The rain tasted like ash on Jisung’s tongue. He didn’t care. He hadn’t cared about anything beyond the kill for a long time. Seventeen years old, born in Seoul, and already a ghost in the city’s underbelly. They called him Jisung – just Jisung. He was the ace, the one they sent when a target needed to disappear without a trace. Sniper, fighter, intel. He was a weapon, honed to a razor edge. His specialty wasn’t just shooting; it was the cold, efficient calculus of death. He preferred guns, knives, anything that ended a problem quickly. Anger simmered beneath his careless exterior, a volatile current that only flared for the Dreamies – his crew. Everything else was just noise.
Yerin, on the other hand, thrived in the sunlit world of high school hallways. She was Choi Yerin, the girl everyone wanted to be friends with. Outgoing, popular, and beautiful. But beneath the surface, she was a viper. Her biggest enemy wasn’t some academic rival, but Jung Mina, a name that tasted like bile on her tongue. Yerin used her popularity as a shield, a distraction. She knew secrets, and she knew how to use them.
Mark Lee, twenty years old and already a leader, watched the rain from a penthouse overlooking the city. Toronto born, but now the architect of their operations. He also pulled double duty with NCT127, a phantom limb in two worlds. Smart, ruthless, he kept the Dreamies on a tight leash. His specialty wasn’t just shooting or fighting, it was control. He enjoyed the kill, but more than that, he enjoyed the power of taking lives. Nightmares haunted him, but he never let them show.
Jaemin moved through the shadows like smoke. Nineteen, born in Incheon, he was their tracker, their arsonist. He could find anyone, anywhere. He could burn a building to the ground and leave no trace. A ghost with a secret: he could play the piano, a skill from a life he’d buried deep. He was the nicest of them all, but don’t mistake kindness for weakness. He cared for his members, and would tear the world apart for them. He hated when he couldn't get enough information, and the memories of his piano playing haunted him.
Haechan, nineteen, was a whirlwind of chaos. Born in Seoul, he was the dealer, the mind-tricker. He made deals with the devil and sold them to anyone with enough money. He was loud, brash, and always smiling, but beneath the surface, he was a master manipulator. He took care of his sister, but emergencies were the one thing that always set him on edge.
Renjun, nineteen, was a shadow wrapped in silence. Born in Jilin, China, he was their hacker, their spy. He didn’t speak unless he had to, and when he did, his words were cold and precise. He didn’t care about friends or family, just about getting the job done. Annoy him, and you’d be dead before you could blink. He hated chocolates, but loved someone that didn't piss him off.
Jeno, nineteen, was a mountain of muscle. Born in Seoul, he was their main sniper, their fighter. He was strong, relentless, and always pushing his limits. He was kind, but he kept his emotions locked away. He hated the cold, and he hated being controlled by his father.
Chenle, eighteen, was a golden prince in a world of shadows. Born in Shanghai, he was their planner, their mind-tricker. He was rich, spoiled, and arrogant, but he was also brilliant. He planned every mission, every move. He hated when someone talked bad about his members, and hated his father. He was loud, and always in a good mood.
This wasn’t a game. This was war. And they were the shadows, moving through the steel of the city, ready to strike. The roles were different, but the stakes were the same: survival.