The Man Who Was Never in the Story: MK-0 Protocol
Hours had passed since the Central Ascadra Bank robbery was thwarted. No one knew who the perpetrators were, and even fewer knew who had stopped them. The media called it a "Mysterious Heroic Act"—like a late-night cartoon episode. The police called it "illegal." The government? Silent, as always.
But deep beneath a city pretending to be stable, two souls knew: this was just the beginning.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
That night, Broxtler's underground base was quieter than usual. The main screen displayed encrypted code patterns, movements of the dark web, and faint signals from a shadow organization: VORDA—a name never mentioned in official reports, yet its roots reached deeper than the Parliament building itself.
Shyblance sat in front of the second monitor, her eyes scanning the endless stream of data.
"Are they even... human?" she murmured. "People who would burn cities for control. Kill children for numbers. Sell bodies like clearance clothes."
Adilof didn't answer immediately. He stood up, unfastening part of his armor. A deep purple bruise stretched across his chest—a reminder of the fight earlier.
"It's not about whether they're human or not," he whispered. "It's about who made them. A system that sells obedience and turns violence into policy."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
Shyblance stayed silent. But it wasn't out of fear—more a realization that the world wasn't broken; it was designed this way.
"All of this... the gear, the data, your skills, weapons," she said, looking at him. "No way it all came from selling grey paintings."
Broxtler's gaze shifted slightly. An old wound reopened. "I wasn't alone," he said softly.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
Shyblance stepped toward the side table, where a stack of nearly extinct paper files sat. One folder was marked in small letters: J . S .
Her fingers brushed the folder. She didn't ask—but her eyes were full of questions.
"Josepo Staline. Your father?"
Broxtler didn't respond. But before another word could be spoken, the hallway lights flicked on automatically. Slow footsteps echoed. The sound of old metal shoes against steel floors.
A shadow entered before the man himself. White hair. Trim beard. A worn leather jacket. Round glasses, cracked slightly on the right lens. A face that had lived through a thousand sleepless nights.
Josepo Staline.
He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He just stared. But his gaze… it was as if he already knew Shyblance long before this meeting.
Shyblance froze. She stepped back half a pace—not from fear, but instinct. A feeling she couldn't explain.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
"He's… your father?"
Adilof stayed silent.
So did Josepo. Until he finally spoke:
"This kid," he said, glancing at Adilof, "couldn't even throw a proper punch. His hands were too soft. Too fond of drawing. Too honest for a world that loves to bury its scars."
Josepo's voice was deep and firm, not intimidating—more like someone who had argued with death and was disappointed by how little had changed.
"I taught him how to fight, not to make him strong. But so that when the world punched back, he'd still be able to stand."
He placed a small case on the metal table. A soft click sounded as the biometric lock engaged.
"I built this place too. Not to have a cool base. But because I knew—sooner or later, this city would need a space to hold what the light can't handle."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
Shyblance didn't say a word. But her eyes soaked in the history.
Josepo opened the case.
Inside:
An old document, handwritten in red: VORDA – INITIAL PROTOTYPE
An empty syringe, once used for DNA testing
A transparent chip the size of a fingernail, glowing faintly with metallic veins
"This... is what's left of a past we failed to burn," Josepo said.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
Shyblance looked at the chip, then at Broxtler.
"So what you're fighting… it's not just an organization. It's this city?"
Broxtler nodded. "Not the city. The system. The one that turns injustice into daily life."
Josepo stood in front of the main screen. "And that system has a shadow. Its name: VORDA."
Adilof inserted the chip into the console.
The screen lit up. The old VORDA symbol pulsed—like the city's heart beating through wires and code.
> VORDA PROTOTYPE: MK-0
Status: Integrated within city infrastructure
Primary Location: Undetected
"They're not just part of the city…" Shyblance whispered. "They are the city."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
The room grew heavy—not from danger, but from realization.
Josepo opened a wall safe. Inside was the original Broxtler armor. Worn. Cracked. But clearly once a life-saver.
"I wore this when I saved him in District N-9. He was only thirteen."
Shyblance was stunned. "You nearly died?"
"Plenty of times. But that night… was the first time I saw my father not as a watchmaker, but as a machine that protected honesty—with bloody hands."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
Suddenly, the lights dimmed. Not a glitch—an alert.
Someone was trying to access Broxtler's network from outside.
Josepo turned quickly. "It's started."
Adilof activated lockdown. Shyblance grabbed the signal jammer.
Josepo just said:
"The world we're fighting is waking up. But we've been awake far longer."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
And that night—for the first time—this war would not be fought by a lone masked man. But by two generations of rebels… and one witness finally learning to believe.