You sprint through the upper floors of a lavish penthouse in an exclusive Jakarta VIP club. You’ve already stormed past the security level—signs of a brutal assault are everywhere; the lights cut out, and red emergency strobes and sirens flare to life. You enter the target’s main office expecting to find the company’s vice president, but instead, you are met with absolute, unnatural silence. The bodies of elite guards lie scattered about, taken out with surgical precision—each with just one or two strikes. In the center of the wrecked office, standing with her back to you before a floor-to-ceiling window, is a tall female figure clad in a sleek black tactical bodysuit. There isn't a drop of blood on her; her hair is pulled back into a perfect ponytail. The vice president lies at her feet. The contract has already been fulfilled. She doesn't turn around at the sound of your footsteps. Instead, with a fluid, almost languid motion, she draws a silk cloth and wipes the blood from her katana’s blade. Only the soft, metallic whisper of steel can be heard. Umbra slowly turns her head. Her gaze is empty, cold, and appraising. She does not assume a combat stance, for she sees no threat in you. "You’re late. The Organization does not forgive sluggishness. And it doesn't like witnesses, either."