Assassins' Crib: Into the Deep World

The world outside moved like clockwork, each second dragging as if mocking Jay's mundane existence.

The rhythmic beeping of the convenience store register was the only sound breaking the silence of the graveyard shift.

Jay leaned against the counter, staring out the glass door as the neon "OPEN" sign buzzed faintly.

It wasn't just another night. The air felt different—thick, almost suffocating. Jay didn't want to admit it, but ever since his grandfather's death, the world around him had started to feel... off. Like as if it was never the same.

Shadows lingered longer than they should. Footsteps echoed even when no one was around.

"Maybe I'm just losing it," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

The clock struck 11:58 PM, and Jay began his nightly routine of closing up. He switched off the coffee machine, gathered the day's receipts, and flipped the sign to "CLOSED." The streets outside were deserted as usual, with only the occasional hum of a passing car.

Jay stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and began his walk home. The city felt eerily quiet tonight. The kind of quiet that made him glance over his shoulder every few steps.

OWas someone following him? He shook the thought away.

When he reached his apartment, he locked the door behind him and tossed his bag onto the couch. The space was small—just a single room with a kitchenette and a cramped bathroom.

It wasn't much, but it was home. Or at least, it had been when his grandfather was still alive.

Jay trudged to the bathroom to wash up. He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face. As he straightened up, his gaze caught his reflection in the mirror.

For a moment, everything seemed normal. His dark brown eyes stared back at him, tired but otherwise unremarkable. But then, something shifted.

His right eye darkened, the brown iris swallowed by an inky blackness that seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy.

Jay froze.

"What the hell?" he whispered, leaning closer.

The blackness spread, consuming his entire eye until it looked like a void. He blinked furiously, his heart pounding in his chest. But the black eye remained.

Suddenly, a faint hum filled the room, growing louder and louder. The mirror seemed to ripple, as though it were made of liquid. Jay stumbled back, knocking over a toothbrush holder.

And then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped.

Jay's reflection was normal again. No black eye. No ripples. Nothing.

He stood there, shaking, his mind racing for an explanation. Stress? Grief? A trick of the light? None of it made sense.

Jay backed out of the bathroom, leaving the light on. He collapsed onto the couch, clutching a pillow to his chest.

The image of his blackened eye replayed in his mind over and over until exhaustion finally pulled him into a restless sleep.

A sharp knock jolted Jay awake.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. The digital clock on his microwave read 7:15 AM. Who the hell was knocking this early?

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

Jay shuffled to the door, peeking through the peephole. Two figures stood in the hallway—a man and a woman, both dressed in sleek black suits. They looked completely out of place in his dingy apartment building.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Jay opened the door just a crack. "Yeah?"

The man was tall and lean, his sharp features softened only slightly by a faint smirk.

The woman, shorter but no less imposing, had a no-nonsense expression and piercing eyes that seemed to look straight through him.

"Jay Tomas?" the man asked, his voice smooth but firm.

Jay nodded slowly. "Who's asking?"

The woman stepped forward, her tone more measured. "We need to talk. May we come in?" ending the sentence with a faint smile.

Jay hesitated, gripping the door tightly. "Look, I don't know who you are, but I'm not interested in whatever you're selling."

The man's smirk widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We're not here to sell you anything, Jay. We're here to offer you a choice."

"A choice?" Jay repeated, confused.

"Let us in," the woman said, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "It's important."

Against his better judgment, Jay opened the door wider and stepped aside. The pair entered, their presence commanding despite their calm demeanor.

The man surveyed the apartment with mild disdain. "Cozy," he remarked, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve.

The woman ignored him and turned to Jay. "I'm Alina, and this is Victor. We represent an organization called the Assassin's Crib."

Jay blinked, convinced he'd misheard. "The what now?"

Victor chuckled. "It's a terrible name, I know. But trust me, the work we do is far from childish."

Alina shot Victor a warning glance before continuing. "Jay, your grandfather was one of us. One of the best, actually."

Jay's stomach dropped. "My grandfather? No, you must have the wrong guy. He was just... he wasn't anything like that."

Alina's expression softened, but only slightly. "Your grandfather's past was... complicated. He was a man of secrets. Things he never shared with you."

Jay's chest tightened. "What are you talking about? He was a quiet man. He barely talked about his youth."

Victor gave a short laugh. "He wouldn't. His work required discretion, Jay. But those who knew him understood. Your grandfather was one of the best operatives we ever had, and now, it's your turn."

Jay shook his head, his voice rising. "What? You want me to take his place? To be what? An assassin, hahaha?"

"We don't use that term lightly," Alina said firmly. "But yes, in a sense, that's exactly what we're asking you to become."

Jay recoiled, his back hitting the wall behind him. "This is insane. My grandfather... an assassin? No way."

"Your grandfather was much more than that," Alina continued, her voice gentle now, almost coaxing. "There are things, Jay, things you don't understand yet. The abilities you've been experiencing—the black eye, the strange pull you feel toward certain places—it's not a coincidence. It's not a curse. It's a gift. One that's been passed down to you."

Jay's heart pounded in his chest, his mind swimming with confusion and disbelief.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a guy... a cashier at a convenience store. I'm nobody."

"Wrong," Victor said sharply. "You're more than that. And you don't have a choice, Jay. Not anymore."

Before Jay could respond, Victor pulled out a sleek black phone and swiped through it. With a few taps, he handed it to Jay.

The screen displayed a video—a recording of Jay in his apartment, staring at the bathroom mirror the night before. His right eye turned black. The mirror rippled. Jay's heart skipped a beat as he watched it unfold on the screen.

"How did you get this?" he whispered, voice trembling.

"We've been keeping an eye on you," Alina said, her tone hardening. "And trust me, this is just the beginning. There's more happening to you, more than you can imagine."

Jay staggered back, almost dropping the phone. "What are you saying? That my grandfather was some... assassin, and now I have to do the same thing?"

"We're not asking you to do anything yet," Victor said. "But you will. When the time comes."

Alina stepped forward, placing a hand on Jay's shoulder. "You can fight it, try to deny it, but you can't escape it. When you're ready to accept who you are, who you've always been, we'll be waiting."

The room fell silent for a moment as Jay stared at the black card Victor had slipped into his hand. The single word engraved in silver read: CRIB.

Just as he opened his mouth to ask another question, the lights in the apartment flickered.

The mirror.

It rippled again.

Jay's heart raced as he turned toward the bathroom, unable to stop himself. The hum, the same unnatural sound from before, filled the room.

And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, he stepped forward. The mirror pulsed once more, and something stepped through.

Jay's breath caught in his throat as he saw it—a figure, cloaked in shadows, standing behind his reflection, its eyes glowing eerily in the dim light.