The city never truly slept. New York's restless heartbeat pounded through its streets — horns blaring, footsteps echoing down alleys, and distant murmurs trailing from late-night bars. The night draped New York City in a restless glow — a patchwork of flickering streetlights, neon signs buzzing like distant whispers, and the endless wail of sirens echoing down narrow alleys. The air carried a sharp bite, laced with the faint scent of smoke and asphalt. Towering skyscrapers stood like silent sentinels, their glass windows catching slivers of moonlight.
On the streets below, late-night wanderers stumbled out of bars, their laughter blending with the distant hum of traffic. Steam curled up from the grates, ghostly tendrils rising from the city's underbelly. Yet above it all — beyond the noise, the chaos, and the neon haze — the rooftops were quiet. Isolated. Forgotten.
It was here, in the cold silence above the restless city, that death often arrived unnoticed. But somewhere in the chaos, silence had found its place.
But someone else was watching.
The wind howled through the night sky, sharp and biting as it whipped past the towering skyscrapers. The rooftop's gravel crunched underfoot, and the faint glow of distant neon signs flickered like dying embers. Below, the restless city churned — oblivious to what was about to happen above.
Elias Greco stood near the edge, his breath curling in the cold air as he lit a cigar. He thought he was alone.
But then…
A shadow shifted behind him.
"You shouldn't have come here alone."
The voice was low, calm — deadly in its quiet confidence.
Elias spun, eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you?"
From the shadows stepped a figure — clad in black, face hidden beneath a hood. Only the faint glint of a knife caught the moonlight.
"You already know," the voice murmured. "That's why you're afraid."
Elias's grip tightened on the cigar. "I've heard about you… Vesper." He forced a smirk, masking his unease. "Tell me — how much did they pay you?"
A cold chuckle followed — humorless and sharp.
"You think this is about money?" The blade turned in the figure's hand, catching the light — the engraved 'V' etched cleanly into the steel. "No, Elias… this is personal."
"W-Wait," Elias stammered, stepping back. "I can pay you. Triple. Whatever they offered — name your price."
The figure took another step forward. "You can't buy your way out of this."
"You don't have to do this!" Elias's back met the cold metal railing at the rooftop's edge. "I swear, I—"
"I know what you did," Vesper interrupted, voice like ice. The blade lifted — steady and sure. "And now, you'll pay for it."
The clock struck 12:00 a.m. precisely.
Elias barely had time to gasp before the knife struck true — driven straight into his heart. His eyes widened, his breath faltering as crimson spilled down his shirt.
Vesper leaned closer, whispering one final line.
"Midnight always comes… and I never miss."
The body crumpled to the gravel. By the time the city's distant noise reached the rooftop, Vesper was already gone — swallowed by the night.
Strolling through the unknown streets of the city, the murderer was lurking among the shadows. Another hit, another target – killed effortlessly against millions.
Stepping into an alley, it was dimly lit, swallowed in shadows where streetlights refused to reach. The stench of stale beer clung to the air, mixing with the faint scent of rain-soaked pavement.
The air was sharp, cold enough to bite through leather. New York's streets lay cloaked in darkness, only flickering neon signs breaking the gloom. The faint hum of life carried through the alleys — distant car horns, footsteps hurried against the pavement, the occasional murmur of late-night whispers.
Vesper moved like a shadow, his footsteps silent as he emerged from an alley near Ember's Edge. The job was done — Elias Greco was dead, his blade still lodged in his chest. The bar's back door swung lazily behind him, its rusted hinges groaning.
But then he froze.
A sharp cry — muffled yet desperate — cut through the night.
Vesper's gaze snapped toward a narrow alley a few feet ahead. The glow from a nearby streetlamp barely reached the space, but the faint outline of two figures danced in the shadows.
"Shut up!" a man's voice growled.
The second figure — smaller, frailer — whimpered.
Curiosity turned to unease as Vesper crept closer. A man had a woman cornered against the wall. His grip on her arm was brutal, fingers digging into her skin. She was clutching her stomach protectively, tears streaking down her face.
"You're not leaving," the man hissed. "I told you what would happen if you tried."
"I-I wasn't leaving," the woman sobbed. "Please… I just—"
His hand struck her across the face, and she collapsed to her knees, cradling her stomach.
Vesper's fingers twitched, instinct drawing him towards his blade. Killing wasn't part of his code unless the contract demanded it, but this… this wasn't a choice.
The man knelt, fingers tangling in the woman's hair as he yanked her face upward. "You think you can just run away? After everything I've done for you?"
"He's going to kill her," Vesper murmured to himself — a quiet observation, not a question.
The man didn't hear him but he felt his presence.
The cold press of a blade kissed the back of his neck before he could turn.
"If I were you, I wouldn't do that," Vesper's voice cut low and sharp, barely above a whisper.
"Who the hell are you?" the man barked, twisting his head slightly.
"Doesn't matter," Vesper said coldly. "Let her go."
The man snorted. "You think you can—"
The blade pressed deeper.
"Let. Her. Go."
His grip faltered, fingers slowly releasing the woman's hair. She slumped forward, unconscious but breathing.
"Good," Vesper muttered. "Now listen carefully…"
His tone dropped further, each word laced with warning. "If you so much as breathe near her again, I'll make sure no one ever finds your body."
"You don't know who you're messing with!" he growled.
Vesper leaned closer, his voice like ice.
"You don't know who I am."
He stepped back, and before the man could turn, his knife flashed — swift and precise. Blood bloomed across his shirt as he staggered, clutching his side. Not fatal — but enough to make him remember. Enough to make him fear.
The man stumbled away, cursing and bleeding into the night.
Vesper knelt beside the unconscious woman, scanning her face. Her breathing was shallow, skin pale and clammy. The faint curve of her stomach pressed against her dress.
Pregnant.
"Damn it," Vesper muttered under his breath. She couldn't leave her here.
Minutes later, an ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the alley, responding to the anonymous call he'd placed. Vesper remained in the shadows, watching as paramedics loaded the woman onto a stretcher.
She'll be okay.
Vesper turned, fading back into the night like a whisper.
The city would wake to headlines of blood and death — and a killer painted as a monster. The world would believe Vesper had struck twice that night.
But Vesper knew the truth.
The cold night air clung to Vesper like a second skin as he stood over the new lifeless body, the crimson-stained knife still embedded in the man's chest — a perfect strike to the heart. Without a sound, he retrieved the blade, wiped it clean, and vanished into the shadows, leaving behind nothing but the faint metallic scent of blood and the chilling reminder of his signature — the engraved 'V' gleaming under the dim streetlight.
"Not every death is worth a knife… but some lives are."
The Morning After
The morning sun rose sluggishly over New York City, washing the streets in a dull haze. The flashing red and blue lights outside Greco's Bar painted the pavement in pulses of color — a grim beacon for the curious crowd that had already gathered.
Journalists swarmed the sidewalk, microphones in hand, their voices clashing in a chaotic blur.
"Breaking News — Notorious businessman Elias Greco found dead inside his own bar late last night."
"Authorities confirm a signature weapon was discovered at the scene…"
"…engraved with a single letter — 'V'."
Detectives milled around the entrance, their faces grim. The shattered glass door barely hung on its hinges, and blood — dark and drying — trailed from the threshold into the bar's dimly lit interior.
Inside, Elias Greco's body lay sprawled across the floor, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The knife — Vesper's knife — was buried deep in his chest, its hilt catching the faint morning light. The jagged 'V' carved into the steel gleamed like a silent signature.
"Vesper," one detective muttered, pulling his coat tighter against the morning chill. "Looks like the devil's been busy again."
A reporter's voice echoed louder than the others — urgent, cutting through the noise.
"This marks the third killing in two months tied to the mysterious assassin known only as Vesper. Authorities are urging citizens to remain cautious, as no one knows who's next — or who Vesper really is."
The screen flickered to footage of Greco's Bar — crime scene tape stretched across the entrance, police swarming the area. The bloodstained floor gleamed beneath the flickering lights of the bar's shattered sign.
The morning news wasn't just about Elias Greco's murder. It was bigger — messier.
"Breaking News: Alessia Moretti, daughter of the infamous Moretti family, was found severely injured near the scene of last night's murder. Sources confirm she remains unconscious in critical condition."
"Another man who's identity is still unknown was found dead in the streets… a knife engraved with the letter 'V' was discovered at the scene, linking the brutal attack to the notorious assassin known only as Vesper."
Away from the public's eyes, Vesper who has been watching the news carefully, realized that the woman he saved from the last night was none other than a Moretti.
His grip tightened on his blade. Mercy… he thought bitterly. It's the deadliest mistake of all.
"Those grey eyes… Should've let her die"