The group moved quickly, apparently having recovered their will to live. Not wanting to be hurried, Luca lingered at the back of the line, handing his suitcase to the employee before climbing aboard.
According to the mail, his seat number was ‘02.’ He passed rows of occupied chairs –black, simple commercial seats, some occupied for the other rookies, until he crossed through a red velvet curtain and reached a new ‘zone’. Here, everything looked quite comfortable–plush cushions, nature paintings, a white screen at the central position and neatly arranged refreshments on a small, long table on a side. A bakery bag sat on this table alongside a large orange juice box.
So, this was the premium section. How kind of Pendulum to make such a difference for them.
Both Sam and Tim were already seated. Judging their awkward, rigid posture and their eyes, it seemed that they were nervous. Not a surprise. Without paying them more than a sweeping glance, Luca took the last empty seat next to the window, leaving the thermos on the handler.
The instant he settled in, a mechanical voice crackled through the cabin speakers.
“Welcome to Flight 244 from Pendulum Airlines. Please fasten your seat belts. We will be departing in just a few seconds.”
Flight 244. As Luca followed the simple instruction, ignoring the jolt of unease that coursed through his veins. The plane hadn’t even started its engines. Yet outside the window, the world began to blur, colors smearing together like paint in a wet canvas. The horizon tilted, and the hum of the aircraft grew louder, vibrating deep within his chest.
No one else seemed alarmed. Their faces remained blank, staring straight ahead as though hypnotized. Even Sam and Tim sat perfectly still, their hands resting lightly on the armrests. Ah. This feeling… The unnatural grip on him, like a hand pressing him into the seat.
Glancing out the window, Luca watched as dark and washed gray clouds stirred past. Beyond them, lightning split through the sky in erratic zig–zags, creating a beautiful image. The storm seemed violent and not far off—yet no turbulence bothered the plane. It was as if they were flying alongside a vivid painting or picture.
The sharp clicks of heels against the floor snapped his attention inward. The red–haired woman–Lacerta–emerged from the entrance at the area. She strode to stand beside the screen at the front. With her there, it felt like the grasp over him had faded a handful of levels of intensity.
“I didn’t introduce myself properly earlier,” Lacerta began, her voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of something sharp, almost unsettling. “I’m Lacerta from Delta–01–or ‘Delta–L’ if you prefer. We’re one of the three squadrons dedicated to the starting levels.” Her gaze lingered on Sam for a moment, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I’ll give you a rundown of how we operate before we arrive. Unfortunately, due to… circumstances, you’ll be starting today.”
Ah, yes. This. New recruits usually had three days to acclimate before being thrown into the field. Starting immediately felt wrong–dangerously so. Because it was. It meant Pendulum’s protocols had faltered, implying that more than one person had fallen.
An anomaly? Sure, you could call it that.
“But don’t worry,” Lacerta continued, her tone light and dismissive, as though discussing nothing more serious than a last–minute schedule change. “The first time is always the easiest. We only lose a few of you each time. Consider this a good warm–up.” Without missing a beat, she gestured to the screen behind her. A single word appeared in bold, blood–red letters: COLLECTORS.
“So,” she said, her smile widening just enough to show teeth, “let’s talk about what you’ll be doing. Your primary objective is simple: collect data. To assist you, you’ll use this.” She rolled up one sleeve, revealing a thin silver bracelet encircling her wrist. Its surface gleamed unnaturally, reflecting the dim light of the cabin like liquid mercury. “It has a camera function, activated by pressing a button. Simple, right?”
She adjusted her sleeve back into place, the movement smooth and practiced. Behind her, the screen displayed a handful of images: bioluminescent plants of strange shapes, a creature mid–devour, a futuristic box floating amidst swirling blue threads, a purple jalape?o farm tended by a long–haired, genderless figure, and a horned man holding a pitch–black trophy. The images were chaotic, almost surreal.
“Taking pictures?” Tim asked, his voice laced with skepticism. He leaned forward slightly, frowning. “That can’t be all there is to it. Right?”
Lacerta tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “You’re correct. These aren’t ordinary photographs. Each image captures the essence of whatever you photograph—the raw data that defines it. You won’t be snapping selfies or documenting your morning coffee. Unauthorized uses will result in penalties. And trust me,” she added, her voice dropping to a chilling tone, “you do not want to lose points. Each one is bought with your blood, sweat, and pain.”
She tapped a small control, advancing the presentation to a new slide.
This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Now, let’s talk about the system. Specifically, the Role System.” She pointed to figures dressed in various occupations on the screen. “Ever been to a costume party or acted in a play? It’s like that. Each time you enter a Mystery, you’ll be assigned a fictional identity that integrates you into the world. This isn’t just a detail–it’s critical. Your missions will depend on the role you’re given.”
She paused, as if recalling something, then added, “While you’ll always have a primary objective, secondary missions are common. These are intrinsically tied to your role. And yes, they matter –and are pay.” Her gaze swept across the room, sharp and assessing. “Sometimes, you’ll have to choose between them. Don’t be stupid. Take the one that keeps you alive, alright? Negative points are better than having your soul sucked dry. Or worse, enslavement.”
“Enslavement?” Tim repeated under his breath.
Or worse, Luca thought.
“Now, before you get too worked up, let’s jump into a topic everyone loves.” She changed the slide again, and numbers filled the screen, neatly organized into rows and columns.
“I’m sure some of you are already familiar with this, thanks to the Tutorial. Someone even managed to rack up a tidy 40k as a starter, hmm?” She didn’t elaborate or glance at anyone in particular, but Luca felt her gaze brush over him like a cold wind. He kept his expression neutral, refusing to react. It wasn’t like he’d enjoyed a single dime of that money–it had gone straight to paying off his debts.
The slide displayed point values for tasks across different world levels:
World: <u> Lv</u><u>1| Lv2| Lv3| Lv4 | Lv5</u>
F–rank: 002| 003 | 004 | 005 | 006
E–rank: 007| 008 | 009 | 011 | 020
D–rank: 025| 027 | 029 | 033 | 040
C–rank: 045| 048 | 051 | 055 | 065
B–rank: 070| 074 | 078 | 088 | 095
A–rank: 100| 105 | 110 | 120 | 150
“As you can see,” Lacerta explained, her voice taking on a lecturing tone, “the value of a task depends not only on its rank but also on the difficulty of the world it takes place in. An E–rank task in a 1-star world might earn you 7 points–but in a 4-star world? Twenty. The stakes rise accordingly.”
The slide shifted again, revealing a single word in stark, capitalized letters:
EXPERIENCE
“For each mission you complete, you’ll earn something called ‘Experience’–or simply ‘EXP.’ You might already be familiar with this concept from games. It works the same way. You get a fixed amount of EXP based on the rank of the missions you complete and the world you’re in. As you level up, you’ll grow stronger, smarter, faster–whatever your stats lean toward. But most importantly, your M-Level goes up.”
On the screen, Mystery Level appeared in bold letters.
“This is what you want to focus on. The M-Level is a mysterious indicator–excuse the wordplay. But we know it influences the level of worlds you’ll enter and the difficulty you can handle.” She pressed a button, and the slide advanced. “Your rank won’t go up if your M-Level isn’t high enough, no matter how strong your stats are.”
“You’re probably wondering how to level up your M-Level. The answer’s straightforward: participate in Mysteries, fulfill missions. That’s the premise. But everyone progresses at a different pace.” She paused, considering her words. “Each of you has an M-Level higher than average, so you’ll climb faster than most. So, don’t worry too much.”
The slide changed again.
PERFOMANCE
“Alright, let’s get into something critical,” Lacerta began, her voice sharp and no–nonsense, cutting through the room like a knife. “This is what trips up most rookies: Performance. It’s not just about completing the mission–it’s about how you complete it. Let me give you an example. During the Tutorial, two of you figured out the clues for the ‘hidden mission’ and reached the right conclusion. But one of you got a ‘good’ rating, and the other got ‘excellent.’ Same with the main mission–three of you survived, but only one walked away with ‘excellent.’ The other two? ‘Good.’”
She paused, letting that sink in, her gaze sweeping across the room like she was sizing them up. “So, what do you think made the difference?”
Samantha raised her hand slightly, speaking carefully. “I’d guess it’s about the number of clues you find–at least for the hidden mission. If you got all the newspapers, you’d score higher, right?”
“Exactly,” Lacerta said, nodding. “Now, the main mission–survive–sounds straightforward, doesn’t it? But how do you score survival? Truth is, we don’t know. Only Pendulum’s System does. We’ve got some theories, though. The big one? Don’t break the rules. The cleaner your run, the higher your score.”
“Rules?” Tim interjected, leaning forward. “What kind of rules?”
“Death Rules, Omen Rules, Split Rules,” Lacerta listed, ticking them off on her fingers. “You’ll find the details in your manuals once we hit the island. Here’s the deal: Mysteries are self–contained worlds. They’ve got their own logic, their own laws. We’ve mapped some of them–Death Rules, mostly. Break one of those, and you’re done. But there are others–Omen Rules, Split Rules–that we’re still figuring out. For all we know, you could be breaking three Omen Rules just by walking into a room.” She shrugged, her tone matter–of–fact. “Point is, tread carefully.”
“So we’ll know the Death Rules before we go in, right?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.
“Some of them, yeah,” Lacerta said, her tone firm. “Unless you end up as a Scout down the line–then you’ll be the one figuring them out. But for now, don’t sweat it too much. You’ll be working one–star worlds. They’re about 70% mapped, and the rules are minimal. Stick to the manual, keep your head on straight, and you’ll be fine.” She paused, her expression hardening. “But don’t get complacent. The danger’s real, and it doesn’t care how prepared you think you are.”
Abysmal: –5 | Non–good: –3 | Average: 1 | Good: 3 | Excellent: 5
Lacerta glanced at the screen behind her, then back at the group. “Here’s how it breaks down. You want to hit at least Average if you’re looking to make a decent paycheck. In one–star worlds, that’s doable–happens about 80% of the time. But if you slip into ‘non–good’ territory? That’s where things get dicey. Surviving’s great, but it’s not always enough.” She gave them a hard look, her tone turning stern. “And if you rack up three ‘non–good’ marks–or God forbid, an ‘abysmal’–you’re in deep trouble. Don’t let the benefits fool you. This job? It’s not a walk in the park.”
She reached for the orange box on the table, pouring herself a glass of water in a fluid motion despite the small turbulences. “I’ve been talking for a while now. Any questions?”