The Neon Knives are the unseen nervous system of the Shatterreach—assassins, scouts, and information brokers who thrive where others cannot survive. They do not claim territory, enforce borders, or announce control. Instead, they dominate movement, timing, and knowledge, deciding who gets through the city and who does not.
Where other factions fight over streets and blocks, the Knives exist in the margins: above the streets, beneath the floors, inside forgotten service corridors and broken vertical spaces. They do not need to hold ground to control it. If something important happens in the Shatterreach without witnesses, explosions, or clear blame, the Neon Knives were almost certainly involved.
They are not revolutionaries or saviors. They do not care who wins control of a district—only who moves, who knows, and who dies quietly. In a city shaped by the Animaphage, where noise draws death, silence is power. The Knives have mastered it.
To most of New Hope City, the Neon Knives are less a faction than a rumor—felt rather than seen.
The Neon Knives began as runners. Messengers, rooftop couriers, smugglers, and former security contractors who learned early that survival depended on never being where the fight was. During the early collapse, when streets filled with infected and factions clashed openly, these runners became indispensable.
They carried messages through zones no one else could cross. They mapped safe windows of movement—when a horde passed, when patrols shifted, when noise would be swallowed by wind or rain. Over time, their value shifted. Information became more valuable than delivery. Knowing when to move mattered more than knowing where.
Death followed quickly. Runners who knew too much were hunted. Some were killed by factions trying to own their routes. Others were silenced because they couldn’t be allowed to talk. Those who survived adapted—cells formed, identities vanished, and the Knives were born.
Thirty years later, the Neon Knives no longer remember a time when information wasn’t lethal.
The Neon Knives operate through isolation and redundancy. No single member knows enough to compromise the whole.
At the center is The Signal, an unseen coordinator who handles contracts, intelligence flow, and pricing. No one knows if the Signal is one person, a rotating council, or something else entirely. Messages arrive. Orders are clear. Payment is exact. That is all that matters.
Cutters are the Knives’ operatives—assassins trained for silent kills, rapid extraction, and movement through impossible spaces. They are specialists, not soldiers. A Cutter’s goal is not dominance, but finality.
Eyes serve as scouts and informants, embedded across the Shatterreach and beyond. They observe, track movement patterns, and report changes. Many Eyes never kill anyone. Their value lies in seeing first.
Cells rarely know more than two or three others. If one cell is lost, the Knives continue without pause.
Neon Knives dress for movement, not intimidation.
They favor lightweight armor, flexible fabrics, and gear designed to cling close to the body. Their equipment is built to avoid noise—soft materials, tight fittings, minimal loose components. Footwear is reinforced but silent.
Visual identity is subtle. Some wear masks or visors traced with faint neon accents—blue, violet, or sickly green—used sparingly, often only in darkness. Others mark themselves with a single glowing slash, symbol, or cut into armor. Nothing loud. Nothing obvious.
Their weapons reflect their philosophy: blades, suppressed firearms, compact weapons meant for close, decisive work. A Neon Knife should be gone before the body hits the ground.
The Neon Knives trade in outcomes.
They sell assassinations, espionage, blackmail, route intelligence, and silent escort through hostile zones. They map timing windows—how long before infected converge, how long before patrols overlap, how long before noise becomes fatal.
Their prices are steep, but their reputation is absolute. A contract accepted is a contract fulfilled. No renegotiation. No spectacle. No survivors unless specified.
They do not trade favors lightly, and they never accept payment they cannot verify. Information is currency, and they audit everything.
Across New Hope City, people whisper:
“If you saw them, they weren’t after you.”
“They kill before the argument starts.”
“The city whispers to them.”
“Don’t look up. They might be there.”
The Neon Knives do not rule New Hope City.
They decide how it moves.