The Cyber Huntsman

Level One: The Game Begins

A high-pitched ping broke through the abyssal silence. He clicked on the alert. The name “Seraphiel” lit up in bright red — one of the senior NWO puppeteers. Seraphiel’s dialogue was infamous in the underground, a mix of faux-innocence and razor-wire cruelty.

The chat read:

Seraphiel: Meet tonight at the Ink Node. Bring the new “mask.” Or don’t. I love a challenge.

The Ink Node, Ewan thought, rubbing a hand over the three-day stubble on his jaw. A notorious hotspot deep within the digital and physical divide of the city. It was a dive bar in the heart of the Neo-Singapore slums, a meeting hub for cybercriminals, info-brokers, and mercenaries paid in crypto. If the NWO were calling for a meet, it meant one of two things: they were either getting sloppy or hunting someone big.

Level Two: Pieces in Motion

Hours later, as the artificial sun lamps buzzed in the smog-cloaked skies of Neo-Singapore, Ewan made his way through the streets. His leather jacket, now dusted with grime from alley scrapes, glistened faintly under the neon lights. He carried a small, translucent briefcase with blue liquid pulsing through its circuits—an illusionary device that would project a mask mimic. If Seraphiel thought Ewan was delivering a new victim, perhaps they’d reveal a piece of their larger operation.

The Ink Node was exactly what Ewan expected: dim, pulsing with bass beats, and packed with bodies dressed in cybernetic modifications and neon threads. It stank of synthetic sweat and burnt hardware. At the corner of the bar, Seraphiel sat—his bare head tattooed with glowing binary numbers, his black robes draped in an unsettlingly ceremonial fashion. Next to him was a young woman, no older than twenty-five, wearing tattered jeans and a denim jacket, her face pale and eyes hollow. The new mask, Ewan guessed grimly.

“Huntsman,” Seraphiel said, his voice smooth but grating, “what an unexpected pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Ewan replied, dropping the briefcase onto the table with a dull click. His hands never strayed far from the knife strapped to his side. “Got what you asked for.”

“Ah,” Seraphiel whispered, leaning in with a wolfish grin. “Show me.”

Level Three: The Switch

With a swipe of his wristpad, Ewan activated the briefcase’s illusion preset. Instantly, the blue liquid moved, twisting upward like smoke into the form of a woman. Her hair was long, flowing, and black, her face a perfect mask of stoic beauty. The trolls clapped like children.

“Exquisite! You’ve outdone yourself, Huntsman,” Seraphiel said, leaning back with evident satisfaction. Then, with a flicker of malice, he added, “But you’re late. Punishment must be dealt.”

He snapped his fingers, and two figures emerged from the shadows, bulky men with cybernetic implants that glowed faintly under the club’s lights. They grabbed Ewan’s arms, but he didn’t flinch. In one seamless motion, he retracted the switchblade from his jacket sleeve and slit the power connection on one thug’s cyberarm, the limb collapsing into a tangle of wires.

The second swung at him, but Ewan ducked low, retaliating with a calculated uppercut to the jaw. The man crumpled. All eyes turned to him.

Seraphiel: Oh, so you’re one of those, aren’t you? The rogue vigilante who thinks he can clean up the filth of the web.

Ewan ignored the taunt, stepping closer to the girl. “You’re coming with me,” he told her. She stared at him, frozen in terror, but there was just enough resolve in her eyes to indicate she might follow.

Level Four: Endgame

The chaos erupted fast. Seraphiel yelled for his men, but Ewan had always been several digital steps ahead. His implanted neural gear sent a signal to his bike, parked just outside. Within seconds, the reinforced chrome vehicle came crashing through the bar’s glass wall.

He grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her onto the bike. The acceleration almost threw her off, but Ewan steadied her with a single strong arm. Behind them, Seraphiel’s voice echoed in fury, but they were already gone.

Racing through the smog-filled streets, Ewan turned toward her. “What’s your name?”

Girl: Sophia.

“Sophia,” he repeated. “Trust me, you’re safe now.”

For the first time, her lips curled faintly as the glimmer of hope broke through the exhaustion. Behind them, the city faded into a haze of danger and lost souls, but for Ewan, the hunt was never over—not until the NWO paid in full.

Genre: Cyberpunk Thriller

The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Cyberbullies Exposed - Online Hate Unmasked

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