keys, and phone into a special bag designed to block signals. 

As she wiped a bloodstain from the wall, she gave a teasing remark. So... that makes two mayors gone this month, right? Including this one. She glanced at the masked figure. Not bad for our record, I'd say.

The masked man didn't respond. He had turned away from her, staring at the blank wall. His mask seemed to search for hidden truths. What was he feeling? Anger? Sadness? Or just the cold reality of their task? His silence felt heavy.

Earthquake relief funds, he thought bitterly. Money meant to help families, now taken away to line the pockets of corrupt officials. He had faced countless forms of human wickedness since everything changed for him. He understood malice, desperation, and cruelty. But this kind of heartlessness—taking hope from those already suffering—hit hardest. How could they live with that? How could they feel empathy yet be so cruel? Those questions lingered, with no easy answers. Davies was just one pawn lost to greed, but he had made that choice. He had willingly joined in the exploitation.

The Tyyanore relief funds, the masked figure finally broke the silence, drifting from his thoughts. He half-turned to Layla. You confirmed the alternate transfer? The one under the 'Ghost' name?

Layla paused, smiling slightly. Yep, boss. Got the thumbs-up this morning from our contact in the aid group. Funds landed safely in the account we checked. Clean transfer, no trace to us at all. She continued wiping. They even sent a thank you message for the 'anonymous ghost donor' who helped them out.

There was another pause before the masked figure nodded slowly. Good.

One less piece of corruption removed, one bit of hope restored. But he didn't feel victorious; just burdened by what still lay ahead. Davies was just a symptom of a bigger problem. Someone more influential, hiding behind layers of power, was still out there.

The search was just beginning.