The red glow of the ring on his finger flickered one last time before fading into darkness, its faint warmth gone, leaving only cold, lifeless black. That could mean only one thing: time to suit up. He looked over at his kids, their innocent smiles reflecting a joy they would never understand. "Daddy's gotta go to work," he said, his voice a mere whisper.
They smiled wider, oblivious to the weight of his words. With a sigh, he slipped into his suit, the red tie now a shadow of its former self, black and silent. As he fastened his jacket, his gaze caught his reflection in the mirror—just a fleeting glance, but enough to remind him of who he had become.
A thought, and the gun materialized in his hand. He held it for a moment, its weight grounding him, a reminder of the power he wielded. Another thought, and it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Stepping out the door, he pulled out his phone, already scrolling through the bounty listings. His mind was sharp, focused on the task ahead. There it was. Another job. A few others caught his eye, but this one felt… right. Without hesitation, he tucked the phone back in his pocket, walked to the sleek Lamborghini parked outside, and slid into the driver's seat.
The car roared to life as he sped through the streets, its engine purring with a power that mirrored the churn of his thoughts. As the city passed by in a blur, he couldn't help but wonder how long he could keep up the charade. How long could he keep his family in the dark? They saw him as a protector, a provider, but they had no idea what he truly was—the monster he had become.
His mind wandered back to the past, to the day he first walked through the gates of the Contractor Academy, a young man who thought survival was the hardest thing he'd ever face. Growing up meant making choices, and those choices earned him the name Naka Not Nice. But that name was no longer enough. In time, he shed it entirely, replacing it with the name that truly fit—Not Nice.
He remembered the day he made the decision to trade away his ability to feel. He thought it would be an easy exchange, but he was wrong. The more lives he took, the more empty he became. With each mission, he got closer to perfection but further from the man he once was. Nakamaru faded, and in his place stood Not Nice—cold, calculated, and devoid of humanity.
Years of killing, years of achieving his goals, and then the Wraith Seal—a ring that gave him back a piece of what he had lost. The red glow of the ring and the red hue of his tie symbolized a fleeting return to humanity. But the rules were clear: once the glow faded, once the red faded from his tie, he would have to kill again to reclaim it.
Now, with a family of his own—a wife and children—he had something to fight for. They gave him a sense of purpose, something to hold on to in a life that had long been defined by darkness. He no longer worked just to survive. He worked to provide for them, to connect with them. But right now, he had run out of kills, and the emptiness was creeping back in. He couldn't feel anymore. And without that feeling, he was teetering on the edge—torn between the man he wanted to be and the killer he had become.
He thought about his wife, who never questioned the late nights, the vague excuses, the cold distance in his eyes. His kids thought he was invincible, a superhero in a suit. They didn't know the cost of the power he wielded—the cost of his soul.
But he couldn't stop now. He couldn't risk losing everything. If he didn't take the job, if he didn't make the kill, he would lose the only thing keeping him grounded—the feeling of being alive, even if just for a moment.
As the city lights grew brighter, his pulse quickened. Another job. Another life to take. Another step deeper into the abyss.
But this time, it felt different. This time, he could feel the emptiness closing in on him faster than ever before. He was running out of time, and when the ring finally went dark, he knew it would take more than just one kill to bring back the glow. It would take something much more, something darker, to reignite it.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, the city lights blurring into streaks of neon as he sped down the empty streets, his mind racing with thoughts of what he would have to do next.
A few minutes later, he pulled up to a rundown warehouse, his phone buzzing with the details of the mission. The target was inside. It was supposed to be a simple job—get in, get out. But as he stood there, the familiar tension in his muscles, the cool detachment that came with every mission, felt off this time. It wasn't just the target he was after. There was something more—something deeper—that he couldn't grasp.
He checked the ring again. It was dark, the red glow gone.
"Just a little more," he whispered, his voice almost lost in the silence. "Just a little more to feel something. To get it back."
With a deep breath, he pushed the thoughts aside, stepping into the warehouse. His footsteps echoed in the emptiness, the silence pressing down on him like the weight of the world itself.