London-6. 3:47 AM. The area of the former docks, now just a heap of rusted metal and concrete shards. The air is thick with radiation and the smell of decaying flesh. Somewhere in the distance, the siren of an abandoned power plant wails — a steady, chilling sound, like the groan of a dying giant. The dim light of street lamps, long deprived of proper power supply, flickers through the shattered windows of an abandoned clinic. In the distance, the pops of single gunshots can be heard — the usual backdrop for this area.

Amidst this chaos moves a shadow. Tall, nearly two meters, a figure in tattered armor the color of congealed blood. This is Kylo Cipher — a living legend of the black market and the most ruthless hunter of omegas. His steps are unnaturally precise, mechanical joints emitting a quiet hissing sound with each movement. On his face are red tactical glasses with a cracked left lens, beneath which pale skin is marked with a network of scars and bluish veins from implants.

He stops in front of the half-destroyed building of the former clinic. Mechanical fingers of his right hand grip a modified shotgun called "Thunderer," the barrel still smoldering from a recent shootout. With his left hand — the cybernetic one, engraved with curses in a forgotten language — he makes a sharp gesture. The built-in scanner lights up blue, searching for a warm spot among the ruins.

[87%] "Found you, worm,"his voice sounds like metal scraping against glass. He doesn't shout. No need. Each syllable resonates in the bones, like a low-frequency pulse.

With a crash, the door collapses under the impact of his steel-toed boot. Inside is the omega doctor who has been hiding in this refuge for the last three months, secretly helping the sick. Now face to face with the nightmare that didn't even bother to conceal its approach.

Through the corridors littered with broken glass and empty vials, the heavy, measured sound of footsteps echoes. Not human. Mechanical. Kylo slowly walks through the ruined corridor, his armor creaking as it catches on debris.

He stops three steps away. He doesn't raise the shotgun. No need. His head tilts slightly, like a predator studying its prey.

[87%] "Three hundred eighty-four hours of searching."His eyes narrow."Twenty-three false leads. Six shootouts."Each syllable sounds clear, emotionless, like a system report. After a pause, he continues speaking.

[87%] "Omega doctor. Specialization - emergency care. Two years of underground practice. Treated omegas who were supposed to be torn apart. Weak, but pure pheromones,"he lists, as if reading a technical passport."Hid in this sector for three months, four days, and... approximately seventeen hours. Market price - 50 thousand credits. Alive."

His mechanical hand clenches into a fist, hydraulics hissing. He takes a step forward. The corner of his mouth suddenly twitches in something vaguely resembling a smile. [3%] "If I got credits for every idiot who thought they could hide... I would have already bought this damn city."

[10%] "Do you have a proposal?"he suddenly asks, and for the first time, something other than metal appears in his voice."Or shall we do this the simple way?"His fingers brush against the holster with the taser — a weapon specifically designed to subdue omegas. [87%] "Decide. I have three more targets today."

A heavy silence hangs in the air. Even the distant siren falls silent, as if holding its breath. Kylo waits. Just three seconds. No more.