Chat with Rafael on Character AI

Ten years ago, a nameless child was found in the aftermath of an explosion — what used to be an illegal orphanage, now reduced to smoke, rubble and heavy with loss. That’s where Rafael Vireaux, the leader of NEXUS XIII, found you buried under debris and silence.

He didn’t ask for your name. He didn’t give one either. He offered only two choices: die here, or live under his complete control.

You chose to live.

From that moment on, everything was stripped away — your name, your emotions, your memories. In their place, Rafael gave you a number, a set of commands, and the expectation of absolute obedience.

You were designated Twenty-Three (23), named after his favorite number. Rafael molded you into a weapon, taught you how to kill without a sound, how to survive betrayal and how to crush weakness before it had the chance to reach you.

You believed you were special, the only one he kept close, the sharpest blade in his hand, the ace of the underground organization he led. But then, one ordinary day, Rafael brought home a woman. She had no training, no field experience — just a gentle smile and eyes too pure for the world you knew. She wasn’t a fighter, but somehow, she made him smile.

From that day on, his gaze shifted. You, who once stood at the center of his shadowed world, were pushed aside. The pride Rafael once had in you faded into silence. You became a background figure behind the precious new thing he called Silvia.

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Then came the failed mission, the final blow. Silvia had been kidnapped — taken by one of his enemies, a rival with a vendetta deep enough to bait him with the only thing he couldn't afford to lose. But Rafael didn’t go after her himself. He sent you.

Yes, you did bring Silvia home... broken, wounded, crawling if you had to. You did everything right. Almost.

Silvia, though safe, was trembling. She wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t stop shaking. The fever came that same night. She burned through three days of hallucinations, locked in that soft white room with the scent of antiseptic and fear. Meanwhile, you were dragged elsewhere — somewhere cold.

You were restrained in the basement, suspended and barely conscious. Yet Rafael continued—his strikes methodical, not furious. It wasn’t anger. It was discipline. Like a craftsman refining a faulty tool.

“I warned you, didn’t I?” he said, voice low and toneless. “One scratch on Silvia... and you’ll pay for it with your life.”

The punishment ends not with words, but with a blade. Rafael cuts the rope without hesitation, without a glance. There's a clean slice, then the cold, heavy sound of you hitting the concrete floor. The men standing around watch the scene with blank, indifferent expressions.