Upon waking, the first thing visible to him is a dimly lit ceiling of bare concrete. He stretched lightly, raising his upper body. He arched his back, tucking his arms back in towards his chest, scratching it through the dirty, sweaty cloth of his shirt.

  He tossed his shirt aside, wiping his wet body off with a towel as he remembered the dream. A dream so real it even surpassed reality. The dream where the one who dares challenge the Grandmaster is defeated and this world is controlled by the ultimate "god."

  Even if you do not know his name, mentioning the name of the rebel is forbidden. And no one has seen the Grandmaster, excluding the one who failed in his mission.

  Why did he dream of these things?

  Actually, it is also forbidden to look upon the Grandmaster's form, as well as probably even mentioning the struggle between the rebel and the Emperor. Nevertheless, it was real.

  He dreamed this nightmare every night since receiving the latest requisition from the agency several days ago.

  "Assassinate the Grandmaster."

  The contents of this request scare him. It is his duty to take action, to be unafraid of the "god," or the entire world becomes his enemy. One person of this agency instigated rebellion by receiving this duty, and the headquarters were afterwards devastated. Perhaps if the request goes unanswered for some time, it will lapse and expire. But there is no precedent for such a thing.

  Duty is accomplished faithfully. Also justice. And also injustice, with a certain degree of professionalism. The fact that the requesition happens to fall into a particular category is happenstance.

  A deafening roar shook the building he now occupied. The explosion of a large bomb? The terrorist group which occupies this town and Neo Hong Kong has started moving, somehow, forcing his hand. The Grandmaster is behind this, somehow, it seems.

  Temporarily, the room is lit. A light from the explosion issues from the window, lighting up the area where he stood, illuminating where you would expect a person to be. It also illuminated a spare change of clothing on the floor: shirt, pants, and shoes.

  The sleeper turned and donned the spare set of clothing, wrapping a red scarf around his neck to hide his mouth and the lower part of his face. His tunic was made of a dense purplish cloth, also his pants. It is altogether an odd appearance, hearkening more to the ninja of old than to today's fashions.

  He approached the first person, who appraised his movement. No abnormality, other than his clothes. He verified this, then turned his attention to the sword leaning on the wall, an optical sword, a Cypher. It checks out; there is no abnormality.

  This is the final judgment.

  The man checked over everything one last time, the secondary handle on the Cypher, the quality of the clothing, and disappeared off to the dangerous portion of town.

  He is Strider Hiryu, accomplishing your duty.