It’s dark, too dark. My eyes are beginning to adjust, allowing me to see in the darkness. My right eye aches—I don't know what's happening. Where am I? My hands and feet are tied to a wooden chair. Tight. I sigh.

I am a gambler, a drunkard, using my wife's death as an excuse for my downfall. How pathetic.

Footsteps. Getting closer.

A faint light seeps through the slightly opened door, illuminating a corner of the room. Gradually, the door opens wider—too bright. The piercing light stings my eyes.

“You’re awake, you son of a bitch!”

Who is that? I wonder. As my vision clears, I see a burly man with a long scar running from his forehead down to his chin. The quintessential gangster look, clad in a well-fitted suit, resembling a mafia boss.

“You’re a tough one to keep alive! I thought you were just an urban legend in the underworld, you bastard! The top agent, José Vinge, ‘The Silver Phantom.’ You’ve got quite the reputation!”

He leans in closer, smirking, his eyes burning with intensity.

“And I mean quite the reputation. Do you feel that thing around your neck? That used to belong to you.”

Now I notice it—there is something around my neck.

“Headhunter,” he sneers. “The very tool you used to slice the throats of people like me with just the push of a button, like taking out the trash. How ironic.”

I look up at him and ask, “What do you want?”

He exhales sharply, turning to me with a look of disdain.

“You don’t remember who I am after you wiped out my entire family in one night?” His voice hardens. “You killed three children that night. Two boys and a girl. You used this to kill them.”

He steadies himself, straightening his tie.

“I’m no saint. Never did anything good. I’ve killed children, too. I may be a villain, but you—you’re a monster! You burned two kids alive in the fireplace of that house, you sick fuck!”

He coughs, reigning in his anger. I look up at him and calmly say,

“It was just a job. Nothing personal. Not that I remember. You know how it is—I’ve killed too many.” I smirk.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem angry at my words. If anything, he looks like he’s suppressing something. He places his hands on a table beside him, where an assortment of torture tools is laid out. Exhaling, he stares at the wall ahead.

“You really don’t remember having two daughters with that woman?” He scoffs. “Or that her family took them in while their father was too busy drowning in alcohol? You might be the number one agent, but compared to the idiots out there, you’re even dumber.”

My mind races.

“A daughter?” I whisper. “How do you know that?”

Still leaning on the table, he glances at me.

“I have my sources. I caught ‘White Tiger’ Soran Hasan. He spilled everything about your daughter’s location in exchange for his life.”

So, my old comrade sold me out.

“The organization never had any information on you—your file was top-secret, classified as an S-level threat. ‘The Silver Phantom.’ A legend. But your teammate? He was too weak.”

He chuckles.

“Of course, I kept my word. I let him go. But whether my men let him live—well, that’s another story. He even offered to help me find your daughters. But I like to handle my work personally.”

The bastard laughs maniacally before turning to one of his men.

“Bring one of them in.”

He walks back to me, resting both hands on the arms of my chair, his face inches from mine.

“Aren’t you excited? I’m about to recreate some fond memories for you.”

He doesn’t want to kill me. He wants me to watch.

Footsteps echo from the hall. I know he’s not bluffing. I shift slightly and feel the restraints—he didn’t tie me with rope. It’s another Headhunter. I feel something on my legs, too. The sensation on my back—it’s rough.

Noticing my movements, he grins.

“You feel it now, don’t you? There’s a trigger behind you. One wrong move, and boom—you’ll lose your limbs.”

He clasps his hands behind his back, his voice lowering.

“But you won’t die. Not yet. That’s my promise to you.”

He gestures to his lackey.

“Bring me one of those dentist’s mouth openers. Now!”

The footsteps stop. A small girl, blindfolded, stands at the entrance.

They haven’t hurt her—yet. But I can feel her fear. Even through the cloth covering her eyes, her terror is palpable.

The man kneels, his tone sickeningly sweet.

“What’s your mother’s name, sweetheart? Do you know it?”

The girl trembles. “M-my mother’s name is Laviece Solista.”

His gaze flicks to me, as if waiting for confirmation. I say nothing. He smirks.

“‘The Black Cat’ Solista. You really are a lucky bastard.”

Yes. Lucky. Every time I close my eyes, I can see her. Every detail.

Her long black-brown hair, sharp eyes, and delicate features. That mesmerizing voice. Her golden-brown skin that glowed under the sunset.

A woman so breathtaking, so deadly. The underworld used to say:

"Her beauty is the very definition of divinity.
Countless men see her as the goddess in their hearts."

She was our sniper, a legend among assassins.

I have to save this child. But how?

As if reading my mind, the bastard grins.

“You like to gamble, don’t you? Let’s roll some dice.”

I glare at him, exhaustion lacing my voice.

“You’re insane.”

He doesn’t care. Whether I beg, fight, or plead—it won’t change the outcome. He wants me to suffer.

He sits across from me, rolling two dice in a bowl. They clatter, stopping at a six and a five—eleven points.

Then, they roll for me. Five and three—eight points.

He laughs. “I win. That’s three fingers, right? Make sure to cut different ones—it sounds better that way.”

The girl doesn’t even realize what’s coming.

I watch as they take her hand. The cigar cutter clamps down.

She screams.

Tears mix with blood as she rubs her face, only to smear it further. Her cries for her mother rip through the room.

Then, he rolls again.

This time, he loses.

He grins at me. “You win. Pick: teeth or nails?”

I say nothing.

He smirks. “Silence means nails.”

They rip them out one by one.

She faints.

He orders them to wake her—with cold water.

Then, he loses patience.

“Forget it. Burn her arm.”

They bind her, spread her arms. The flame ignites.

Her screams echo in the suffocating heat.

The smell of burning flesh fills my lungs.

I watch as her skin chars—blackening, cracking. Blood drips from her severed fingers.

Then, silence.

She’s dead.

My body reacts, retching.

He laughs. “Enjoying the show?”

I said nothing, keeping my face emotionless. I looked into his eyes—there was no need for words between men like us. He could see exactly what I wanted to say through my gaze: "I will kill you." Raw. Brutal. Unfiltered.

He smirked, satisfied, then turned to his subordinates.
"Bring the other one in."

The image of that "other one" flashed through my mind. My child. My wife. Walking through the streets together, hand in hand. Our eldest daughter—she must be eight by now. I don’t know what she looks like after all these years, but I remember her eyes. She had her mother’s eyes, shimmering like gold under the sunset.

Footsteps echoed closer, stopping at the entrance of the room. And then I saw them—those golden eyes, unmistakable. I recognized her instantly, and she recognized me.

"Father! What’s happening? I’m scared!"

She used to fit in the palm of my hand. Now she was so big. That black hair, that face—it was just like her mother’s. I never imagined our reunion would happen under such circumstances. But I always knew this day would come. I had too many enemies.

I had been betrayed. I thought I would die in some forgotten corner of the world, my body rotting away in obscurity. Only the Organization knew my location. And the whereabouts of my family? Only one person knew that.

The Organization had sold me out. I was their sharpest weapon when wielded, but a threat when left unchecked. They gave my location away to these men, using them to remove a thorn from their side—me. And yet, they still maintained their false integrity, still used my name to lure talented individuals into their ranks, deceiving them into selling their souls. I had overestimated myself. Loyalty, honor—they no longer had a place in this world. I had grown complacent, letting my guard down. This was my punishment.

I didn’t blame them for betraying me.

I blamed myself for allowing it to happen.

If I hadn’t been captured, maybe those children would have simply been given a bullet to the head—quick, painless.

I opened my mouth. My voice was low, broken. I had fallen.
"I beg you… kill me. But let the child go."

His eyes widened, caught off guard.
"Did I hear that right? You’re begging me?"

Then he laughed. Loud, cruel, victorious.
"Fine. Because you amused me, I’ll let the little girl go."

He released her, stepping aside as if inviting her to walk away. I lifted my head and shouted:
"Go! Now!"

Her teary eyes lingered on me for a moment. But then, she turned and ran through that door.

I was relieved. She didn’t see the other child’s corpse, tied up in the corner of the room.

The madman leaned in close, whispering in my ear:
"You know… you could’ve saved the other one too, if you had begged me like that sooner."

Lies.

Even if I had begged from the start, he would have burned both children alive before my eyes. He just wanted to see me break. He wanted to see the face of a man like me, filled with despair.

I gave him what he wanted, so my daughter could at least die a painless death.

Now, I had no regrets.

Suddenly, my body convulsed, shocking him and his men. In confusion, he shouted:
"What the fuck is happening?!"

I couldn’t hear him anymore.

Because I was already dead.

I had died the moment I swallowed all my rage. My heart had shattered, blood spilling from my lips. My mind held on just long enough to keep me conscious. But I had already died—when they cut off my daughter’s second finger. I had buried all my fury, all my grief, keeping my face calm, controlled.

I died because, despite being the strongest, I still failed to protect what mattered most.

All the skills I spent my life mastering—only good for killing. Just killing.

"I was once a great bird with mighty wings. Sometimes, I perched upon a fragile branch—not because I trusted the branch, but because I believed in my wings. The branch might hold me for a time, but it was never mine to rely on. My wings were mine alone. They were my power. And yet, I plucked my own feathers, forced myself to walk the earth, where rats and dogs could tear me apart."

Regrets? Yes. I regretted binding myself to the Organization’s chains, letting their laws restrain me. I let fear and paranoia control me. And I was arrogant because of it.

I regretted.

I raged.

I despaired.

I was tired… so tired…

And in the final moment of my life—

José Vinge, the so-called greatest agent, fell.

Blood poured from my ears, my eyes, my nose, my throat. My death came from a ruptured brain and a shattered heart.

The great bird with mighty wings died here.

Burned. Reduced to ashes.

And from those ashes—

Sandoc was born.