Evan's eyes narrowed as a low, mechanical hum echoed above him.
A surveillance orb hovered silently in the darkness, its lens glowing red like a watching eye.
At first, he thought someone was spying on him directly—but dismissed it. It was just another surveillance unit. Sumei had told him about them: AI-powered patrol drones, monitoring the city like synthetic insects in a web of invisible authority.
But something about this one felt... wrong.
Unbeknownst to Evan, behind that crimson lens, two figures watched intently from a Nanashi Group shadow command center.
"Sir… I think he noticed us," the secretary murmured, adjusting the viewfeed. "Is he ignoring the drone on purpose?"
Victor, Nanashi's regional director, didn't blink. His gaze was fixed, his voice calm.
"Possibly. Or maybe he's just pretending not to care."
"Should we act?" she asked cautiously.
Victor's fingers tapped against the console in a steady rhythm.
"No. Not yet. We still don't know what he was doing in that Black Market cluster. He might be volatile… and if he is, we definitely can't afford to provoke him."
"Understood, sir."
Back on the broken street, Evan pulled out the glowing card—Daemon's vessel. It thrummed with low purple light, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
"You still with me?" he asked.
Daemon's voice emerged, distant but steady. "You're the one who doesn't ask enough."
Evan let the card float between his fingers, the glow casting soft shadows on his face. "I need intel. That player—mithra677. Any clue where they might live? What they said in VR? Anything at all. You live inside that world. You must've picked something up."
There was a pause.
"…He repeated something," Daemon said at last. "While walking during the 2020 Scenario."
"Repeated what?" Mana asked, still uneasy with Daemon's presence.
"A mantra," he replied. "He chanted it as he moved through the simulation. Every step. Like it meant everything."
"A prayer?" Sumei frowned. "Sounds religious."
Evan nodded slightly. "Hindu?"
"Yeah. I couldn't understand it entirely because as i said earlier i can't interact with human world until became a part of my world, but the rhythm, the phrasing—it was Sanskrit."
"That's plenty," Mana said, fingers already working on her tablet. "Religious affiliations, archived avatars, voice data. I can cross-reference everything."
Evan's tone shifted. Cold. Certain. "Then let's begin the hunt."
---
"You sound like the protagonist of some edgy anime, Grandpa," Sumei teased, elbowing him.
Evan scoffed. "Of course a 12year old say that."
"I'm 18!"
"Then grow up, brat."
The rusted elevator shuddered as it dropped them into the city's forgotten underlayer—an abandoned archival vault deep beneath the grid. The air was sterile. Cold. Everything hummed with ancient energy.
Rows of derelict servers lined the walls like grave markers. Most were cracked open, their tangled cords oozing crystallized data foam.
Mana glanced at Sumei. "Alright, mole girl. You still got that Gravekeeper ID?"
Sumei rolled her eyes but stepped forward, placing her palm on the scanner.
It flickered. Processing...
[ACCESS GRANTED: GRAVEKEEPER CLASS-C :: NAME: SUMEI :: CLEARANCE ACTIVE]
Evan folded his arms. "Still works."
"Told you I'm not useless," she said, grinning.
Mana popped her gum. "Yeah, yeah. You're growing up."
The terminal lit up. Mana leaned in, fingers dancing across fragmented UI panels like she was slicing through broken code.
A voice crackled through the intercom. Dry. Stern.
"Number 578. Sumei of the Yu family. Is that you?"
Sumei stiffened. "Y-Yes, ma'am!"
The screen buzzed to life, revealing an elderly woman—severe, dressed in a black gown, books tucked under one arm, eyes like steel.
"I told you not to bring outsiders here."
"I—I'm sorry!" Sumei stammered.
"Still a brat. Still not listening."
…Do I sound like that? Evan wondered, annoyed.
Sumei fumbled. "I just thought—well, we—"
Evan stepped forward, voice smooth. Controlled.
"We're tracking someone named Mithra. There's been a registry error, and we need to verify their profile data. Sector information, maybe an address."
The old woman studied him. A pause. Then she turned and walked away without another word.
"Young people," she muttered. "Always messing up profiles. Get what you need. And don't interrupt me again."
Silence.
Only the sound of her heels faded into the distance.
"She just… believed you?" Sumei whispered.
"Mr. Evan is awesome," Mana added, grinning.
"Old people expect the young to screw up," Evan said. "Sometimes it's easier to let them believe you did."
"Mana, you're up."
"On it, boss!"
She plugged in her device. Data cascaded across the displays like digital fire—avatars, logs, biometrics, fragments of lives.
"There," she said, eyes wide. "Mithra Bhattacharya. Sixty-six. Hindu. Confirmed across three regional systems. It all matches."
"Well done, Mana."
Sumei pouted. "So I'm done already?"
"You pushed the button. That was your job."
"Can't you ever praise me like Mana?"
He ignored her. "Mana. Can you pull up an address?"
"Already got it, Mr. Evan."
"It's just Evan."
---
The Null-Hospice was a rotting shell. Once a containment wing for corrupted minds and failed AI integrations, it now stood abandoned—its walls twisted by time and mold, wires like vines crawling through broken tiles.
The door creaked open.
No guards.
No cameras.
Just darkness.
And the sound of something… breathing.
Evan stepped in.
Then froze.
The floor was covered in cloth dolls. Hundreds of them. Wet. Torn. Staring at the door with single stitched red eyes.
"…Mana?"
"I see heat signatures," she whispered, voice tight. "But they don't… make sense. They're flickering. Unstable."
On the wall, something had been carved in blood—ragged, shaking strokes.
A child's drawing.
It showed Ravel. And beside him, a towering, monstrous thing made of teeth and wires.
Below it, burned into the wall:
"RAVEL BROKE THE MIRROR."
A scraping noise echoed behind them.
Wet. Sharp. Alive.
"Okay… is this a horror sim?" Evan asked, turning slowly.
"I don't think so," Sumei murmured, backing up.
From his coat pocket, Daemon flared.
"It's not a person," the voice snapped.
"...What do you mean?" Evan asked.
"It's something like me," Daemon said, voice hushed.
"…But it wants blood."
The lights flickered once—then everything went black.
Then—
RED.
A glow emerged in front of him. A silhouette stepped through the crimson haze—limbs crooked, eyes hollow.
A voice rasped like rusted blades.
"How did you find me?"
Evan didn't flinch. "I'm here for Mithra Bhattacharya. I need to talk."
The voice hissed, venom thick.
"You can't. My old man's… asleep."
"…Why are you hissing at me?" Evan said quietly, eyes sharp. "Did I offend you somehow?"
The red light flared again.
A figure stood face-to-face with him now.
Something that might have once been human.
Evan's muscles tensed.
As he'd seen worse.
But this… this was something different from a regular horror.
The figure leaned close, breath like mildew and data decay.
"Leave."
Evan's eyes narrowed. His voice dropped.
"…Sorry."
He stepped forward, shadows dancing across his face.
"But I'm not leaving without getting what I'm here for."
And then—
a sound tore through the air.
Something ancient and angry stirred beneath the floor.