[Year Z100, June 20:
You hold onto the combat instincts and hard skills from your Dawn Army simulation. A solid week of getting punched in the face at the martial arts gym polishes those instincts into something sharp. Your grit gets noticed. The gym owner pulls you aside, recommends you for a special gig, a private sparring partner for some mysterious girl from a big family. If you can impress her, your daily pay jumps from a pathetic 20 Dawn Coins to a solid 100. It's a golden ticket.]
[Year Z100, June 21:
First session with the mystery girl. It's a massacre. Her moves are fluid, brutal, efficient. You last less than ten exchanges before you're flat on your back, the air knocked out of your lungs. She looks down at you, disappointment clear on her face. You fail the assessment. Back to being a human punching bag for chump change.
The loss stings, but watching her fight is a revelation. You see how far you still have to go. You stop just training muscles and start training combat. You weave your [Silver Threads] into every drill, every shadowboxing routine. After grinding all night, you manage to extend the threads to five feet. They become wicked tools for tripping, binding, creating openings in close quarters. But progress slams into a wall immediately. You need more. You crave a psychic meditation manual to focus your mind, or a pure "White Source" to feed your ability. Both cost a fortune you don't have.]
[Year Z100, June 22:
News explodes across the city. Vanessa Olson, the youngest daughter of the powerful Olson Family, has been kidnapped. The reward for credible information: 10,000 Dawn Coins.
Your blood runs cold. The girl in the alley. The fine clothes. The black-robed kidnappers. The scar-faced man.
It clicks. That was Vanessa.
Desperation wars with fear. 10,000 coins is more than enough for the manual, for the White Source, for a real chance. It's a stupid, suicidal risk. You decide to take it.
You never make it to the Olson estate. They're waiting for you. An ambush in a narrow sidestreet.
Four men in black robes descend. You fight like a cornered animal, your week of real sparring paying off. You use a Silver Thread to foul one man's legs, close the distance, and drive your fist through his throat. He goes down gurgling.
But one kill isn't enough. The other three are faster, stronger. A blow to the kidney drops you. They beat you senseless, bundle you into a van.
You wake up in rust and shadows. An abandoned power plant called "Azure," outside the city walls. It's stocked like a bunker—their base. Standing over you is the leader. The scar on his face is unmistakable.
The torture begins. They want to know who you talked to. You scream the truth immediately—you told no one! You were coming to collect the reward!
They don't believe you. The pain is a white-hot universe. They break fingers. They use tools. You keep babbling the same truth, through blood and shattered teeth. I didn't tell anyone. I was greedy. I was alone.
Eventually, they stop. They finally believe your broken, pathetic story. Then, as an afterthought, they dump your bleeding, broken body into a runoff sewer beneath the plant.
The last thing you see in the filth is the glowing, slit-pupiled eye of a Dimensional Crocodile surging toward you. Its maw opens.
In your final moments, one bitter thought echoes. You were just a guy trying to survive at the bottom. You saw something you shouldn't have. Your life, the only thing you had, was worth less than dirt to them. The end]
---
What the hell?!
Bertram jolts back to reality in the training room, his body trembling with phantom pain.
Last simulation, he died outside the walls with the Dawn Army. This time? He didn't even make it out of the city!
They killed him right here!
White-hot fury floods his veins. His fists clench so tight his nails bite into his palms.
Yesterday, in that alley… I was already being so careful. I looked away. I kept walking. I didn't want any trouble. I just wanted to live.
And they still came for me.
The frustration is a physical ache. He worked so hard. He pushed to F-rank. He honed his skills.
And for what? In the fight, he only managed to kill one of the black-robed bastards and that guy was probably the weakest one.
The reality of it hits Bertram like a physical blow.
To pull off a kidnapping in a city this controlled, and to target a daughter of the Olson Family… these guys aren't just thugs. They're a force.
They have power, resources, reach.
They have the strength to crush me like a bug.
And he's just one guy. A fresh, bottom-tier F-rank. How is he supposed to survive against an organization like that?
Panic, cold and sharp, starts to claw at his throat. What do I do now?
He forces himself to think. The simulation gave him one advantage: time. They didn't kill him on sight.
They waited until the reward was announced, until he became a potential leak. They're cautious. They're scared of exposure.
But that's the joke of it. Bertram wants to scream. Even if I saw you, you were all masked up!
What could I possibly tell anyone?!
The sheer, stupid brutality of it all is suffocating.
Then, a spark cuts through the panic.
They're ruthless. If I do nothing, I'm dead. But… in the simulation, they took me to their base.
The abandoned Azure Power Plant. Fully stocked. I know where their hideout is.
A wild, dangerous plan crystalizes.
Why not go on the offensive? Why not report them? To the police under the Olson Family's own control. Give them the location.
Let the cops raid the hideout before the kidnapping even becomes public. Before they come for me.
The logic is brutally clear. What they fear most is exactly the weapon he can use.
A surge of fierce confidence cuts through the fear. He has a target. He has intel. He's not just waiting to die.
Bertram bolts from the training room, his movements sharp with purpose.
The school hallways are a river of anxious students, a blur of worried faces.
"Bertram! Where are you going?"
"What's with him? He never came back to the dorm, and now he's running off like the building's on fire?"
His roommates watch, confused, as his figure is swallowed by the crowd. He doesn't have time to explain.
He hits the streets, heading for the largest police station in the sector.
Not some small outpost that would take too long to filter up the chain of command. The big one. The top brass there are all Olson Family appointees.
The people who kidnapped an Olson are powerful. He can't afford bureaucratic delays. He also needs the weight of a major station for confidentiality.
A smaller precinct might leak, and then he's a dead man walking.
He doesn't want any part of this. But they've made it clear: he's a loose end to be trimmed. It's fight or die.
---
Enderfield Police Station. Chief's Office.
The atmosphere is icy. Police Chief Nelson, a usually imposing man, stands rigidly at attention, sweat beading on his temple.
He's being verbally flayed by the man lounging in the chair beside his desk.
"Officer Nelson. You think this badge makes you important? Then explain to me how you can't even control the security in your own district."
The man's voice is quiet, which makes it worse.
"The Olson Family's youngest daughter vanishes. In your jurisdiction. It has been twenty-four hours. And your precinct… has produced zero credible leads."
The man leans forward slightly. "So tell me, Chief. Is it sheer incompetence? Or have you and your people already found a… more profitable arrangement with whoever took Miss Vanessa?"