It was a night like any other in the city of Wakanda—bright lights, noise, and filth wrapped in a glittering disguise. Skyscrapers sparkled like stars, but their glow was fake, much like the smiles of politicians grinning in front of cameras while hiding rot behind closed doors.
The moon hung tired in the sky. But there was one place untouched by its light. A towering building stood in shadow, as if even the moon refused to acknowledge its presence.
I'm Renavira—Agent 06 of PRHK, the People's Protectorate for the Eradication of Crime. My current assignment: infiltrate and monitor Bagesa Sambo, a member of the RPD suspected to be the mastermind behind one of the country's largest corruption scandals.
"Damn, this elevator's deep," I muttered as I watched the floor number hit 56.
Next to me was another bodyguard—silent, tall, and built like a truck. Let's just call him "Body." He didn't talk much, but the way his eyes scanned the halls... he knew something was off too.
Sambo finally exited the elevator and entered a private office. Before shutting the door, he said coldly:
"Wait outside. No one comes in."
We both nodded.
And then... nothing.
I assumed he was working late. But as hours ticked by—three in the morning, to be exact—there was still no movement. Not a single sound from the room.
I looked at Body. He looked back, equally uneasy.
"Boss... you in there?" I knocked on the door.
No reply.
I tried the handle. Locked. But not just locked—it felt reinforced. Like it was sealed from the inside.
Body was breathing faster now. The tension in the hallway grew heavier.
"You feel this too, right? Something's wrong."
He nodded silently.
"BANG!" I kicked the door open.
"Boss—are you alri—"
Body couldn't finish his sentence. His voice died in his throat.
And me? I froze.
The sight inside the room burned itself into my memory.
Bagesa Sambo sat slouched in his office chair. His torso was hollowed out—his internal organs gone. All that remained was his heart, hanging from his neck like a grotesque pendant.
I stepped closer in shock. On his forehead, scrawled in thick blood, was a single word:
"GUILTY"
I forced my voice out. "Body—call the police. And an ambulance. Now."
He reached for his comms, but—
"BEEP. BEEP. BEEP."
A timer.
"MOVE BACK!!" I yelled.
Too late.
BOOOOOOM!!
The explosion was massive. It didn't just destroy the room—it collapsed the entire floor. The building began to crumble, dragging nearby structures into its collapse. Screams. Fire. Concrete raining down.
The city was silent no longer.
---
The next morning.
A young man walked down a sidewalk, hands in his hoodie pocket, headphones around his neck. He glanced up at a digital screen flashing the news.
"Last night's building collapse in Wakanda has claimed 478 lives, with 40 more injured. Authorities suspect the cause to be a malfunctioning electronic device... but it remains under investigation."
The man smirked. He turned down a narrow alley, reached a brick wall, and pulled a concealed pipe.
Click. A hidden door opened.
He walked inside, down a quiet hall, into a cramped room. He threw himself onto the mattress, raised one hand, staring at the ceiling.
"Next one," he whispered, smiling wide.
---
Elsewhere—at PRHK headquarters—chaos reigned.
Agents ran around, files in hand, shouting orders. Screens blinked red. Alarms rang.
I entered the main hall, my arm bandaged, face bruised. But I didn't stop. I had a mission to finish.
I barged into the Director's office.
Owoland Wins, the head of PRHK, sat behind his desk. His white hair and a scar on his forehead made him look like a battle-hardened general.
"You're here. So... it's all true?"
"Yes, sir. The building's gone. And RPD's Bagesa Sambo... he was executed."
"Executed? Explain."
I laid out the facts. The heart. The blood message. The explosion.
"This wasn't just murder. It was a statement."
Owoland narrowed his eyes.
"Do you think this was terrorism?"
I exhaled sharply. "With 478 casualties? Sir, this is far beyond personal revenge. This is an act of terror."
Another agent entered—my closest friend, Miko.
"But the style's off," Miko said. "Terror groups don't usually leave messages like that. This was personal. Symbolic. The killer wanted to send a moral verdict."
Owoland nodded slowly.
"Agreed. This isn't about destruction—it's about judgment. Someone out there thinks they're a... divine executioner."
"Or maybe this is just the beginning," Miko added. "A warning."
Owoland turned back to me.
"Renavira. This case is too sensitive to throw to every agent. You were there. You know the system. And... you want the truth."
I clenched my fist.
"Sir. I won't stop until I find the one responsible."
Owoland leaned back in his chair.
"Then your next mission begins now. Operation: Crimson Verdict. It's yours, Agent 06."
---
(Next up: investigation, cryptic messages, deeper conspiracies, and the unraveling identity of the "Executioner")