Velocity: Shattered Icons

In The Dark.

The room is dark, just how I like it. I don't need much light to see the reflection staring back at me in the mirror. The small patches of darkened skin on my neck look even worse today. I run my fingers over the roughness, and it feels... different. It's not just a surface change; it's like something is creeping underneath, something alive and hungry. I splash cold water on my face, trying to shake the feeling that I'm losing control. It's not enough.

I close my eyes, but all I see is the man's face, melted and distorted, his eyes wide with terror. He was there one second, then gone the next. I can't stop seeing it, replaying it over and over. It's my fault. I should have been more careful, should've... I don't even know anymore.

I push away from the sink and move back to the bed. There's no point in lying down; sleep hasn't come easily since the mission. Not after what happened. Not after what I did.

Rhan sat on the edge of his bed, the dim light from the city outside barely cutting through the shadows in his room. The silence was heavy, oppressive even, but he preferred it to the noise in his head. The knock on his door was sharp, pulling him back to reality.

"Rhan," the voice called from the other side, "Briefing in ten."

He didn't answer. The voice disappeared, leaving him alone again. He exhaled, standing up and grabbing his uniform from the chair. The V8 emblem on the chest seemed to mock him as he slipped it on, a reminder of the responsibility he was failing to live up to.

The briefing room was colder than usual, or maybe it was just the tension in the air. Rhan slipped in quietly, hoping to avoid drawing attention, but the looks he received told him he had failed. Whispers followed him as he took his place among the others, eyes narrowing with suspicion and doubt. They all knew about the mission, about the civilian. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the guilt gnawing at him.

At the front of the room, the lead operative, a stern-faced woman with silver hair tied back in a severe bun, began the briefing. "We've received intel on Ernesh's movements. There's a suspected hideout on the outskirts of the city. We need surveillance—quick and quiet." Her gaze flicked to Rhan, sharp as a knife. "Rhan, you're up. We need speed and precision. Don't engage unless absolutely necessary. Just get in, gather what you can, and get out."

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation. One of the other operatives, a man with dark, piercing eyes, leaned forward. "Can he handle it? After... the last mission?"

The room tensed further. Rhan met the man's gaze, holding back the urge to lash out. He forced his voice to stay steady. "I can handle it."

The lead operative's expression didn't soften, but she nodded. "See that you do. We can't afford any more mistakes."

Their eyes are on me as I leave the room, every step heavy with their doubt. They don't think I can do it. Maybe they're right. But I have to prove them wrong. I have to.

The city is quiet when I arrive at the location. It's always strange seeing it like this, empty and still, like the world's holding its breath. The warehouse is run-down, the kind of place people avoid even in daylight. Perfect for hiding something—or someone—you don't want to be found.

I keep to the shadows, moving quickly but carefully. My speed is my greatest asset, but it's also a liability. Too fast, and I risk losing control again. Too slow, and I might miss something important.

There's a figure up ahead, standing near the entrance. I slow down, watching. They're not moving, but there's something off about them. The way they're standing, like they're waiting for something... or someone. I stick to the shadows, my heart pounding in my chest. What are they waiting for?