Hope in the Abandoned

Ding!

Starter Pack Acquired:

Basic Killing Knife

Basic Assassin Uniform

Fancy Monocle

500 Moonlit Coins (MC)

The notification floated in front of me, glowing faintly. I squinted at the words, my mind still groggy from the strange warmth coursing through my body. Basic Killing Knife? Assassin Uniform? Fancy Monocle?

The absurdity of it all made me scoff, but my attention quickly shifted. The ache in my muscles had begun to subside, replaced by a strange sense of vitality. I clenched my fists, marveling at how steady they felt. Each passing second reinforced the reality of my regained abilities.

I ignored the system notification for now. There were more pressing concerns—like figuring out why I was here, what this "Moonlit Hitman Agency" was, and what had happened to the world outside.

That's when I heard it—a soft cough coming from my side.

I froze.

For thirty years, I had been alone, confined to the hollow silence of my own mind. Even in the chaos of this new reality, I had seen no signs of life. And now, someone—or something—was here.

My heart raced as I turned my head toward the sound.

An old man stood there, clad in a butler uniform that looked as though it had stepped out of another era. His appearance was immaculate: neatly combed gray hair, a sharp black suit, and white gloves that seemed impossibly clean given the dilapidated state of the world.

But his eyes... they were sharp and piercing, glinting with an unsettling mix of wisdom and amusement.

"Ah, good evening, sir," he said, bowing slightly. His voice was smooth, with a formal tone that seemed out of place amidst the chaos surrounding us.

"Who—who are you?" I stammered, my voice hoarse from disuse.

The old man straightened, adjusting his pristine gloves. "I am simply referred to as Sebastian, a humble servant of the Moonlit Hitman Agency. I have been waiting for you, sir."

"Waiting for me?" I repeated, narrowing my eyes. My instincts, dulled as they were, screamed caution. "How did you get here? And what is this agency?"

Sebastian smiled faintly. "Patience, sir. All in due time. But first, allow me to congratulate you on your recovery. It is no small feat, considering your... circumstances."

I took a step back, glaring at him. "Cut to the chase. What do you want from me?"

The butler sighed, his smile fading. "Very well. If you insist on brevity, I shall oblige. The Moonlit Hitman Agency, as you may have gathered, is in dire straits. In fact, it barely exists anymore. Its founder was killed before the agency could even take root, and now, its remnants fall to you."

"Me?" I barked a laugh, though it was tinged with bitterness. "What makes you think I'm the right person for this? I've been a cripple for three decades, stuck in a bed, unable to move or speak. And you expect me to rebuild some—some fantasy assassin group?"

Sebastian remained unruffled, his expression calm. "You underestimate yourself, sir. The system chose you, and the system does not make mistakes."

"Right," I muttered, crossing my arms. "And why exactly would this 'system' choose someone like me? I don't buy it."

The butler's gaze softened. "Because, sir, you are uniquely qualified. Few understand despair as intimately as you do. Few have experienced the crushing weight of betrayal, the loss of everything they held dear. And yet, here you stand, defying the odds."

I clenched my jaw, his words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit.

"And let us not forget," he continued, his voice steady, "you were once a man of remarkable skill—a martial artist whose name echoed through the world. You may think those days are behind you, but the system saw potential. It always does."

I turned away, my fists tightening. He was right—I had been someone once. A warrior. A fighter. But those days felt like a lifetime ago, buried under years of pain and helplessness.

Sebastian stepped closer, his tone softening. "You have a choice, sir. You can remain here, dwelling on what you've lost. Or you can seize this opportunity to rebuild—to create something greater than yourself."

His words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning.

I stared at the floor, the weight of his proposition pressing down on me. Could I really do it? Could I rise from the ashes of my former life and forge something new?

The glowing notification from earlier reappeared, as if to punctuate the butler's speech.

Starter Pack Acquired:

Basic Killing Knife

Basic Assassin Uniform

Fancy Monocle

500 Moonlit Coins (MC)

The absurdity of the items almost made me laugh. A monocle? Really? But even as I scoffed, a flicker of curiosity stirred within me. What would happen if I accepted this challenge?

Before I could answer, Sebastian spoke again. "Allow me to provide some context, sir. The Moonlit Hitman Agency was founded on principles of precision, discipline, and unparalleled skill. It sought to bring order to chaos, to operate in the shadows for a greater purpose."

"Order?" I asked, my voice laced with skepticism. "From a hitman agency?"

Sebastian nodded, unfazed by my tone. "Indeed. The agency was more than a collection of assassins. It was a legacy—a way to balance the scales when the world tipped too far into disorder. Unfortunately, that legacy was cut short when its founder fell during his third mission."

I frowned. "What happened to him?"

"The details are murky," Sebastian admitted, his gaze growing distant. "But it is said that he underestimated his target—a mistake that cost him everything. The agency crumbled soon after, its resources scattered and its name forgotten."

"And now you want me to rebuild it," I said, the weight of the task sinking in.

"Yes, sir," Sebastian replied, his tone earnest. "With your leadership, the Moonlit Hitman Agency can rise again. But it will not be easy. The world has changed, as you've no doubt noticed. Chaos reigns, and dangers lurk around every corner. You will need to adapt, to grow stronger, and to reclaim the agency's former glory."

I stared at him, the enormity of his request swirling in my mind. Part of me wanted to laugh in his face, to dismiss his words as delusions. But another part—the part that remembered the fighter I used to be—felt something stir.

Hope.

It was faint, barely more than a whisper, but it was there.

I took a deep breath, my hands steadying. "All right, Sebastian. I'll play your game. But if this is some kind of sick joke, I swear—"

The butler's lips curved into a small smile. "You won't regret it, sir. Now, shall we begin?"

I nodded, the resolve in my chest hardening. Whatever lay ahead, I would face it head-on. For the first time in thirty years, I felt alive.

And I wasn't about to let that feeling slip away.