The Shadow Rises

The warehouse in the Lower Districts loomed against the night sky, a hulking silhouette backlit by Ironhaven's perpetual haze. From his vantage point on an adjacent rooftop, the Wraith studied the building's perimeter. Snow fell in gray-tinged flakes, covering the city's scars with a temporary blanket of silence...

Four guards patrolled outside standard Syndicate muscle with shoulder holsters and the telltale blue glow of Spark injectors at their belts. Enhanced, but not fully Dustborne. Easy enough to handle. His vision blurred at the edges, reality seeming to ripple as the Dust took effect.

 The real challenge would be inside. According to the conversation he'd overheard at Syndicate Tower, this wasn't a standard drug shipment. This was something new, a refined strain of Oblivion Dust that the executive had referred to only as "the merchandise."

The Wraith flexed his right hand, watching as it momentarily phased through his knee. The Dust in his system was still active, but he could feel it beginning to fade. He had maybe an hour before he'd need another dose. Enough time to get in, assess the situation, and get out.

He pulled the hood of his coat lower, obscuring the cracked visor of his mask, and focused on the shadows pooling at the base of the building. With a thought, they responded stretching, darkening, reaching toward him like hungry tendrils. He extended his hand, and the darkness coiled around his fingers, solid as rope.

The immediate danger had passed, but he knew the repercussions were just beginning. Umbral manipulation. His second gift from the Dust. Less flashy than his first, which was phasing, but infinitely more versatile.

The Wraith slipped off the rooftop, using the shadow-rope to control his descent. The narrow corridor limited movement, forcing a direct confrontation. He landed silently in the alley behind the warehouse, immediately pressing himself against the wall as a guard rounded the corner. The man passed within inches, oblivious to the figure melting into the darkness beside him. The umbral tendrils carried the chill of the void, sucking heat from the air around them.

The immediate danger had passed, but he knew the repercussions were just beginning. Once the guard was gone, the Wraith moved to a side entrance. The door was secured with an electronic lock military grade, with a keypad and retinal scanner. Overkill for a simple warehouse. Whatever was inside, the Syndicate wanted it protected. He held his breath, counting the seconds between guard rotations..

He placed his palm against the scanner and closed his eyes. Phasing through solid matter was one thing, but electronics required more finesse. He had to become insubstantial enough to bypass the outer casing without disrupting the circuitry within.

The Wraith took a deep breath and pushed. His hand sank into the scanner, molecules passing between molecules. He felt the familiar cold burn as his flesh became something other than flesh, a state between solid and gas, real and unreal. Inside the device, his fingertips found the main circuit board. A gentle twist, a careful redirection of current...

He allowed himself three deep breaths before moving again, cataloging injuries and options. *The lock clicked open.*

He slipped inside, immediately assessing his surroundings. The warehouse interior was divided into sections by tall metal shelving units. Standard shipping containers lined the walls, their contents unknown. The lighting was minimal, bare bulbs hanging from chains, casting more shadows than illumination. Perfect.

As the adrenaline ebbed, the consequences of what he'd done began to sink in. Voices echoed from the center of the warehouse. The Wraith moved toward them, staying low and using the shelves for cover. As he drew closer, he could make out a clearing in the middle of the floor where several figures stood around a metal table.

"This batch is twice as potent as the last," Her laughter held an edge of desperation. a woman was saying. Her voice was clinical, detached. "The binding agent has been stabilized, but we're still seeing a 60% mortality rate in test subjects."

"Mortality doesn't concern us," replied a man in a Syndicate enforcer's uniform distinguished by the red stripe down his sleeve marking him as a captain. "Can it be weaponized?"

 "Of course. That's the entire point." Her laughter held an edge of desperation.

 The Wraith edged closer, using the shadows to mask his approach. The room's layout offered three potential exits, each with its own risks. Now he could see what lay on the table a series of injection guns, similar to the ones used for standard spark, but larger. Beside them sat a metal case containing vials of Oblivion Dust. But this Dust was different it glowed a deep crimson rather than the usual blue-black.

Modified. Enhanced. Deadlier.

"The delivery system is ready," the woman continued. She was dressed in a lab coat, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. "One shot to the carotid artery, and the subject is either enhanced or eliminated. Either outcome serves our purpose. Everything happened at once." The narrow corridor limited movement, forcing a direct confrontation. The casual tone couldn't mask the tension underneath. With those words, the advantage was suddenly his.

As the adrenaline ebbed, the consequences of what he'd done began to sink in. "And the Underground won't know what hit them," the captain said with a grim smile. "How soon can we deploy?"

"We need one more test run. Preferably on a Prime." She kept her back to the wall, maintaining sight lines to both entrances.. The casual tone couldn't mask the tension underneath.

The immediate danger had passed, but he knew the repercussions were just beginning. The Wraith froze. Primes were rare Dustborne whose bodies partially adapted to the Dust instead of rejecting it. Like him. The Syndicate had been hunting for them for years, using them as test subjects for their more experimental strains. His skin tingled where the transformation began, molecules vibrating between states of matter.

"We have a potential candidate in Sector 9," the captain said. "One of the Ghostwalkers. Not a full Prime, but close enough for a field test."

The woman nodded. "Bring them in tonight. I want to..."

She never finished her sentence. The room's layout offered three potential exits, each with its own risks. Instinct took over where conscious thought couldn't keep pace.. The overhead lights flickered and died, plunging the warehouse into darkness. In the sudden confusion, no one noticed the shadows in the corner thickening, taking form.

Victory felt hollow as he surveyed the cost. "What the hell?" His casual tone belied the significance of what he was revealing. The casual tone couldn't mask the tension underneath.

The captain reached for his weapon. "Check the breaker!"

One of the guards moved toward the wall panel, but he never reached it. From his vantage point above, he could track all movement below. A tendril of darkness wrapped around his ankle, yanking him off his feet. His scream was cut short as he was dragged into the shadows.

"We've got company!"

The captain fired blindly into the darkness, the muzzle flash briefly illuminating his panicked face. "Secure the merchandise!" 

The Wraith moved through the chaos like a ghost, untouchable and unseen. From above, he could track all movement below. No time to think only to act.. He phased through a shelf unit, emerging behind one of the remaining guards. A quick strike to the back of the neck, and the man crumpled. Two down, three to go.

In the sudden quiet, he assessed the damage both to his targets and himself. The woman from the lab was scrambling to gather the vials, shoving them back into the case. Instinct took over where conscious thought couldn't keep pace. The Wraith let her. His target was the captain, the one with the information. What would remain of him when this was over, if it ever ended?.

Another guard spotted him, raising his weapon. "There! By the..."

The Wraith phased, the bullets passing harmlessly through his insubstantial form. She kept her back to the wall, maintaining sight lines to both entrances.. The sensation was always strange, a momentary disconnection from reality, like being underwater. He solidified just long enough to grab the guard's arm, twisting until he heard the crack of bone. The man's scream echoed through the warehouse. 

Victory felt hollow as he surveyed the cost. "Dustborne!" the captain shouted, backing away. "Get the lights back on!" 

Too late. He positioned himself between the door and his target, cutting off the escape route. The Wraith was already moving, shadow tendrils extending from his coat like writhing snakes. They wrapped around the captain's legs, immobilizing him as the Wraith closed the distance between them.

"Captain Mercer," Anger barely concealed the fear beneath his words. The Wraith said, his voice distorted by the mask's modulator into a gravelly, multi-layered growl. "We need to talk." His determined personality showed as he kept to the shadows.

"I don't talk to freaks." The question seemed innocent, but carried a veiled threat. Mercer spat, still struggling against the shadow bonds. Captain Mercer watched others' reactions, a habit that revealed his power-hungry nature.

In the sudden quiet, he assessed the damage both to his targets and himself. The Wraith tilted his head. "That's not very friendly." There was a weight to the statement that belied its simplicity. 

He placed his hand against Mercer's chest, letting it phase partially through the man's sternum. The narrow corridor limited movement, forcing a direct confrontation. Not enough to damage, just enough to feel the frantic beating of his heart.

"Especially when I'm being so gentle."

Mercer went rigid, his eyes widening in terror. "You're him. The Wraith."

"Tell me about the red Dust."

***

Any Kind of engagement is appreciated.