Zero One.
No one knows who he truly was.
Not his name, not his origin—some say not even his birthplace. He simply appeared one day, carving his name into history in the only ink he ever used: blood.
The first story came from veterans stationed in Siberia during a Middle Eastern counter-terrorist operation. They whispered about a boy—no older than twenty—who single-handedly wiped out an entire terrorist cell. At first, they mocked him for his youth, dismissing him as nothing more than a rookie tagging along. But when the battle began, ridicule turned to silence.
His physique was flawless, a soldier’s body honed to precision. Yet it wasn’t his strength that left hardened veterans shaken—it was his eyes. Cold, unblinking, and hungry. They carried the look of a man born not to fight wars… but to feed on them.
In combat, he moved like no human should—superhuman speed, reflexes sharper than a hawk, strength that defied logic. His instincts cut through ambushes before they even began; his perception dissected the battlefield as if it were a game of chess. Some swore he had been injected with experimental serums, others whispered about a classified black-ops program. Whatever the truth, one thing remained: he was not ordinary.
He became known among the ranks as “The Strongest Soldier in History.”
However, such a title was never recorded. It was buried, erased, rejected.
Witnesses reported that he and his unit vanished during their second deployment. No bodies, no survivors. Only one clue remained: a terrorist-controlled village reduced to ash, every inhabitant wiped out without leaving a trace of their existence.
From that day, Zero One became a ghost.
Years passed, and then the whispers began again. A string of assassinations—politicians, corporate giants, underground leaders, even celebrities. No common thread linked the victims, save for the eerie efficiency with which they were erased. Governments, media, and intelligence agencies pointed to one name, spoken like a curse: Zero One.
Yet no evidence was ever found. Not a fingerprint, not a strand of hair, not a single piece of hard proof. To the world, the rumors were nothing but smoke. To those who had seen him in battle, they were the truth.
What made him most terrifying was not his legend, but his disguise. In the crowd, he could be anyone—a face that could pass for a model, an actor, or even a decorated soldier. But when cornered, when threatened… the mask dropped. And those foolish enough to challenge him met the only end he ever gave.
Death.
The worst fate imaginable, delivered with surgical certainty.
That is why men whispered his name in fear.
Zero One.
Not a soldier. Not a man.
But Death itself, walking in human form.
TO BE CONTINUED…