Date:
December 11th, 10:47 PM, Year 2050 - Current
December 11th, Time Unknown, Year 2047 - Simulated
Location: Hope City, Financial Sector Rooftop
Code: J.H
For three years, one question has haunted me: Did we win the war—or did we lose the city by winning it? Sometimes I wonder if we should have stayed in our district instead of attacking. That thought weighs on me like a stone.
Gunshots cracked through the simulation, each one sharp as breaking glass. Troops ducked behind wrecked cars as bullets rained down, the metallic pings echoing off concrete. Now, watching it like an outsider, I questioned everything. How did Meridian's forces have this kind of firepower? We didn't have any of that advanced tech.
And yet... we won. Somehow.
Maybe it was passion. Maybe that's the most dangerous weapon in the world.
I stood in the middle of the street as bullets flew through me like I was made of air, the phantom heat of their passage brushing my skin. The simulation made even the pain feel distant—a dull ache in my chest where memories lived. My past self stood out in the chaos.
I was built like a tank back then. Broad frame, long blond hair tied back. Darius had me beat on height, but no one was bigger than me. I watched myself grin that wide, crazy grin I hate to remember. I looked like I enjoyed the killing.
My old self charged forward, weaving through bullets that should have killed him. No fear. Just adrenaline.
Then Joyce dropped beside me. My squad leader. Dead. A hole through his chest, blood pooling warm and thick beneath him. The copper taste of fear filled my mouth as I remembered this moment. This is when everything went wrong.
The sniper Lars's team was supposed to kill had taken out every soldier we sent after him. One by one, we lost people. As if he wasn't shooting individuals, but entire groups.
Then I saw it. Three soldiers dropped at the same time.
Past-Jack yelled, ducking behind cover. "How are those bullets getting through our shields?! What the hell is this?!"
I understood now. The sniper could bend bullet paths. Each round curved through the air like it had a mind of its own. No wonder they all died together.
"Lars, where are you?! We're getting slaughtered down here! Did you find the sniper or what?!"
Lars (over comms): "Patience, my friend. You're acting like a chicken with its head cut off."
Jack (past): "Talk normal for once!"
A bullet split my rifle in half. If I'd been a few inches forward, it would have hit my heart.
I didn't even realize Joyce was dead at the time. I was too caught up in the fight.
Comm chatter: "I've secured the top floor. Moving to the control room." "Copy. I'm on Level 4. Min, is Meridian still in position?" "Yes. Still there, Commander." "I have eyes on the sniper. Moving in."
I turned toward the office building where Lars was.
Jack: "Simulation: Pause."
Everything froze. The bullets hung in mid-air, the blood stopped flowing.
Jack: "Give me coordinates for that rooftop and transfer me to Lars's position."
System: "Coordinates acquired. Transferring to Building 7, Level 12 rooftop."
The street scene dissolved around me. When it reformed, I was standing on the rooftop.
There he was.
A man in black armor, lying flat with his rifle. Long brown hair tied back, sweat glistening on his neck. A diamond-shaped mark on his forehead glowed softly, pulsing like a heartbeat. His face was calm, with an eerie smile that made my skin crawl. Waiting.
A bullet hung in the air, inches from his head.
Jack: "Resume."
The bullet hit the tiles beside him.
Unknown Sniper (without turning): "And I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven..."
He stood slowly, rifle still in hand.
Lars (stepping from the shadows): "You flew too high, friend. Thought you were hunting prey, but you were chasing the sun."
Lars's voice was steady, but I could see something in his posture—a slight tension in his shoulders. The way he held his rifle reminded me of how he'd looked that morning before the mission, staring at a photo he kept tucked in his vest. I never asked who it was. Maybe I should have.
Sniper: "The hawk was wise. It reached heaven before it fell."
He turned with that same unsettling smile, like this was the best part of his day.
Sniper: "You're not one of Meridian's boys, are you? No uniform, and you move too clean. I like surprises. What's your name?"
Lars: "Names are for friends."
Sniper: "And here I thought we were getting along."
Lars: "You killed half my squad."
The words came out harder than usual. Lars never showed emotion, but something about the way he said "my squad" told me it wasn't just about the mission. These weren't just soldiers to him—they were his responsibility. His burden.
Sniper: "I spared the other half. You should thank me. I only kill when I'm interested. Your little team? They bored me."
Lars: "Those bullets make music to you?"
Sniper: "They sing. Each one has a different note. Yours was off-key."
Lars fired three shots from different angles.
The sniper moved like he was dancing. His body twisted between the bullets like the air was telling him where they'd go. He rolled sideways, came up in a crouch, and fired once.
The bullet curved around a rooftop antenna, bounced off a metal beam, and hit Lars in the shoulder.
Lars (grimacing): "Son of a bitch..."
His hand went to the wound instinctively, and for just a moment, I saw him wince—not just from pain, but from something deeper. The way someone does when they realize they might not make it home. That photo in his vest pocket suddenly felt heavier.
Sniper: "No weapon forged against me shall prosper."
Jack (narrating): He shouldn't have known Lars was there. No sound, no line of sight. Lars was our best ghost. This wasn't just skill. This was something else.
Lars: "You sound like a preacher. But all I see is a killer."
Sniper: "Faith and fire, stranger. But mostly... fun."
Lars charged with his knife out.
The sniper dropped his rifle and met him halfway.
Steel hit steel with sharp, ringing clashes that cut through the night air. Sparks flew like tiny stars. Lars slashed wide. The sniper ducked, drove an elbow into Lars's ribs with a wet thud, then spun and hit him with his knife handle. Lars stumbled but came back with a knee that caught the sniper's chin with a sickening crack.
The sniper laughed.
Sniper: "Now that was entertaining."
He blocked Lars's next attack, stepped in close, and headbutted him in the nose. Blood sprayed everywhere, hot droplets hitting the concrete with tiny splashes.
Lars shoved him back and pulled out a second knife.
Lars: "You want fun? Let's finish this."
But I could see it in his eyes now—the calculation. Not just tactical, but personal. He wasn't fighting to win anymore. He was fighting to make sure this monster never got to anyone else's squad. Never got to hurt whoever was in that photo.
Lars spun forward, both knives flashing. The sniper bent backward as the blades missed by inches. He pulled his pistol and fired three shots while spinning into cover behind a ventilation unit.
The last shot hit Lars in the thigh. He dropped to one knee.
Lars's hand pressed against the bleeding wound, his breathing shallow. For a split second, his eyes went distant—like he was seeing someone else's face. "Still better than watching Joyce bleed out," he muttered under his breath. "At least I can fight back this time."
Sniper (walking forward): "This fight was never yours. You were just... placed here. To amuse me."
He licked blood from his thumb like it was wine.
Comm (from Jack's file): "Jack, get out. Lars is down. Sniper's still active. Abort mission."
Jack (narrating): We weren't supposed to win this. We won because he let us.
The sniper paused. His eyes stayed on Lars, not with anger—but curiosity. Like a kid looking at a broken toy.
Sniper: "You know... you're not the first to stand here. Not even the first today. You're just... placed. Right where we need you. Pawns always are."
He crouched beside Lars and tilted his head.
Sniper (smiling): "The Unit always wins. That's the real joke. Even when you think you've left the game, you're still playing."
He pulled out a thin, jagged knife.
Sniper: "I've got time to kill. Tell me—what's your name again? I want to know what to carve first."
Lars (spitting blood): "Go to hell."
His voice was weaker now, but there was something else there—defiance mixed with resignation. Like a man who'd already accepted what came next but refused to make it easy.
Sniper (laughing): "Been there. Wasn't impressed. But you can call me Morningstar."
Jack (narrating): That name. I'd heard whispers about him in the underground. The Unit's ghost. The one who could kill you three different ways before you knew you were dead.
And now I knew why we really won that day.
Morningstar: "Have you ever been tortured before, Lars?"
The question hung in the air like smoke. I watched Lars's face go pale, his breathing shallow and ragged. But his eyes... his eyes went somewhere else. Somewhere painful.
"Once," Lars whispered, his voice barely audible. "But they wanted information. You just want to watch me scream."
Morningstar tilted his head, intrigued. "And did you? Scream?"
Lars looked up at him, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Not for them. Won't for you either. Some things are worth more than pain."
His hand moved slightly toward his vest pocket—toward that photo. Protecting it even now.
Morningstar: "Admirable. Pointless, but admirable. Let's see how long that resolve lasts."
Then I heard it. A soft chime from my comm system. A message notification.
Jack: "Simulation: Pause."
Everything froze again. I pulled up the message display, my hands trembling slightly.
Unknown Sender: "Beautiful work, Jack. The simulation data is... illuminating. Phase One is nearly complete. Soon, Meridian will understand what real power looks like. - A Friend"