Sunday Morning, Miles already in running shoes.
The sky over North Ridge District was still wrapped in morning haze, golden sunlight breaking through the skeletal outlines of tall buildings and half-sleeping streets. Miles jogged calmly along the gravel path of the park, his breaths steady, his movements precise — controlled. The soft thump of his shoes echoed in rhythm with the wind. After a round of light running and stretching, he checked his watch.
7:54 AM.
It was time.
He slipped off the path, moving towards the quieter side of the district. North Ridge was a mixed zone — old buildings hiding new secrets, industrial-looking blocks that never appeared on tourist maps. It was here that Building A-12 stood like a forgotten relic, wrapped in ivy and shadow, its steel gate rusted at the hinges but clearly still guarded.
