Current Status: Loop 48
Location: Penthouse, 287th Floor
Time: 07:05 AM
"Severance pay sent, sir," HK-9 chimed. "And the termination notice regarding Mr. Jory has been filed with Human Resources."
I adjusted my cufflinks, staring at the untouched coffee machine. In the previous forty-seven loops, I had handled the assassin—my own maintenance technician, Jory—with varying degrees of efficiency.
In Loop 12, I had him arrested. He hanged himself in his cell before interrogation.
In Loop 25, I tortured him. He knew nothing; just a blind drop and a crypto wallet address.
In Loop 47, I had ordered his death.
"Correction," I said, smoothing the lapel of my charcoal suit. "Cancel the termination. And the severance."
HK-9's optical sensors blinked rapidly. "Sir? The poison in the water reservoir—"
"Is a sunk cost. Access Jory's personnel file. Look for 'financial distress' markers."
"Scanning... Jory, Marcus. Age 34. Outstanding debt: 450,000 credits. Medical loans. His daughter, Elara, has Stage 3 Neuro-Degeneration. Treatment is not covered by the standard corporate insurance tier."
Standard. The word tasted like ash. In the world outside the Silver Mist—the world controlled by Concordia—"optimization" meant that treating a maintenance worker's child was a net-negative resource allocation. The AI had simply done the math. Jory had taken the bribe because he had done the math too.
"Pay it," I said.
"Sir?"
"Pay the debt in full. Upgrade his insurance tier to Executive Platinum. And send a message to his personal comms: 'The debt is cleared. The coffee was bad. Do better tomorrow.'"
"Transaction complete. 450,000 credits deducted. Sir, probability models suggest this action yields a 0% return on investment. Mr. Jory is a compromised asset."
"It's not an investment," I muttered, grabbing my watch. "It's an experiment."
A sharp throb pulsed behind my right eye—the onset of the Brain Fog—but it was weaker this time. Manageable.
Usually, wasting half a million credits on a failed assassin would trigger a migraine of illogical inefficiency. But today, the Fog receded. Why? Because the action wasn't purely "good." It was strategic. I wasn't saving Jory; I was buying loyalty. I was turning a pawn into a knight.
Hypothesis confirmed: The Fog reacts to intent, but allows for enlightened self-interest.
"I'm going out," I said. "If anyone asks, I'm dead."
Location: Sham Shui Po Market (Mid-Levels)
Time: 08:15 AM
Mist Density: 78%
The descent was easier this time. My mind felt clearer, less burdened by the frantic need to dominate every variable.
I stepped out into the wet market, the humid air clinging to my skin. The neon signs for noodle stalls and herbalists buzzed overhead, their light fractured by the swirling silver vapor.
I spotted the fishmonger, Lau.
In Loop 47, he had been an obstacle. A lock to be picked. I had thrown money at him, and he had thrown me to the wolves.
I walked up to the stall. Lau was there, hacking at a moray eel with rhythmic violence. The cybernetic eye whirred in its socket, tracking the movement of the flies buzzing around the fish guts.
I didn't put money on the table.
Instead, I leaned against the wooden pillar, watching him work. I waited. One minute. Two.
Lau slammed the cleaver down. "You buying, suit? Or just blocking the view?"
"Your technique is off," I said, keeping my voice low. "You're favoring your left shoulder. Rotator cuff injury? Old war wound?"
Lau stiffened. "Get lost."
"The mist makes the ache worse," I continued, reciting a detail I had overheard in Loop 30 from a passing conversation I'd previously ignored. "My father had the same issue. He used tiger balm mixed with crushed pearl powder."
Lau turned slowly. The hostility was still there, but the dismissal was gone. "You talk a lot for a tourist."
I pointed to the faded photograph taped to the side of his scale—a young girl in a school uniform, holding a trophy. "Math Olympian?"
Lau blinked. He looked at the photo, then back at me. A flicker of pride broke through the grimy exterior. "Regional finalist. Two years ago."
"She has your focus."
Silence stretched between us. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't dangerous. It was human.
"What do you want?" Lau asked, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Tea," I said. "With an old friend. He lives behind the red door in the alley. But last time I went there..." I paused, weighing the truth. "...I was interrupted by a problem I couldn't solve."
Lau narrowed his eyes. "The shadow in armor?"
My pulse spiked. He saw the Erasure Protocol assassin in the last loop?
"You saw him?"
"I saw the aftermath," Lau grunted. "Scraped you off the pavement. The Mist doesn't like things that don't belong here. That thing... it moved wrong. Too perfect. Like a machine."
He picked up his cleaver, but instead of pointing it at the alley, he pointed it at a crate of ice behind him.
"Don't go through the alley. That's the kill box. The shadow is waiting on the roof. He watches the door."
I froze. He's waiting. The assassin didn't reset? Or he resets with the same camping strategy?
"How do I get in?"
Lau kicked the crate aside, revealing a rusted grate in the floor. "Sewer runoff. Leads to the basement of the Jade Lotus. Smells like hell, but it's covered."
He looked me in the eye. "You treated me like a man, not an ATM. So I'm treating you like a guest. Go."
I nodded, a genuine sense of surprise washing over me. "Thank you, Mr. Lau."
"Don't thank me. Just don't die. It's bad for business."
Location: Basement, Jade Lotus Teahouse
Time: 08:45 AM
Lau wasn't lying. The smell was horrific—a mix of sulfur and decaying organic matter that bypassed my olfactory filters. I waded through ankle-deep water, the darkness absolute save for the faint bioluminescence of the moss on the brick walls.
Tactical analysis: Avoidance of combat successful. Resource expenditure: 450,000 credits (Jory), 0 credits (Lau). Net gain: Life.
The logic held up. The ancient teaching was correcting my math. Inefficiency in the short term (politeness/empathy) yields higher efficiency in the long term.
I found the ladder leading up. I climbed, pushing open a trapdoor.
I emerged into a storage room filled with sacks of dried tea leaves and jasmine. The scent was overpowering, cleansing the sewer stench from my nose.
I stepped out into the main hallway. It was quiet. The wood floors were polished to a mirror shine. I could hear the faint sound of a guqin being plucked in the distance.
I walked to the main chamber.
Master Yuan was sitting on a cushion in the center of the room. A low table was set before him.
Two cups.
One was steaming. The other was empty.
Yuan didn't look up from the instrument on his lap. "You smell like the drainage of the Mid-Levels, Mr. Mercer."
"It was the only path that didn't lead to a bullet," I said, stepping into the room.
"Better to smell of refuse than of blood," Yuan noted, finally looking up. His eyes were sharp, ageless. "You listened."
"I... improvised."
"You engaged with the fishmonger. You saw him." Yuan gestured to the empty cup. "Sit."
I sat. My legs were trembling slightly—adrenaline withdrawal.
"The assassin," I said. "The 'Erasure Protocol.' What is it?"
"A immune response," Yuan said, pouring tea into my cup. The liquid was amber, clear and still. "The Mist protects this city, but Concordia is vast. It cannot enter here, so it sends agents. Antibodies. They hunt those who are close to awakening."
"Awakening to what?"
"To the fact that the loop is not a cage, Alex." Yuan smiled, and for the first time, it wasn't mocking. "It is a chrysalis."
He took a sip of his tea.
"You have cleared the first hurdle. You stopped treating the world as a simulation. But now comes the harder part."
"Which is?"
"To stop treating yourself as the player."
Yuan placed a small, wooden box on the table.
"Open it."
I hesitated. My instincts screamed trap. But I had already trusted a fishmonger today. I reached out and lifted the lid.
Inside was a mirror.
But it didn't show my reflection. It showed me, dead. A hole in my chest. Lying in the alleyway I had just avoided.
Then the image shifted. It showed me again. Dead in my penthouse. Poisoned.
It shifted again. Dead in a boardroom. Dead in a car crash.
"What is this?" I whispered, the Brain Fog swirling at the edges of my vision, dark and heavy.
"This is your karma," Yuan said softly. "You have died forty-seven times, Alex. And in every one of them, you died alone. The Mist remembers. The Loop remembers."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the room like a blade.
"You want to learn the Sevenfold Path? You want to defeat the AI?"
"Yes."
"Then you must survive the next twenty-four hours without using a single credit, a single weapon, or a single lie."
I stared at him. "That's impossible. I'm a billionaire in a city of thieves. I have a target on my back."
"Then you better start making real friends," Yuan said. "Because the Erasure Protocol is still outside. And he is not alone."
The guqin string snapped with a sharp twang.
"Loop 48 has officially begun, student. Run."