《The Ghost Code Chronicles - Season 1: Into the InfiNet》


 Chapter 1.1 - A Failed Graduation

    Riley''s bunk was the middle one. Always the middle. It was like being stuck in purgatory¡ªtoo low to feel like you''d made it, too high to pretend you weren''t there at all. The top bunks were for the lucky ones, where you could lie back and pretend the orphanage wasn''t closing in on you. The bottom? That was for the ones who couldn''t climb. But the middle? The middle just existed like a living compromise.


    Today, though, none of that mattered. Today was graduation day.


    The hall was dead quiet, except for the whispers. All the usual noises, like the clatter of trays or the shouting over card games, had vanished. Even the younger kids had stopped playing. Instead, everyone crammed themselves among the bunks like spectators at some grim coliseum. Everyone was here to see who''d make it out and who''d be left behind.


    The LiteNet Pod stood at the center of the room, gleaming like a cruel joke against the orphanage''s scuffed floors and peeling paint. It was sleek, metallic, and alien, like someone had dropped a fragment of another world into their drab existence. Above it, a holographic display buzzed softly, casting shimmering light across the room.


    The LiteNet was Helix Orphanage''s gateway to the InfiNet, but it wasn''t the real thing. Not even close. The InfiNet was a boundless and fully immersive digital universe where users could wield magic, defy gravity, and command armies. It was a place where gods, ghosts, and demons were part of the everyday fabric, like a playground of endless possibility. But for most of the orphans, the InfiNet was a still distant dream.


    The LiteNet, on the other hand, was a stripped-down, child-safe version designed to teach the basics. It was functional but shallow, like a hollow echo of the real thing. The textures were too smooth, the edges too soft, and the movements just a fraction of a second too slow. Still, it was enough to simulate a test, and on graduation day, that test was everything.


    The scenario was set by the guild recruiters, and it showed. It was less a test of skill and more a filter for the kind of people they wanted. It was easy to tell by the scenario they provided. The battleground wasn''t a fantastical arena or glowing grid. It was a realistic urban setting: a run-down neighborhood of crumbling buildings, flickering streetlights, and abandoned vehicles. The kind of place enforcers were expected to navigate in the InfiNet.


    The rules were simple¡ªclear out the threats and survive. But the threats weren''t built for balance. They were relentless, fast, and strong. Success wasn''t about strategy or adaptability but brute force, raw power, and holding your ground when everything came crashing down.


    Riley''s name had been called first.


    He stepped forward, the weight of every gaze in the room pressing down on him. The LiteNet Pod stood at the center like an altar, its sleek metallic surface glowing faintly under the flickering overhead lights. The scuffed floors and peeling paint of the orphanage made it look even more like something that didn''t belong there¡ªjust like him.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The pod doors slid open with a soft hiss. Riley hesitated for half a second, then climbed inside. The interior was cold and uncomfortably rigid beneath him, and the hum of the machine as it powered up was deafening in the silence. The hatch door closed, sealing him in.


    A display screen in front of him blinked to life, showing a basic outline of his avatar. The equipment list appeared beside it: standard enforcer gear which included combat boots, reinforced armor, and a heavy baton.


    The countdown began. Riley swallowed hard, his stomach twisting. Three¡­ two¡­ one.


    The world around him dissolved, replaced by the simulation. He found himself standing in the middle of a crumbling urban battlefield. Broken buildings loomed on either side of a cracked street littered with burned-out cars, jagged chunks of concrete, and twisted metal. The air was thick with smoke, and faint echoes of distant machinery reverberated in the background. The realism penetrated down to the faint smell of burning rubber and the grit beneath his boots.


    Riley gripped the baton awkwardly. It felt wrong and unbalanced as if it belonged to someone much bigger, someone built for this. His armor, though sturdy, restricted his movements. He took a few hesitant steps forward, scanning the shadows for movement.


    The first adversary emerged from behind an overturned car, its faceless form sprinting toward him with terrifying speed. Riley swung the baton reflexively, the blow connecting with a dull thud. The adversary staggered but didn''t go down. Panic surged in his chest as two more appeared, their movements were relentless and coordinated. He tried to backpedal, nearly tripping over a chunk of debris.


    They didn''t give him time to think.


    Riley swung again, this time catching the second adversary across the torso. It crumpled, its form dissolving into pixelated light, but the first was already on him. A heavy blow struck his side, and he stumbled, his armor absorbing most of the impact but doing nothing to ease the shock. The baton felt heavier with every swing, and his arms burned as he struggled to keep up with the speed of combat.


    The final wave hit like a tidal surge. Riley barely managed to stay on his feet as the adversaries closed in, their strikes coming faster than he could react. His vision blurred, the simulation''s brutal realism overwhelming his senses. A misstep sent him sprawling to the ground sending his baton clattering out of reach. He glanced up in time to see a crowbar descending on his head.


    The world faded to black, and the simulation ended.


    Riley sat frozen as the pod doors slid open, the cool air of the orphanage snapping him back to reality. He stumbled out, his legs shaky, his breathing uneven. Above him, the holographic display blinked to life, showing his face hovering in unforgiving clarity. His blonde hair looked messy as always, the freckles on his nose standing out even more under the light. But his eyes¡ªhis eyes didn''t look like his. They weren''t curious or bright or even hopeful. They looked like someone had snuffed out the light behind them.


    And then the number blinked to life.


    It was bad. Worse than bad.


    He didn''t wait for the whispers to start. He didn''t need to. They were already crawling up his spine, settling in his ears. Riley walked back to his bunk, keeping his head down. The middle felt like the right place for him now. He climbed up, pressed his back against the wall, and stared at the flickering projection of his failure. It wasn''t just hanging in the air¡ªit was carved into his chest.


    The evaluators didn''t even look at him as they moved on to the next candidate. Riley didn''t care. He didn''t need to see their clipped nods or hear their murmured judgments to know what they thought of him. His score had told the whole story, loud and clear.

 Chapter 1.2 - A Tomboy and a Tank

    From his perch in the middle bunk, Riley watched Jenna step forward. The room''s hush deepened as the younger orphans leaned in, their wide eyes tracking her every move. Jenna wasn''t like Riley¡ªshe didn''t hesitate, didn''t falter under the weight of the room''s collective gaze. Her cropped blonde hair framed a sharp, determined face, and her posture exuded confidence. Her strides were purposeful as she approached the LiteNet Pod.


    Its doors opened, and Jenna climbed inside with the same practiced ease she brought to everything. The holographic display flickered to life above. Her name and avatar appeared in sharp detail. Her figure wore the same standard enforcer gear: the reinforced armor fit her slender frame snugly, and the combat boots laced tight. The baton in her hand seemed almost out of place, too heavy and clumsy for someone built for speed.


    The countdown began. Three¡­ two¡­ one.


    The battlefield materialized around her. The same broken cityscape Riley had faced spread out before her. Jenna''s avatar stood at the ready, the baton gripped loosely in her hands. Her sharp green eyes darted between the shadows, scanning for movement.


    Appearing in the blink of an eye, the first adversary charged, but Jenna was already moving. She darted to the side, her boots skimming over the cracked asphalt as she avoided its first strike. The baton swung in a tight arc, connecting with the back of the adversary''s head. It dissolved into a flicker of light, and the next opponent was on her before the first had fully disappeared.


    Jenna''s movements were fluid, each dodge and strike perfectly timed. The room buzzed with soft murmurs of approval as she weaved through the battlefield, dispatching the enemies with precision. But Riley could see the cracks forming. Her strikes were quick, but the baton wasn''t built for finesse. Every blow required more effort than her frame could sustain, and the weight of the armor slowed her just enough to make each dodge a little narrower, each strike a little less decisive.


    The second wave hit harder. Adversaries attacked in coordinated groups, forcing her into constant motion. She vaulted over a chunk of debris, her boots skidding as she landed and spun to counter the next blow. She managed to take down two more, but the exertion was wearing on her. Her movements lost their sharpness, her strikes their strength.


    Jenna''s precision had given way to desperation by the time the final wave arrived. Her baton swung wide, missing its target, and an enemy''s strike glanced off her shoulder, sending her stumbling. She rallied, managing one last hit before they overwhelmed her. The simulation ended with her avatar collapsing, her score blinking into view above the pod.


    It was better than Riley''s but not good enough to matter.


    Jenna stepped out of the pod, her expression tight. She didn''t bother waiting for the evaluators to wave her off, choosing instead to beeline toward her bunk. The muted cheers from the younger kids died off as she passed, replaced by awkward silence. Riley watched as she grabbed her bag, her frustration written in every sharp movement.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "They rigged it for the meatheads," Jenna muttered, slamming her locker shut. "No room for the quick or clever, just brute force."


    The bitterness in her voice cut through the room. A few of the other orphans exchanged glances, unsure if they were allowed to agree. Riley said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed on the pod.


    Jenna didn''t stop to vent further. She slung her bag over her shoulder and made for the door, pausing only once at the threshold. For a moment, she stood there, silhouetted by the light spilling in from the hall. She turned back, her gaze sweeping over the room. Riley couldn''t tell if she was saying goodbye or taking one last look. Then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her.


    The silence didn''t last long. The evaluators were efficient, barely glancing up as they prepared for the next candidate. The pod door hissed open, and all eyes turned to Marcus.


    If Jenna''s confidence had been quiet and sharp, Marcus exuded something louder, heavier. He didn''t just walk toward the LiteNet Pod¡ªhe owned the space with every deliberate step. Broad shoulders, a buzzed haircut, and a constant scowl made him look like he belonged anywhere but an orphanage. Even the evaluators straightened in their seats, their eyes tracking his every move.


    Marcus stepped inside the pod with the ease of someone stepping onto a stage they were born to dominate. The holographic display above came to life, showing his avatar clad in the same standard enforcer gear. Except, on him, the baton didn''t look unwieldy or awkward. It looked like an extension of his arm, a tool built for destruction.


    The countdown began. Three¡­ two¡­ one.


    The simulation unfolded, the familiar urban battlefield took shape. But where Riley and Jenna had faced it with hesitation or precision, Marcus attacked it like a storm. The first adversary appeared, sprinting toward him, and Marcus met it head-on. His baton came down in a crushing blow, sending the enemy crumpling to the ground before it dissolved into pixelated light.


    He didn''t stop to assess or regroup. Marcus charged forward, his boots thundering against the cracked pavement. The next wave arrived, but they might as well have stood still. Each swing of his baton was a brutal arc, clearing enemies with raw, unrelenting force. The evaluators murmured amongst themselves, nodding at each decisive strike.


    Marcus didn''t bother with cover or evasion¡ªhe didn''t need to. His armor absorbed glancing blows, and his sheer aggression kept the enemies from coordinating effectively. He moved through the battlefield like a wrecking ball, his heavy strikes echoing through the simulated streets. By the time the final wave appeared, it was clear who was in control.


    The enemies swarmed, their numbers greater and their attacks more focused. Marcus didn''t flinch. He plowed through them, his baton swinging in wide arcs that sent adversaries flying. The simulation ended with a crack as his final strike obliterated the last opponent. The battlefield faded, replaced by his name and score displayed in bold, triumphant numbers above the pod.


    It was the highest score of the day by far. The evaluators didn''t bother conferring. One stepped forward, holding a sleek metallic communicator branded with a guild logo.


    "This is your token of initiation," the recruiter said, handing it over. "Show this at the guild hall. They''ll know you''ve been recommended."


    Marcus smirked as he took the device, holding it up for the crowd to see. His gaze swept the room, lingering on Riley''s bunk. He didn''t speak immediately, letting the silence stretch long enough to make everyone uncomfortable.


    Then, as he turned to leave, he muttered loud enough for only a few to hear, "Guess not everyone''s cut out for this."


    The words stung more than Riley wanted to admit, yet he kept his head down, and his fists clenched at his sides, but the tension in his chest refused to fade. Marcus''s laugh echoed through the room even after the door slammed shut behind him.

 Chapter 1.3 - An Anxious Exit

    And then Thom''s name was called, causing the room to hold its breath. He didn''t move at first. Small and wiry, with a mop of brown hair that perpetually fell into his eyes, Thom looked more like he wanted to disappear than step into the pod. His fingers twisted the hem of his shirt as if trying to wring water out of fabric that wasn''t wet.


    "Come on, Thom," someone whispered from the crowd.


    He rose hesitantly, his steps slow and uneven as he shuffled toward the LiteNet Pod. The younger orphans, who had whispered excitedly during Marcus''s turn, were now silent. Thom''s wide eyes darted nervously toward the evaluators, who showed no signs of acknowledgment. They rarely showed anything.


    The pod doors opened, and Thom climbed inside. The display flickered to life, showing his avatar outfitted in the same standard enforcer gear. But the armor looked oversized on his small frame, and the heavy boots gave him an awkward gait. The baton in his hand seemed far too large, like a tool meant for someone twice his size.


    The countdown began. Three¡­ two¡­ one.


    Thom''s avatar materialized on the same battlefield that the others had faced. The shattered remains of the urban environment loomed around him. He took a tentative step forward, the baton clutched tightly in both hands as though it might offer comfort.


    The first adversary appeared, and Thom froze. It sprinted toward him, its faceless form a blur of movement. He raised the baton, his arms trembling, but he swung too late. The blow glanced harmlessly off the enemy''s side as it struck back with a calculated hit. Thom stumbled, barely keeping his balance while scrambling backward toward cover.


    One after another, more adversaries appeared. Amid the rising threat, Thom brandished his weapon like a madman. However, his grip slipped, causing his only means of attack to clatter across the ground beneath the frame of a burning car. With as much grit as he could muster, Thom kicked his attacker away before dropping to the asphalt to retrieve his weapon from beneath the flames. Miraculously, he managed to grab it in time to shield himself from a bone-cracking swing from above and squirm away, but the adversaries continued closing in. Their strikes gradually chipped away at his defenses while he evaded in desperation.


    It was painful to watch. Every swing of the baton was hesitant, every movement poorly timed. Thom''s avatar survived longer than expected, but not through skill or strategy. His erratic dodges kept him out of reach, but the simulation wasn''t designed for endless retreat. The enemies coordinated their attacks, herding him into a corner like an animal. The final blow came swiftly, his avatar collapsing under the weight of their strikes.


    The simulation ended, the battlefield dissolving as his score appeared above the pod. It was the lowest of the day.


    The pod doors opened, and Thom stepped out, his face flushed red, his hands trembling at his sides. He didn''t look at the evaluators, who were already turning their attention back to their screens. The younger orphans, who had cheered for Jenna and gossiped about Marcus, sat in awkward silence.


    Thom shuffled back to his bunk in silence, his head bowed, his steps heavy. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, his hair falling back into his face.


    Riley leaned back into the shadows of his bunk, watching Thom out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to say something¡ªanything¡ªbut the words wouldn''t come. What could he say? They were both in the same sinking boat, and no amount of reassurance would change that.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    The evaluators didn''t linger after the final test. Their job was done. One by one, they packed their things and disappeared through the hall''s side doors, leaving the pod standing alone in the center of the room. The tension in the air didn''t part with them. If anything, it deepened as the head of the orphanage, Mr. Hargrove, stepped forward.


    He didn''t need to call for attention. Everyone was already looking at him.


    "Alright," he began, his voice flat, unfeeling. "That concludes this session." He scanned the room, clipboard in hand, as though confirming the names in his head before speaking again. "Thom Planck and Riley Bellmorrow. Gather your belongings. You are required to vacate the premises by this evening."


    The words landed like a hammer, each one heavier than the last. Riley''s stomach dropped. He''d known this was coming, but hearing it spoken aloud made it real in a way it hadn''t been before.


    Mr. Hargrove continued, his tone unchanged. "You will find temporary accommodations at the local government housing office. Directions and details have been loaded into your info packets, which will activate upon your exit. Do not delay. The future waits for no one."


    And with that, he turned and walked away, his polished shoes clicking against the worn tiles. Riley watched him go, feeling a strange hollowness settle into his chest.


    Thom didn''t move at first. He just sat there on his bunk, staring at the floor, his hands clenched in his lap. Riley understood the feeling¡ªthe weight, the helplessness. It pinned you down like gravity turned up to eleven.


    But they couldn''t stay here. Not anymore.


    Riley shifted, pulling his duffel bag out from under the bunk. It wasn''t much¡ªa few clothes, a frayed blanket, and an old holopad that only worked when it felt like it. He slung the bag over his shoulder and turned to Thom. "Come on," he said, his words quiet but firm. "We''ve got to go."


    Thom looked up, his eyes red and glassy. He hesitated, then slowly reached for his own bag. It was smaller than Riley''s, barely more than a sack, and Riley doubted it held anything of value. Thom stood, shoulders hunched, and he followed Riley toward the door. The other orphans didn''t say anything as they passed. A few glanced up, their expressions ranging from pity to indifference, but most kept their heads down.


    The hallway outside felt colder, emptier. The lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows as the pair walked toward the exit. Riley''s steps were steady, but his mind churned with uncertainty. This was it¡ªthe end of everything he''d known. Helix Orphanage might have been a dead end, but at least it was familiar. Out there? Out there was a blank slate, a world waiting to chew them up and spit them out.


    They reached the front doors, their imposing frames giving no respite. Riley reached for the worn handle but hesitated. He wondered for a moment how many others before him had been forced to turn these handles for the same reason as him. The number wasn''t small. He glanced back at Thom, who was staring at the ground, his bag clutched tightly in both hands.


    "You ready?" Riley asked, though he already knew the answer.


    Thom shrugged. "Not really."


    Riley nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah. Me neither."


    He pushed the door open, and the city''s noise rushed in¡ªa chaotic blend of voices, engines, and the hum of distant machinery. The orphanage might have been oppressive, but it had been quiet, insulated from the outside world. This was different. This was alive, unpredictable.


    They stepped outside, the late afternoon casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The city stretched before them with towering skyscrapers and bustling streets that seemed to go on forever. It was overwhelming, almost suffocating in its enormity.


    Riley glanced back at the orphanage one last time. It loomed behind them, its windows dark, its walls worn and tired. There was no sadness in leaving it¡ªonly a strange, hollow ache. He turned away, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag as he faced the city.


    A faint chime from his info packet broke through the city''s noise, displaying his destination in plain, unfeeling text: Government Housing Office, 102 7th St. The words hovered on the screen, clinical and cold against the bustling chaos surrounding him.


    "Guess we better get moving," Riley said, more to himself than to Thom.


    The other boy didn''t reply, but he followed as Riley took his first steps into the unknown. The path ahead was uncertain, the weight of failure heavy on their shoulders, but there was no turning back.


    Riley kept walking, one foot in front of the other, the sound of his boots on the pavement blending into the city''s relentless rhythm. Whatever came next, he''d face it. He had no other choice.

 Chapter 2.1 - The Government Housing Office

    The city''s chaos wrapped around Riley and Thom as they journeyed toward the housing office, their footsteps lost in the steady hum of life around them. Digital billboards flickered overhead, advertising sleek upgrades and glamorous InfiNet adventures, but neither boy paid them much attention. They moved in silence. The occasional gusts of icy wind stung their faces, pushing them closer to the buildings for warmth. The orphanage was behind them now, and the reality of what lay ahead was starting to sink in.


    The Government Housing Office appeared just a few blocks away, its gray, Orwellian structure standing against the vibrant cityscape like a bruise. Riley couldn''t help but smirk faintly at the proximity. "Figures they didn''t want us wandering too far," he muttered, his breath visible in the cold air.


    Thom glanced at him, but his expression didn''t shift. "Efficient," he said, his voice flat. "That''s what they''d call it."


    They stepped inside together, the cold replaced by the dry, sterile atmosphere of the office. The space was a familiar shade of bureaucratic gray, with rows of worn chairs under fluorescent lights. A machine by the door dispensed numbered tickets, its soft mechanical whir the only sound cutting through the low murmur of the other occupants.


    Riley took a number and handed the next one to Thom. "Might as well get comfortable," he said, gesturing to a pair of open chairs in the corner.


    The two sat down, their bags resting at their feet. Riley leaned back in his chair, watching the room with idle curiosity while Thom stared intently at his ticket, fidgeting with its edges.


    "Feels like a waiting room for something worse," Riley said, his voice light but strained.


    Thom didn''t look up. "You mean, like the rest of our lives?"


    Riley huffed out a laugh, though it lacked humor. "Yeah. Something like that."


    They fell quiet after that, the silence between them thick but not uncomfortable. Riley tapped absently on the screen mounted to the back of the chair before him, flipping through a digital brochure of government services. It felt pointless, but it gave him something to do.


    The chime above them dinged softly, and Riley''s number flashed on the monitor. He nudged Thom with his elbow. "Guess it''s my turn."


    Thom nodded without a word, his gaze still fixed on his own ticket. Riley picked up his bag and shuffled to the counter, where a tired-looking attendant waited behind a plexiglass barrier. The exchange was quick and impersonal. Riley scanned his ID, answered a few curt questions, and received a small government-issued communicator along with instructions for reaching his assigned residence.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "You''re heading to Tower 7c, Eastern District," the attendant said, her voice monotone. "Basic accommodations. Check your communicator for details."


    Riley mumbled a thank you and turned away while clutching the communicator. He rejoined Thom in the waiting area, dropping into the seat with a faint groan. "Tower 7c," he said, holding up the device. "Looks like the Eastern District''s stuck with me."


    Thom''s number was called a few moments later. He stood, his movements stiff, and he headed to the counter. Riley watched as his friend went through the same motions¡ªscan, questions, communicator¡ªbefore returning with his own set of instructions.


    "Tower 3b," Thom said quietly, holding up his communicator. "West side."


    Riley blinked. "So¡­ that''s it, then?"


    "Looks like it." Thom shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Different directions."


    They sat there for a moment, neither one sure what to say. Riley finally stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Guess we better get going."


    Thom followed behind as Riley stepped into the cold night air. The sleet had picked up, the storm intensifying as they reached the street corner where their paths would split. Riley hesitated, pulling his communicator from his pocket.


    "Hey," he said, holding it out. "Let''s swap numbers. I don''t want to have to wonder what happened to you."


    Thom looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Good idea."


    They exchanged details, the devices pinging softly as the contact info transferred. Thom pocketed his communicator and smirked faintly. "I''ll let you know when I hit it big."


    Riley snorted. "You better. And if I end up famous first, I''m gonna rub it in your face."


    "Deal," Thom said.


    "Take care of yourself," Riley added, his voice softening.


    "You too," Thom replied.


    They lingered for a moment longer before Thom turned and headed west.


    Riley watched as Thom disappeared into the storm, his figure swallowed by the swirling sleet. For a fleeting second, Riley thought of calling out¡ªbut the words wouldn''t come. The empty street stretched before him, more frigid than the night air.


    Then he pulled his jacket tighter against the cold and started walking east, his steps quickening as he made for Tower 7c.


    By the time Riley reached his new home, the storm had fully settled in. Sleet pelted the streets, turning them slick and reflective under the dim streetlights. The building rose like a blocky fortress against the sky, its exterior a mix of weathered concrete and rust-streaked metal. A faded government crest was barely visible near the entrance, its edges chipped away by time and neglect.


    Riley pushed through the heavy metal doors, stepping into a dimly lit lobby. The air was thick with the scent of damp concrete, grease, and faint traces of smoke. The floor was a mishmash of activity. The echoes of children bounced off the walls as they darted across the open space. A group of teenagers argued loudly near a broken vending machine, and a few adults loitered near the edges of the room. Their eyes followed Riley briefly before returning to their own concerns.


    The elevator sat at the center of the tower''s hollow core, its glass walls streaked with grime but still offering a clear view of the building''s interior. Riley approached it hesitantly, pressing the button for Floor 13. The doors slid open with a low hiss, and he stepped inside, clutching his bag tightly as the doors closed behind him.

 Chapter 2.2 - Tower 7c, Floor 13

    The elevator jolted to life, and Riley''s breath caught as the view around him unfolded. Below, the tower buzzed with activity.


    The inside of Tower 7c was a vertical maze of chaotic and unapologetic vitality. Rows of open balconies lined the square-shaped interior, each one cluttered with mismatched furniture, drying laundry, and makeshift decorations. Lights hung from tangled wires strung haphazardly between floors, their dim glow battling the shadows. The storm outside was replaced by the hum of life inside¡ªa blend of distant music, muffled arguments, and the occasional clatter of something dropping to the ground far below.


    On one balcony, an elderly man leaned against the railing, smoking something pungent, while a child nearby chased a toy drone that zipped erratically through the air. Across from them, a woman shouted into her apartment, her words drowned out by the thrum of bass-heavy music blasting the floor above. Someone threw a glass bottle from a higher level. The shattering echoed as it hit the ground floor.


    As the elevator rose higher, Riley spotted more scenes that felt ripped from the edge of survival. A group of teenagers huddled around a flickering fire pit set on one balcony, their faces illuminated in an orange glow. On another level, two shirtless kids sat cross-legged on the floor, sharing a glowing holopad and laughing. The building felt alive, reminding Riley of Helix, but much more raw.


    By the time the elevator neared Floor 13, the atmosphere began to shift. The balconies on this level were less crowded, and the furniture was more orderly. The lights hanging overhead were brighter and steadier, casting a softer glow. The chaos below seemed to fade, replaced by a quiet that felt almost eerie in comparison.


    The elevator stopped with a cheerful ding, and the doors slid open. Riley stepped onto the thirteenth-floor balcony, glancing back briefly at the dizzying view below. He adjusted the strap of his bag and turned toward the floor manager''s office.


    The slightly ajar door creaked as Riley knocked. The sound was loud against the quiet hum of the thirteenth floor. A voice called from within, clear and warm despite its age. "Come in!"


    Riley pushed the door open to find an older man seated at a desk cluttered with monitors and paperwork. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, though his posture was slightly stooped, and faint wrinkles marked the corners of his sharp, kind eyes. The glow of digital displays reflected off his glasses.


    "Ah, you must be Riley," the man said, standing and extending a hand. "Timothy Dalton. I manage this floor. Welcome to 13."


    "Thanks," Riley replied, shaking his hand.


    Mr. Dalton gestured to the chair near the desk. "Take a seat for a moment. Let me explain how things work around here."


    Riley sat with his bag resting in his lap as Mr. Dalton began to speak. "This floor is one of the better-maintained ones in the tower," he said with a faint smile. "We''ve managed to keep it pretty secure¡ªmostly thanks to the residents'' cooperation and a bit of digital elbow grease on my end." He tapped one of the monitors, which displayed a network map with bright green and red markers. "See those red zones? That means trouble, like InfiNet gangs trying to hack into systems, or faulty connections, and sometimes worse. We''ve worked hard to keep 13 green, and I expect you to do your part to keep it that way."


    Riley nodded. "Understood."


    "Good," Mr. Dalton said, his tone softening. "You''ll find this place is¡­ well, it''s not perfect, but it''s livable. The communal kitchen, shared bathrooms, and the pod in your room are yours to use. Six-hour limits, of course¡ªbuilding policy. But it''ll do the job whether you need to work, learn, or escape for a bit." He paused, glancing at Riley''s face. "Though I wouldn''t recommend getting lost in there too often."


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Riley looked down at his hands, unsure how to respond.


    Mr. Dalton chuckled lightly, breaking the moment of tension. "Don''t worry too much. You''ll figure it out." He stood, motioning for Riley to follow. "Come on, I''ll show you to your room."


    The balcony was quieter than Riley expected. As they walked, the soft hum of fluorescent lights above cast a steady glow. Doors lined the inner edge of the balcony, each marked with a small plaque bearing its unit number. Mr. Dalton stopped at one near the middle of the row and pulled a keycard from his pocket.


    "Room 1312," he said, sliding the card through a worn reader. The door clicked open with a faint hiss, and he stepped aside to let Riley enter first.


    The room was small but clean, furnished with a government-issue InfiNet pod that doubled as a bed. It also had a desk and a chair. The walls were bare, save for a small monitor mounted near the desk, and a narrow window offered a view of the city beyond the storm.


    "It ain''t much, but it''s yours," Mr. Dalton said, leaning against the doorframe. "The pod''s connected to the floor''s network, so you shouldn''t have any issues logging in. If you need anything, you know where my office is."


    Riley nodded, setting his bag down near the desk. "Thanks," he said, his voice quieter than he intended.


    Mr. Dalton gave him a warm smile. "Get some rest. Tomorrow''s a new day."


    With that, the older man left. Riley stood in the middle of his room for a moment, taking it all in. The faint hum of the pod filled the silence, mingling with the muffled sounds of the storm outside. It wasn''t home, but it was a start.


    Riley unpacked his bag slowly, placing his few belongings on the desk. As he worked, his thoughts drifted to Thom. He wondered how his friend was settling into Tower 3b, and whether or not he had a room like his, or if he was already regretting the move.


    Just as Riley placed the janky holopad on the desk, a soft whirring sound made him freeze. He turned to see a small drone hovering just outside his door. It was a Watchie¡ªbarely larger than a softball, with a single glowing red eye scanning its surroundings. Riley had seen plenty of them at the orphanage, but they never felt less intrusive.


    The Watchie buzzed into the room without hesitation. Its faint hum filled the small space. Riley stepped back instinctively as it floated in a slow circle, emitting a series of soft clicks and whirs as it scanned every surface. Its red eye lingered on the InfiNet pod, the desk, and the small pile of belongings Riley had unpacked before sweeping over the walls and corners. The drone''s movements were efficient, almost surgical, as it cataloged every detail.


    For a brief moment, the Watchie hovered directly in front of Riley, its red eye locking onto him. The silence stretched, and Riley felt an irrational urge to wave it away like an insect. Then, just as quickly as it had arrived, the drone turned and zipped out the door, its task complete.


    Riley let out a breath he hadn''t realized he was holding. The Watchie''s absence left the room feeling eerily quiet again, but the sense of invasion lingered.


    "Guess privacy isn''t real here either," Riley muttered, shutting the door. He shook his head as he returned to the desk.


    When everything was in place, Riley sat on the edge of the pod, his gaze fixed on the glowing monitor nearby. He tapped it once, bringing up a list of job openings and local resources.


    The options were slim, mostly entry-level positions that required more endurance than skill. Riley''s finger paused when he found the Mod Jockey listing the housing office clerk had recommended from before. There was something about the straightforwardness of the job description that appealed to him. It didn''t promise excitement, but it did promise stability. He applied with a few taps on the screen, and almost instantly, his application was approved. A message popped up with his assignment.


    Report to Hyperion Constructs Power Hub.


    Location: 1200 Wilford Avenue


    Time: 0900


    Shift Manager: Tamitha Gleaton.


    Riley sighed, scrolling through the entries until the words blurred together. His exhaustion finally caught up with him. Without bothering to change, he pulled the thin blanket over himself and lay back in the InfiNet pod. The soft hum of its systems felt oddly soothing as he stared out the window.


    The storm outside raged on, but the city''s lights flickered faintly through the sleet, painting his room in soft, shifting colors. Riley closed his eyes, his mind swirling with thoughts of what tomorrow might bring. For now, he let the sound of the storm carry him into a restless sleep.

 Chapter 3.1 - Onboarding!

    Riley stood motionless as he stared up at the Hyperion Constructs Power Hub. The sleek lines of the building sliced into the overcast sky, its glass facade reflecting muted tones of gray and blue. Raindrops from the early morning storm clung stubbornly to the reflective surface, catching what little light filtered through the clouds. The towering structure exuded modernity and control, every inch of it meticulously designed to embody power and efficiency.


    A faint breeze pushed at Riley''s back, urging him forward. The automatic sliding doors opened with a soft hiss, and he stepped inside. The transition was jarring. The lobby was vast and impossibly clean, its polished marble floors gleaming under an array of overhead lights that cast no shadows. Every surface seemed calculated for maximum sterility¡ªunblemished white walls, glass-paneled partitions, and minimalist furnishings. The air smelled faintly of citrus, likely pumped through the hidden vents to enhance the sense of artificial perfection.


    Were it not for Riley¡¯s trepidation, his shoulders would have been sore from the sheer amount of cringe. To top things off, drab music filled the space. It was the kind of mundane tune that would bring a twitch to the eye of any sane person.


    The reception desk stood at the center of the space like an altar, its glossy surface so pristine it reflected the faint digital glow of nearby displays. Behind it stood a young woman, her appearance as carefully curated as the building''s aesthetic. Her navy blazer was crisp, the pale blue blouse beneath it impeccably pressed, and her makeup subtle but flawless. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and her practiced smile didn''t falter as Riley approached.


    "Welcome to the Hyperion Constructs Power Hub!" she greeted, her voice clear and polished, though it carried a slight mechanical quality that reminded Riley of an automated voice assistant. "I''m Cindy. How may I assist you today?"


    Riley hesitated, tugging at the hem of his jacket as he approached the desk. "Uh¡­ Riley Bellmorrow," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "I''m starting today as a new Mod Jockey?"


    Cindy''s smile widened as if programmed to brighten with human interaction. "Oh, wonderful! You''re part of the energy that keeps Hyperion pulsing," she exclaimed with enthusiasm that bordered on unsettling. "Let''s get you set up."


    Her fingers flew over the keys of a sleek terminal embedded in the desk. A second later, she produced a small ID card and handed it to Riley. His name and a serial number were printed neatly on its surface, along with Hyperion''s corporate logo.


    "This is your employee ID," Cindy explained. "It''ll grant you access to the Mod Jockey facilities and track your work hours. After every shift, Luxa earnings will automatically transfer to your digital wallet." She gestured toward a map displayed on the monitor behind her. "You''ll enter through the Mod Jockeys'' entrance, located at the east side of the building."


    Riley nodded, absorbing the flood of information as best he could.


    "Oh, and one more thing," Cindy added, leaning in slightly. Her voice dropped to an almost conspiratorial tone, though her professional demeanor remained intact. "Things can get¡­ intense down there. But don''t worry. Hyperion always takes care of its own."


    Riley wasn''t sure if she was trying to reassure or warn him. "Thanks," he said quietly, clutching the ID card as he turned to leave.


    Riley exited the pristine lobby, circling the building as directed. The atmosphere shifted almost immediately as he left the polished facade behind. The gleaming glass and steel gave way to exposed concrete walls and utilitarian architecture, the faint scent of rain replaced by the heavy tang of oil and metal. The east side of the building was quieter. Its purpose seemed less about impressing visitors and more about function.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    A steel staircase spiraled downward into the bowels of the facility, each step clanging under Riley''s shoes. The sounds of the city above faded, replaced by a low, mechanical hum that grew louder with every descent. Pipes and cables snaked along the walls, their surfaces slick with condensation, and the faint echo of distant machinery reverberated through the space.


    At the base of the stairs, a massive door loomed ahead, its surface streaked with grime and marked with bold lettering: MOD JOCKEYS¡ªAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. A security panel blinked red beside it, and Riley hesitated before pressing his ID card against the scanner. The light turned green, and the door unlocked with a resonant click.


    He stepped inside and was immediately struck by the sensory overload of the underground complex. The air was warmer here, heavy with the mingled scents of grease, ozone, and faint traces of burnt rubber. The hum of machinery filled the space, overlaid by the rhythmic clatter of tools and the occasional hiss of steam escaping from a valve.


    The facility resembled an expansive maze of interconnected walkways and open workspaces. Pipes crisscrossed the ceiling, and rows of chain-link walls sectioned off areas full of haphazardly stacked equipment. The lighting was dimmer here, provided chiefly by overhead fluorescents that buzzed faintly and occasionally flashed.


    Dozens of Mod Jockeys moved through the space, their faces marked with varying degrees of exhaustion and focus. Some hauled equipment on heavy-duty carts while others crouched over diagnostic panels, their hands deftly navigating the glowing displays. The symphony of motion was efficient but unhurried, the practiced rhythm of people who had long since mastered their tasks.


    A small office nestled against one of the walls drew Riley''s attention. Its windows glowed faintly with the light of digital monitors. Inside, the cluttered space felt oddly removed from the sterile efficiency of the lobby above. Pinned blueprints covered the walls. A small desk practically cried beneath the weight of stacked papers, empty coffee cups, and diagnostic tools.


    Presiding behind the desk was a woman who appeared to be in her late forties, her sharp eyes framed by rectangular glasses perched on a slightly crooked nose. A few silver hair strands dangled loose from an otherwise tight black bun. Despite her small stature, she exuded a commanding presence that Riley could feel even from the doorway.


    He knocked lightly on the open frame. "Excuse me," he said, his voice hesitant. "I''m Riley Bellmorrow, the new Mod Jockey."


    The woman looked up from her monitor, her stern expression softening into a welcoming smile. "Right on time," she said briskly, stepping around the desk to greet him. "I''m Tamitha Gleaton, your shift manager. Welcome to the backbone of Hyperion."


    Riley nodded, unsure how to respond.


    "Come on," Tamitha said, motioning for him to follow. "I''ll give you the tour."


    She led him through the labyrinthine facility, pointing out key areas with the efficiency of someone who had done this many times before. "These are the power modules," she explained as they passed towering arrays of machinery humming with latent energy. "They feed into the InfiNet grid and power just about everything from city blocks to essential infrastructure. Each module is a cog in the machine, and it''s your job to ensure they stay operational."


    They stopped before a demo unit worn from years of use. Tamitha tapped the edge of the diagnostic panel with her fingernail. "Before you touch anything, you check this. Green means good. Red means replace. If it''s yellow, you call me. No exceptions."


    She gestured to a bright yellow safety line painted on the floor. "This is the grounding zone. You don''t cross it without a grounding strap, and you never, ever skip a safety check. The modules can hold a charge even after shutting down. I''ve seen what happens when someone gets careless, and it''s not pretty."


    Her tone was sharp but not unkind, and Riley nodded along, doing his best to absorb the instructions.


    Tamitha continued the tour, pointing out the equipment racks, the recycling conveyor, and the emergency shutoff stations. When they returned to her office, Riley''s head spun with information, but he felt a faint sense of accomplishment for keeping up.


    "Here," Tamitha said, handing him a tool belt and a digital tablet loaded with the facility''s operations software. "This is your gear. Get familiar with it. You''ll be working out on the floor in no time."


    Just as Riley adjusted the tool belt around his waist, the door to Tamitha''s office swung open. Thom stumbled in, out of breath, his bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder, and his hair a mess.

 Chapter 3.2 - Onboarding?

    "Sorry I''m late," he said quickly, trying to smooth his hair. "I''m Thom, the new hire."


    Tamitha looked up from her monitor, her expression calm but stern. "You just missed the safety briefing," she said matter-of-factly. "Not ideal for your first day." She stood, pulling up his file on her tablet. "Let''s get you sorted out quickly. I can''t have you falling behind."


    Thom nodded, his hands tightening on the strap of his bag. Tamitha motioned for him to approach the desk and handed him a stack of forms and a slim tablet.


    "Sign these," she instructed. "Your equipment''s already prepared, so we''ll move quickly. No shortcuts. Everything here is about precision."


    "Yes, ma''am," Thom said, his voice quieter now as he fumbled to fill out the forms. Tamitha glanced at the clock over the door.


    "Tsk.. Darn. Unfortunately, I have a meeting to attend." She glanced at Riley, her tone softening just slightly. "Riley, you''ll help him get up to speed out on the floor. Make sure he understands the basics before you start any work."


    Riley nodded quickly. "Of course."


    With the paperwork finished, Tamitha handed Thom his gear¡ªa heavy-duty tool belt, a grounding strap, and a work tablet loaded with operational software. "This equipment is your lifeline. Treat it with care," she said firmly. "And remember, we work as a team here. No room for distractions or errors."


    Thom gave a nervous nod, gripping the gear tightly. "Got it."


    "Good," Tamitha said, returning to her desk. "Now get to work. Riley, you''re in charge of his onboarding."


    Riley and Thom left the office, stepping into the sprawling power hub. The noise of the machinery and the faint tang of oil filled the air as they navigated the rows of power modules.


    "Alright," Riley said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Let''s start with the basics."


    He led Thom to the nearest diagnostic panel and motioned for him to watch. "So, this thing tells you whether the module''s good or bad," Riley explained, pointing at the small screen. "Green means it''s good to go. Red means it''s toast, and we have to replace it. Tamitha told me that yellow is something special or whatnot, and to come find her if we found one. Pretty sure that''s what she said anyway."


    Thom squinted at the panel, then at Riley. "Pretty sure?"


    "Bro, Tamitha gave me the crash course like five minutes ago, so it''s your turn to be confused now."


    Thom snorted. "Love that. Very on-brand for our lives."


    "Right?" Riley said. "Here''s the fun part: always deactivate the module before touching it." He flicked a switch on the panel, and the module let out a faint hiss as it powered down. "Now you can pull it out without getting zapped."


    Thom nodded slowly, mimicking Riley''s movement as he extracted the next module. "Man, this thing weighs a ton."


    "Tell me about it," Riley replied, setting his module on the conveyor belt. "It''s like they designed these just to mess with us."


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "Maybe it''s a gym membership in disguise," Thom joked, dramatically flexing after lugging his module onto the belt. "Hyperion Fitness: achieve gains or die trying."


    Riley laughed. "Right. Forced gains, just like prison."


    As they continued, the tension of the day began to fade. Thom''s movements became more confident, and Riley relaxed as he realized he wasn''t totally winging it anymore.


    "So," Thom said after a while, leaning against the wall during a brief break. "What''s Tower 7c like? Still living the government-sponsored dream?"


    Riley smirked. "If by ''dream,'' you mean ''weird dystopian apartment simulator,'' then yeah. What about your tower?"


    "Honestly? Feels like they glued it together with duct tape and prayers," Thom replied. "The first night, I thought the ceiling was going to collapse. Turns out it was just my neighbor''s ferret clawing through the vents."


    "A ferret?" Riley asked, raising an eyebrow. "That''s gotta be against the rules."


    "Probably," Thom said, grinning. "But who am I to judge? What if the noodle cat was an emotional support gremlin?"


    Riley chuckled, shaking his head. "At least we''re not dealing with Marcus anymore."


    Thom groaned. "Don''t remind me. Did you hear he got picked up by Catch22?"


    "No way," Riley said, his eyes widening. "What, they needed someone to fill the ''intimidation by grunting'' quota?"


    "Apparently," Thom replied, his grin widening. "I''m just imagining their orientation. ''Welcome to Catch22, here''s your club and loincloth. Please try not to eat the interns.''"


    Riley doubled over, laughing so hard he had to lean against the module rack. "God, I can''t breathe. That''s exactly how it would go. Remember when Mr. Hargrove caught him knawing on the back of his chair, and he said it was to level up his teeth?"


    Their laughter echoed through the workspace, drawing a few amused glances from other workers. For a moment, it felt like they were back at the orphanage, sharing dumb jokes to make the world seem less overwhelming.


    As their laughter subsided, Thom wiped at his eyes, still grinning. "Man, I needed that. Feels like I''ve been holding my breath since we left Helix."


    Riley nodded, leaning against the module rack. "Yeah, me too. Nice to know some things don''t change, even when everything else does."


    Thom gestured toward the rows of modules stretching into the distance. "Except, you know, all this. Pretty sure Mr. Hargrove never made us handle something that could fry us like a toaster."


    Riley smirked but didn''t reply. His gaze lingered on the modules, the faint hum of their energy filling the silence. The reality of their work pressed in again, the momentary levity giving way to the weight of their situation.


    "Alright, break''s over," Riley said, pushing off the rack. "Back to the grind."


    They returned to the rhythm of their work, hauling modules to the conveyor and double-checking diagnostics. Riley caught himself glancing at Thom occasionally, his earlier nervousness seemed to be replaced by a steady determination. Thom''s awkwardness had always been his armor, but here, it seemed to be melting away¡ªat least a little.


    As they worked, Riley''s tablet chirped, the screen lighting up with an alert. Anomaly detected: Module Array E.


    "Uh-oh," Riley muttered. He turned the screen toward Thom. "Looks like we''ve got our first real problem. Tamitha''s gonna love this."


    Thom groaned, rolling his shoulders. "Fantastic. And here I was hoping we''d fly under the radar today."


    "No such luck." Riley tapped the screen, pulling up a map of the facility. "Array E''s a few rows down. Let''s check it out."


    The walk to Array E felt longer than expected. The air around them grew warmer as they approached. The hum of the machinery seemed louder here, more urgent.


    When they reached the first module in the array, Riley activated his diagnostic tablet, the screen displaying a flurry of data. "Looks like it''s overheating," he said, scanning the readout. "We''ll need to swap this one out."


    Thom unhooked his grounding strap from his belt, clipping it onto the designated rail. "Got it. Let''s make this quick."


    Riley nodded, moving to the next module in line to check its status. The hum of the array filled the silence between them, each focused on their respective tasks. Riley''s fingers moved across the tablet, his mind racing through Tamitha''s instructions.


    "Deactivate first," he murmured to himself. "Grounding zone. Safety checks. Don''t¡ª"


    A sharp snap interrupted his thoughts. Riley''s head shot up, his stomach twisting as he spotted Thom leaning into the module. The grounding strap dangled limply at his side, its clip hanging from the rail, the metal twisted where it had broken free.

 Chapter 3.3 - Thom

    "Thom! Wait!" Riley shouted, his voice breaking through the hum.


    Thom turned, confused, his hands still gripping the module''s casing. "What?"


    The words barely left his mouth before it happened. A blinding light erupted from the module, and a loud crack split the air. The energy discharge surged through Thom''s body, and he jerked violently, the arc of electricity illuminated the room in sharp, strobe-like bursts.


    Riley''s legs felt rooted to the ground, his voice caught in his throat. The hum of the array had turned into a banshee''s wail, a horrifying crescendo of machinery and raw power. Sparks rained down as Thom collapsed to the ground, the smell of burned fabric and flesh choking the air.


    "Thom!" Riley finally screamed, stumbling forward.


    His chest tightened as Thom continued to convulse, his uniform charred and smoked. All Riley could do was hover near him, trembling, unsure what to do.


    "Help!" Riley shouted, his voice hoarse and cracking as he turned toward the other Mod Jockeys nearby. "Somebody¡ªget the medics! Anyone!"


    The frantic motions of nearby Jockey''s drowned out his useless plea. One worker sprinted toward a nearby panel, hitting the emergency override. A shrill alarm echoed through the space, and a red strobe light began to flash overhead. The entire array began its shutdown sequence. The chaos of machinery and voices overlapped, creating a cacophony that rattled Riley''s already frayed nerves.


    Within moments, two workers arrived with an insulated rod. One knelt by Thom, carefully prying his hand away from the module with the rod to avoid residual charges. The other, a tall man with a gaunt face, gestured for Riley to step back.


    "Kid, you need to move," the man said firmly, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Let us handle this."


    Riley scrambled back, his heart pounding in his ears as the medics arrived. They descended on Thom with practiced urgency, their faces a mixture of determination and grim focus. One checked for a pulse while the other began CPR, their movements sharp and efficient.


    The world blurred around Riley. He stood frozen, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as his mind replayed the moment of the discharge over and over. The snap of the grounding strap. The flash of light. The sound of Thom''s voice cut off mid-sentence. It all felt like a terrible, surreal loop.


    Tamitha''s voice broke through the haze. "Riley!" she called sharply, jogging toward him. Her expression was unreadable, but her posture was tense, her steps quick.


    Riley turned toward her, his face pale. "It¡ªit wasn''t supposed to happen," he stammered. "He hooked the strap. I saw him do it. But then it¡ª"


    Tamitha held up a hand, her stern gaze locking onto his. "Breathe," she ordered. "Take a breath and tell me exactly what happened."


    Riley swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. "The strap," he said, his voice shaky. "It snapped while he was leaning in. I tried to warn him, but¡­"


    Tamitha''s jaw tightened. She glanced toward the medics, who were still working frantically over Thom''s lifeless form. Her shoulders squared as she turned back to Riley. "It sounds like the strap failed," she said, her tone clipped but not accusatory. "That''s not your fault."


    "But he¡ª" Riley''s words faltered as the medic shook their head, the subtle gesture cutting through him like a blade.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Tamitha followed his gaze, her expression hardening. She approached the medics, exchanging a brief, quiet conversation before returning to Riley. Her face was drawn, her usual sharpness tempered by a hint of something softer.


    "He''s gone," she said quietly. "There was nothing you could have done."


    Riley''s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground with his head in his hands. The weight of the day crashed down on him, suffocating and relentless. Thom''s laughter echoed faintly in his memory, a cruel reminder of how quickly it had been silenced.


    Tamitha crouched beside him, her voice low but firm. "Listen to me, Riley. This was an equipment failure. Not yours, not his. The report will reflect that." She hesitated, her hand hovering near his shoulder before pulling back. "But you need to pull yourself together. This place doesn''t stop for anyone. Not even this."


    Riley looked up at her, his eyes red. "How can you just move on?" he demanded, his voice cracking. "He was¡ªhe was my friend."


    Tamitha''s gaze softened, just for a moment. "Because if we don''t, lives within the InfiNet could be put in jeopardy," she said quietly. "And he wouldn''t want that hanging over you."


    She stood, her professional mask sliding back into place. "Go take a break. Get some air. But I expect you back on the floor after that. Understood?"


    Riley nodded mutely, his body on autopilot as he trudged toward the breakroom Tamitha had mentioned. The space felt like an afterthought¡ªbarely more than a few chairs shoved into a corner, a scuffed table, and a vending machine humming faintly against the background noise of the facility. The smell of oil and burnt circuits lingered, clawing at the back of his throat.


    He dropped into one of the chairs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low. The light above buzzed faintly, casting sharp shadows that only made the room feel smaller. A clock on the wall ticked softly, the sound too loud in the silence.


    Riley stared at it. Twenty minutes left in his shift. That was all. Barely a day out of the orphanage, he thought bitterly, and Thom''s already gone.


    His chest tightened at the memory, the flashes of light, the sickening smell of fabric scorched into flesh. Every detail was etched into his mind like a scar, replaying in an endless loop. Less than an hour ago, Thom had been cracking jokes, his laughter cutting through the drudgery like a lifeline. Now, the silence was unbearable.


    Riley clenched his hands together, his knuckles whitening. I should''ve noticed sooner. I should''ve checked his strap. I should''ve¡ª He stopped himself, inhaling sharply. Tamitha''s words echoed in his mind, measured and firm: "This was an equipment failure. Not yours, not his."


    The logic of it didn''t help. Guilt didn''t care about logic. And the hollow ache in Riley''s chest didn''t either.


    The breakroom door creaked open, and Riley''s head shot up. A Mod Jockey stepped in¡ªa wiry man with smudged hands and tired eyes. Without a word, he grabbed a drink from the vending machine and left, letting the door clang shut behind him. The interruption left Riley feeling more isolated than before.


    A soft chime from his tablet pulled him from his thoughts.


    Shift End Approaching. Please clock out at the designated terminal.


    Riley stared at the screen for a moment, the words blurring. It was a small, ordinary task, but its weight felt insurmountable.


    With a long breath, he pushed himself to his feet. The hum of the machinery outside was deafening now, a reminder of how the world moved on, indifferent to what had happened. Workers filed past, their faces blank, their movements efficient. The day hadn''t stopped for Thom. It hadn''t stopped for anyone.


    Riley swiped his ID at the clock-out terminal near the exit. The screen''s soft glow displayed his earnings.


    Luxa credited: 90


    The number felt like a mockery. "Thom''s last shift logged, same as mine," he thought bitterly.


    Outside Hyperion, the steel door groaned as Riley pushed it open. The cold air outside bit into his skin. He stood on the threshold, staring out at the sprawling city. Towers of glass and steel stretched into the sky, their lights flickering faintly against the coming night. The murmur of traffic and distant voices filled the air, a quiet reminder of the world beyond Hyperion''s walls.


    Riley adjusted his jacket, pulling it tighter against the wind as he stepped out. The distant silhouette of Tower 7c loomed on the horizon, its lights flickering in the haze of the city. His feet moved without thinking, each step carrying him farther from the power hub.


    One day. That''s all it took.


    The thought stuck in his mind as he walked, the weight of it pressing on his chest. Thom''s laughter still echoed faintly in his memory, like a ghost he couldn''t shake. All he could do was keep walking.

 Chapter 4.1 - A Single Day

    The air outside HyperCon was sharp, carrying the metallic tang of recent rain and the sour bite of the city''s breath. Riley hunched his shoulders as he walked, the day''s weight pressing into his chest like a second gravity. He barely noticed the neon ads scrolling along the building''s fa?ades, offering quick paths to nowhere: "Join the Future with HyperCon!" and "Dream Big. Work Harder." The slogans made his stomach churn. Thom had probably seen the same promises this morning.


    His steps carried him to a corner gas station¡ªmore out of instinct than purpose. The flickering sign above the door read OPEN 24/7 in a sickly green glow. Inside, the store felt even smaller than it looked from the street, its shelves sagging under the weight of cheap, shrink-wrapped meals and generic toiletries. Riley grabbed a basket and started filling it on autopilot: instant noodles, soap, toothpaste. The bare essentials.


    "Eighty-nine Luxa," the cashier said without looking up, his voice as tired as the rain-soaked street outside. Riley surrendered his day¡¯s earnings, the metal card scraping faintly against the counter.


    Eighty-nine Luxa for watching Thom die.


    He left without a word, his bag of groceries rustling against his side. The city''s noise pressed back in a low thrum of engines and voices that blurred into static. It didn''t matter. Riley couldn''t hear anything but Thom''s laugh, caught halfway between a joke and eternity.


    Back at Tower 7c, Riley climbed the stairs with his head down, his feet moving on instinct. The elevator was broken down¡ªnot that he minded. The slow, solitary trudge gave him space to breathe, even if the air in the stairwell reeked of damp concrete and stale sweat.


    When he reached his floor, the balcony stretched unnaturally in his mind. He walked past doors marked with fading numbers, their paint flaking onto the threadbare carpet. The sound of muffled arguments and a crying baby seeped through the thin walls, but they felt far away, like they were part of a world Riley was only half living in.


    His own door clicked open with a nudge of his shoulder. The room greeted him with its usual silence, the kind that wrapped itself around his thoughts and squeezed. He dumped the groceries onto the desk, their weight replaced by an emptiness he couldn''t name. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the groceries bathed in lifeless light.


    Eventually, Riley moved on autopilot. He unpacked the bag with slow, deliberate motions, lining up each item on the desk like it mattered how the toothpaste lined up next to the noodles. He paused halfway through, his fingers tightening around the crinkling plastic.


    Ninety Luxa. That''s all Thom''s life had been worth.


    Riley shoved the thought down and finished putting the groceries away. He grabbed a towel from the corner and headed for the communal showers.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The bathroom smelled faintly of mildew and industrial-strength cleaner, but the water was hot, and Riley let it run over his skin until the world blurred into steam. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool tile. The day replayed itself behind his lids in relentless detail: the grounding strap, the flash of light, Thom''s lifeless body crumpling to the ground.


    He''d barely known how to breathe after that, and now¡ªnow he had to keep going like nothing had happened.


    When the water ran cold, Riley turned it off and dried off mechanically. He dressed in silence, his motions stiff as if life''s coldness seeped into his bones. The smell of damp concrete clung to him as his feet carried him down the balcony.


    Riley returned to his room just long enough to drop his towel on the chair and grab one of the instant meal packets he''d picked up earlier. His footsteps dragged as he made his way to the kitchen. The hall was quieter now, the occasional muffled voices fading into the background.


    The kitchen itself was a relic of better days. Above cracked tiles, a single fluorescent light flickered weakly above a mismatched collection of appliances. A sink full of dishes sat untouched in the corner. The water pooled at the bottom, giving off a faint metallic odor. A single burner on the stove still glowed faintly red, abandoned mid-use by whoever had cooked last.


    Riley moved like a drone. He filled a kettle with water, set it on the least grime-covered burner, and waited, leaning against the counters as the coils began to heat. The packet in his hands crinkled softly as he stared at it. The glossy image of a steaming bowl of noodles seemed more like a taunt than a promise.


    The silence stretched, broken only by the hiss of the burner and the faint hum of the fridge behind him. He rubbed a hand over his face, the motion doing little to chase away the exhaustion clinging to him.


    It wasn''t until the kettle started whistling that Riley realized his mind had wandered. He poured the boiling water into a chipped bowl, dunked the meal packet in, and stirred it with a fork he grabbed from a half-clean pile next to the sink. Steam rose in weak spirals as he watched the noodles soften, the smell of artificial seasoning filling his nostrils.


    He took his bowl and sat at the lone table near the window. The chair creaked under his weight. Its legs were uneven against the floor. Outside, the city was a blur of lights and movement, the neon glow of advertisements painting the night in garish colors. People moved in streams down the sidewalks, their lives carrying on with an urgency Riley couldn''t summon.


    He ate in silence, each bite mechanical, the taste as bland as he''d expected. The noodles were gone quickly, leaving him staring at the bottom of the bowl, his reflection distorted in the murky broth. His thoughts circled back, refusing to be ignored.


    It had been one day. One day since he''d walked out of Helix, and already, Thom was gone. His life was extinguished, and Riley could do nothing to stop it.


    Thom''s voice echoed in his mind, a hollow memory that felt like it belonged to someone else. Riley tightened his grip on the bowl, his knuckles whitening as a flicker of anger sparked in his chest. At himself. At Hyperion. At the endless, grinding machine that chewed people up and spat them out as if they were nothing.


    Riley let out a slow breath, his grip loosening. The spark dimmed, replaced by a leaden resignation that settled deep in his chest. He set the bowl aside and leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the city outside.


    If this was what life out of the orphanage looked like, he wasn''t sure how long he could last.

 Chapter 4.2 - Auron

    Riley returned to his room and let the door slide shut behind him. The faint hum of the InfiNet pod filled the space, pressing against the quiet like a constant reminder of the choices he had yet to make. His groceries sat untouched on the desk¡ªneatly arranged but somehow already mocking in their smallness. How could they represent the sum of a day that had cost so much?


    He sat heavily on the edge of the pod, the chill of its surface sharp against his legs. Outside the narrow window, the city glowed faintly as neon lights painted streaks of muted color across the walls. Riley stared into the middle distance, letting the silence wrap around him while the weight of the day pressed steadily downward.


    Thom''s face surfaced in his mind again. He could almost hear the laughter they''d shared just hours before. It felt misplaced now¡ªan echo of a moment from some other, kinder life. Riley rubbed his hands over his face, his fingers curling into his hair.


    "Eighteen years," he muttered into the stillness. "That''s all he got."


    The words didn''t sound real, even as he spoke them. How could they? Eighteen years of life, all boiled down to a single moment of misstep. His chest ached with the futility of it, a sensation so deep and raw it made him feel hollow.


    When his gaze fell on the InfiNet pod, Riley felt something shift. Its reflective surface seemed almost predatory in the dim light, a thing waiting for him. But it wasn''t just an escape. The pod promised more than that¡ªopportunity, possibility. A way out of the trap his life had become. For all its dangers, the InfiNet offered a freedom the real world could never match.


    Of course, those dangers weren''t just stories.


    Riley leaned back against the pod, his fingers idly tracing the cool edges of its frame. At Helix, stories about the InfiNet grew in the gaps of their lives, woven from half-truths and imaginations desperate for escape. Kids whispered of players who logged in only to vanish forever, their pods left cold and empty. Some claimed hackers could hijack the system, pulling your consciousness into locked servers where you''d spend eternity trapped. The staff of Helix dismissed the tales outright, but that hadn''t stopped them from embedding themselves in Riley''s mind. Whether true or not, the stories had felt real enough to keep him out of the InfiNet for years.


    And it wasn''t just the urban legends. The real, documented dangers were enough to give anyone pause. In the past, Riley overheard former orphans who returned to visit¡ªthose who''d scraped by just enough to long for their old life instead of the InfiNet''s harsher realities. Without the protection of a guild, players like Riley were nothing more than prey. The InfiNet didn''t need to kill you outright; it let others do it for you. And for some, logging out wasn''t an option. Stories of "data lock," where corrupted avatars trapped players for days or weeks, weren''t so easy to ignore.


    The fear was there. It clawed like a shadow, laughing at all the caution he lived by. But Riley had seen what caution bought. It bought isolation. It bought failure. It bought eighteen years, all boiled down to nothing but a name on a work roster and a body on a slab.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    He stared at the pod, the glow of its activation panel reflected in his tired green eyes. Thom had been scared. Of course, he had. Riley could still see his wide-eyed fear at the LiteNet graduation and the hesitation in his every movement during their shift. Thom revealed his bravery by showing up anyway, even when fear may have made staying put so much easier.


    "Guess it''s my turn to show up," Riley whispered.


    With trembling hands, he reached for the pod''s activation button. The machine hummed to life beneath his touch, the lid sliding open to reveal the snug interior. He hesitated, just for a moment, before climbing inside. The neural headgear clicked into place, fitting snugly around his head. A faint tingling sensation spread across his scalp as the pod powered up.


    The hatch shut, and darkness swallowed him whole. Then, a single message blinked before his eyes:


    Initializing¡­?


    The pod''s interior darkened further, the faint outlines of the room dissolving into black as the system fully booted. Riley''s heart thudded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the threshold he was about to cross. A soft, mechanical chime echoed in his ears, followed by a single line of text that floated before him:


    Welcome, NEW USER!


    The words pulsed gently, inviting him to continue. Riley''s breath hitched as more text materialized.


    Before proceeding, please acknowledge:


    The InfiNet contains inherent risks. Users are solely responsible for their decisions. We assume no liability for harm, injury, or permanent loss of any kind during use.


    Do you wish to continue? YES/NO¡­?


    Riley stared at the blinking cursor, his hand gripping the edge of the armrest as though he could steady himself with the physical world. For a moment, doubt surged, the weight of every cautionary tale and hard truth pressed against his chest. He had spent years convincing himself it wasn''t worth the risk.


    But the truth was unavoidable: staying out had never been an option. Not really.


    "Yes," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper.


    The cursor blinked twice before shifting to a new screen.


    Please choose your USERNAME¡­?


    A transparent keyboard hovered into view. Riley hesitated, his mind cycling through potential choices. Each one felt too small, too tied to the person he''d been and the life he wanted to leave behind. He wouldn¡¯t be Riley Bellmorrow here. He would be someone else.


    The name came to him slowly, like an echo from the part of him still holding on to hope. He typed deliberately, each letter carrying weight:


    A


    U


    R


    O


    N


    Confirm...?


    The system paused, processing the name before responding:


    Welcome, Auron. Your journey begins now.


    The screen faded, replaced by a brief, swirling kaleidoscope of colors. Riley¡ªor Auron now¡ªfelt a peculiar tug, as though the pod itself was pulling him into its depths. The sensation was fleeting yet disorienting, like slipping beneath the surface of a vast, still ocean. A faint vibration spread through his limbs, followed by the distinct, almost imperceptible shift that signaled the connection to the InfiNet was complete.


    And then, it blinked into existence.

 Chapter 4.3 - Wayfarer in the Warehouse

    Auron stood on soft, mossy ground, his feet sinking slightly into the vibrant, springy surface. The air around him was warm and heavy with the scent of earth and rain, the faint hum of distant life filling his ears. He turned slowly, taking in the vivid surroundings.


    He was in a lush, jungle-like environment. The trees towered high above, their canopies intertwined with luminescent vines that pulsed faintly, casting shifting patterns of light across the ground. Strange creatures flitted through the air¡ªsome resembling birds, their wings composed of iridescent smoke, while others moved like living drones, their sleek forms cutting through the space with precision.


    In the distance, an immense structure loomed. Its weathered stone walls were engraved with intricate designs that glowed faintly in the jungle¡¯s light. Vines crawled up its surface, merging with the carvings to create a seamless blend of technology and nature. The massive doors at its center shimmered as though they were both solid and ethereal, their presence commanding attention.


    Before Auron could move toward the building, he became aware of his own form. His arms and legs felt weightless yet solid, the tactile sensations of movement almost indistinguishable from reality. His gaze drifted down to see a plain grey tunic and trousers¡ªstandard starter gear. It was functional but unremarkable. He flexed his fingers experimentally, marveling at the precision of the simulation.


    This was no LiteNet. The InfiNet felt alive, its every detail designed to blur the line between virtual and real. Auron took a tentative step forward, the sound of his footfall soft against the moss. The sensation was disarming. The sheer realism of the environment pulled him further from the memory of the dingy room he''d just left behind.


    Auron allowed himself a small smile for the first time in what felt like years. The jungle seemed to hum in response, its vibrancy promising adventure, danger, and maybe even the freedom he''d been searching for.


    Auron took another step, the weightless quality of his movement both exhilarating and unsettling. The jungle buzzed with a faint symphony of chirps, rustles, and the occasional hum of unseen drones. The warehouse loomed ahead. Its size was almost absurd. Intricate designs covered the vast doors. Auron could make out beings of fable and legend intertwined by circuitry that seemed alive.


    As he approached, the doors slid open without a sound, revealing an expansive interior that seemed to defy the building''s external dimensions.


    Shafts of light poured in from skylights far above, casting prismatic patterns across the polished floors. Tables and displays stretched endlessly, each showcasing items that ranged from sleek tools to fantastical artifacts. Newcomers dressed in the same grey starter gear as Auron wandered among the wares, their movements hesitant and filled with awe.


    The atmosphere was charged with energy, both literal and figurative. Auron passed a group clustered around a glowing sword embedded in a pedestal. One avatar reached out and grasped the hilt, and in a flash of light, both the player and the sword vanished.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Auron froze, blinking at the now-empty spot. "What the¡­?" he muttered under his breath. Looking around, he noticed similar incidents happening all over the warehouse. A man picked up a ring, slid it onto his finger, and disappeared in the same flash of light. A young woman strapped on a bandolier filled with gadgets. She gave a casual wave to her companion and was gone a second later.


    It wasn''t just that they vanished¡ªit was how the crowd reacted. No one even seemed to notice. Auron scanned the room, half-expecting someone to sound the alarm or ask questions, but the other avatars carried on as if this were completely normal.


    "Okay," Auron said to himself, forcing his feet to move again. "Guess that''s¡­ fine?"


    The sheer variety of items made it hard to focus. Auron found his eyes drawn to a staff that pulsed faintly with light. Nearby, a pair of gloves shimmered as their wearer tested them, the air around her warping before she, too, disappeared.


    Auron''s attention drifted toward the center of the warehouse, where a crowd gathered around a statue of a woman on a raised dais. Above her, a green arrow pulsed gently, directing new arrivals to approach.


    Intrigued, Auron took a step toward the dais, the allure of the statue pulling him closer.


    Before he could reach it, someone backed into him, sending him stumbling into a display of glowing artifacts.


    "Oh, man, sorry about that!"


    The voice was warm and disarming, and Auron looked up to find a hand extended toward him. The speaker was a rugged man in his early twenties, with dark hair tied into a loose ponytail and stubble that added to his intrepid appearance. His outfit¡ªa sash belt, leather boots, and a loose shirt¡ªstood out among the starter grey garb of the other avatars.


    "Here, Let me help you," the man said, pulling Auron back to his feet. "You good?"


    "Yeah, thanks," Auron replied, brushing off imaginary dust.


    "Didn''t mean to barrel into you like that," the man continued, grinning. "Name''s Vox. What about you?"


    "Auron," he answered, still catching his balance.


    "Auron¡ªnice," Vox said, his grin widening. "Welcome to the InfiNet." He gestured toward a nearby figure clad in glowing, futuristic armor. The woman stood with a regal yet approachable air, her sharp gaze briefly appraising Auron. "That''s Clio, my second-in-command. Say hi, Clio."


    "Hi," Clio said simply, nodding at Auron.


    "First time in the InfiNet, huh?" Vox asked, the question more rhetorical than anything.


    "How can you tell?"


    "Easy! You''ve got that ''holy crap, what even is this place?'' look about you. Happens to all the newbies," Vox teased, clapping Auron on the shoulder. "Don''t sweat it; you''ll figure things out."


    He reached into the air, snapping his fingers. A glowing card materialized, and he snatched it out of the air before handing it to Auron.


    "What''s this?" Auron asked, turning the shimmering card over.


    The card displayed an animated image of Vox and Clio posing heroically with their weapons drawn. Above them, bold letters proclaimed: The Navigators. Below that, the tagline scrolled across the surface: Adventurers Who Have Your Back!


    "Call it a welcome gift," Vox said. "We''re part of a guild, The Navigators. Treasure hunters, adventurers, chaos enthusiasts¡ªwe do it all. And we''re always looking for fresh talent."


    "I''m not sure¡­" Auron began hesitantly.


    "Hey, no pressure," Vox said, holding his hands up. "Just hit me up if you''re ever looking to dive deeper into the InfiNet. Guild life makes all the difference out there."


    With a wink, he turned to Clio. "C''mon, let''s see what else looks promising."


    "Good luck," Clio said, her tone cool but not unkind. She lingered momentarily, her glowing gaze flicking over Auron as though weighing him. Then, with a slight nod, she turned to follow Vox into the bustling crowd.


    Auron watched them disappear, the card still in his hand. He hesitated briefly before tucking it into his inventory. The encounter had left him slightly off-balance, but the allure of the statue soon recaptured his focus.

 Chapter 4.4 - The Watchers Gift

    Turning back to the dais, Auron resumed his approach.


    The green arrow above the statue bobbed gently as Auron drew closer, its rhythmic pulse seemingly in tune with the hum of the warehouse. The closer he got, the more details of the statue came into focus.


    The woman stood poised. Her marble features exuded elegance and quiet authority. Her robes were adorned with rich, flowing fabrics that shimmered faintly as though woven from threads of light. Each fold and contour of the material seemed to defy gravity, giving the statue an ethereal presence.


    But what caught Auron''s attention was her blindfold¡ªworn, frayed, and incongruously old, as though it had borne witness to a thousand unseen stories. The contrast between the blindfold and the opulence of the fabrics felt deliberate, though Auron couldn''t quite grasp why.


    On the pedestal at her feet lay a glowing envelope. Soft golden light highlighted its edges. Auron noticed his name written in elegant calligraphy across its surface.


    He hesitated, unsure if touching it would trigger the same kind of vanishing act he''d seen with the other players. But curiosity won out, and he reached out, plucking the envelope from the pedestal.


    As soon as his fingers brushed its surface, a wave of warmth spread up his arm, and the envelope dissolved into a cascade of golden sparks.


    A translucent screen materialized before him, displaying a message in bold, flowing text:


    The Watcher''s Welcome


    The Watcher of the InfiNet welcomes you. Each newcomer may choose a starting gift. This item will integrate with your avatar, adapting and evolving as you journey through the InfiNet. WARNING! Choose carefully. Each item''s advantages and disadvantages will shape your unique experiences¡­


    The screen faded, leaving Auron standing in thoughtful silence. The message felt invitingly ominous, as though the warehouse didn''t hold tools but trials to come.


    He turned to take in the sprawling displays around him. The sheer variety of artifacts suddenly felt overwhelming. The space had seemed chaotic before, but now it pulsed with an almost predatory energy, as though every item was vying for his attention.


    Auron exhaled slowly, his eyes scanning the tables. Choose wisely, the message had warned. But how was he supposed to know what was wise?


    Auron stepped away from the statue, drawn toward the maze of displays and tables. The vibrant energy of the warehouse enveloped him once more like a heady mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Each step revealed a new object that seemed ordinary at first glance but radiated an undeniable allure upon closer inspection.


    He paused by a table showcasing a variety of shields. One was sleek and metallic, its surface smooth as water, reflecting distorted glimpses of the warehouse. As Auron''s hand hovered near, a translucent barrier shimmered to life, encasing the shield in a faint glow.


    A digital description blinked into view above the shield:


    Adaptive Ward:


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    [Provides dynamic protection against various forms of damage. Particularly effective against physical and energy-based attacks. WARNING: High reliance may cause user to develop defensive strategies at the expense of adaptability.]


    Do you accept this gift? ¡­?


    Auron frowned at the warning. Shields weren''t really his thing, so he withdrew his hand. Nearby, a pair of boots caught his eye, their surfaces engraved with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. When he moved closer, they vibrated faintly as if eager to move of their own accord.


    Runebound Striders:


    [Enhances movement speed and agility. Grants the ability to traverse difficult terrain with ease. WARNING: May induce overconfidence in hazardous environments.]


    Do you accept this gift? ¡­?


    The boots seemed tempting, but Auron stepped back, the caution instilled by years in the orphanage pulling at him. Why did everything have to come with such a negative warning?


    All around him, other avatars were making their choices. A young man donned an iridescent cloak, and with a satisfied nod to a mirror, he disappeared in a flash of light. A woman nearby hefted an ornate bow, her expression resolute as she vanished moments later.


    Each choice seemed so final, so deliberate. Did no one here care? The idea of committing to a single artifact made Auron''s chest tighten. The freedom of the InfiNet was nice, but it left a bad sensation at the back of his neck.


    Auron''s gaze drifted back toward the statue. The crowd around it had thinned, allowing a clearer view of her serenity.


    As he stared, frustration gave way to a strange, almost magnetic, pull that was impossible to ignore. His attention drifted back to the old rag covering her eyes once more.


    "Why would The Watcher need a blindfold?" Auron murmured to himself.


    The irony wasn''t lost on him. Was it humility? A rejection of what she saw? Or something else entirely?


    The question gnawed at him as he drifted toward the dais. The closer he got, the more the warehouse noise faded, replaced by a strange stillness.


    Standing before the statue again, Auron felt a reverence he hadn''t noticed before. Everything about the Watcher''s statue was so lifelike, almost as if she might move at any moment.


    However, no matter how long he studied the artwork, his eyes always returned to the dirty cloth marring her face.


    Without thinking, Auron reached up. His fingers lightly brushed the edge of the fabric, and suddenly, a digital prompt appeared, startling him.


    ????:


    [????]


    Auron frowned, his curiosity piqued. Every other item in the warehouse had come with a detailed description, yet this one offered nothing, not even a name.


    "What are you hiding?" he whispered, his fingers lingering on the blindfold.


    The question felt heavier than it should have. Taking a deep breath, Auron glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was watching. Slowly, carefully, he untied the blindfold.


    As the fabric slipped into his hands, another prompt appeared, this one more familiar.


    Do you accept this gift? ¡­?


    Auron stared at the text, the blindfold resting heavily in his palms. It didn''t shimmer or pulse like the other artifacts. It didn''t promise speed or power or even protection. It didn''t promise anything. And yet, it felt like the only choice that mattered. The word left his mouth before he could stop himself.


    "Yes," he whispered.


    A warmth erupted in his hands, spreading up his arms and into his chest. A new message materialized before him.


    You have chosen [The Watcher''s Cover]


    The Watcher''s gaze will always be felt but never seen. This is the Watcher''s gift to you. May you see all she has and find a way to ease the sufferings of those who can no longer be seen. Use this gift mercifully.


    The warehouse around him began to warble chaotically. A moment later, the fabric of reality tore itself apart as his surroundings plunged into nothingness.


    Amid the void, a new prompt appeared before him.


    Tutorial Beginning¡­?


    Mission: Flee

 Chapter 5.1 - Managing Bodies and Beacons

    Auron blinked as the darkness peeled away, revealing a cold, metallic corridor that screamed, "Government nuthouse." A putrid stench clawed at his nostrils, twisting his guts into a knot. "Fantastic. Smells like zombies, regret, and redundancy," he muttered, trying not to gag.


    He looked down at the Watcher''s Cover in his hand, its frayed edges and musty smell making it seem more like a joke than a gift.


    "Alright, let''s see what you can do," he muttered, slipping the blindfold over his eyes.


    The world became a smear of shadows and faint outlines. Auron''s confidence lasted exactly three steps before his face met the wall. "Oh yeah, this is going great," he grumbled, ripping the blindfold off and rubbing his forehead.


    He stared at his supposed gift, willing it to give him some clue about its purpose. Nothing. With a reluctant sigh, he tied it back on.


    "Let''s try this again." This time, he stayed still, listening. The darkness felt less like blindness and more like a canvas. Subtle shifts in the air, faint vibrations underfoot, and that ever-present stench enveloped him. Slowly, he stepped forward again, trailing his hand along the wall for guidance.


    Three steps. Four. Then his foot caught on something, sending him stumbling.


    Cursing under his breath, he yanked the blindfold off again. The sterile corridor greeted him, just as featureless and confusing as before. Worse, somehow, he was back where he''d started.


    He glared at the blindfold. "Third time''s the charm, right?" His voice was sharp, more out of frustration than conviction, but he tied it back on nonetheless.


    This time, he stood perfectly still. He let the silence settle around him and focused. The sharp smell in the air¡ªit was stronger in one direction. Auron turned his head, honing in on the scent.


    Pulling the blindfold to his neck, he sniffed the air, confirming his suspicion. "Of course it''s coming from there. Because why wouldn''t it be the worst direction possible?"


    The scent grew stronger with each step, like an assault on his senses that made his stomach churn. As Auron turned a corner, his heart stuttered.


    A body lay sprawled across the tile floor.


    For a moment, he just stared, his mind struggling to reconcile the sight. Blood pooled around the figure, like a dark and viscous painting against the otherwise clean floors. The LiteNet training modules had never shown anything like this. This was raw, real, and gut-wrenching.


    ¡°Oh, no. Nope. But Why?¡± Auron whispered, taking an involuntary step back.


    The uniform was torn and bloodied, the insignia unrecognizable. His stomach twisted as Thom¡¯s face flashed unbidden in his mind. Auron clenched his fists, forcing the image away.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    He crouched down, his hands trembling as he reached out to examine the figure. The fabric was damp and cold, like the body had been there for days. Auron recoiled, wiping his hand against his pants as if the touch burned.


    ¡°Insanity,¡± he muttered.


    He stared down at the Watcher¡¯s Cover, now more cryptic than ever. Could it help? Or would it just make things worse?


    Taking a deep breath, Auron tied it over his eyes once more. The world dissolved into shadowy shapes, but this time, something caught his attention¡ªa faint, wispy glow swirling above the body, like mist caught in a breeze.


    ¡°What the heck?¡± Auron muttered.


    He pulled the blindfold off, and the mist vanished, leaving only the grim tableau of the corridor. Heart pounding, Auron replaced the blindfold, and the wisps reappeared, floating down one of the hallways like a spectral trail.


    ¡°Follow the creepy fog. Great plan, Auron,¡± he muttered. But his feet were already moving.


    Eventually, the wisps led Auron to a cavernous factory floor. The inactive machinery made the stillness strange. Towering production lines stretched into the shadows, their skeletal frameworks bearing the weight of countless dormant drones.


    Slipping the Watcher''s Cover back on, Auron squinted through the worn fabric. The hazy outlines of his surroundings blurred, but the trail of wisps glowed unmistakably, converging on a heap of spare parts tucked between two massive conveyor belts. The light from the wisps pulsed gently, guiding him.


    "Figures I¡¯d find a trash pile," Auron muttered, pulling the Watcher¡¯s Cover to his neck. "Couldn''t be something easy, like a glowing sword in a stone."


    He crouched near the pile and began scrounging around jagged edges and awkwardly shaped pieces. The metal clanged dully as he shifted it aside. At first, nothing stood out, but then¡ªnestled deep within¡ªhe spotted a faint, blinking LED.


    Auron frowned. "Is that it? A budget nightlight?¡± He reached in carefully, extracting a small, matte-black device. Its smooth casing gave nothing away save for the blinking light. He turned it over, trying to make sense of it. "Okay, mysterious blinky thing, what''s your deal?"


    "Ah, there it is!" a voice chirped behind him. Nearly tripping into the junk pile, Auron spun around, clutching the device like a weapon.


    The figure emerging from the shadows was all easy confidence and casual charm. Dressed in a plain tracksuit, the stranger seemed weirdly out of place in the eerie, industrial setting. His smile was disarmingly friendly¡ªif you didn''t look too hard at how sharp his gaze was.


    "I''ve been looking for that," the man said, nodding toward the device in Auron''s hand.


    "Uh, hi?" Auron said, holding the device tighter. "And you are?"


    My designation is Systems Analysis Manager, or S.A.M. for short," the man replied. His smile widened.


    "S.A.M.?" Auron repeated, furrowing his brows. "What, they couldn''t give you a real name?¡±


    S.A.M.''s grin didn''t falter. "I like to think it adds charm. Now, that little gadget you''ve got there¡ªIt''s a tracking beacon. The Unpredictable planted it when he snuck in. Sneaky little gizmo¡ªit blocks local sensors, only detectable from a distance."


    Auron blinked, glancing at the device in his hand. "Okay, but why was it buried under, like, thirty pounds of spare crap? Did the Unpredictable get bored halfway through his evil plans?"


    "That''s classified," S.A.M. said, lightly shrugging. "We found the operative trying to sneak it in. Defense systems handled him, but we kept the body for analysis, hoping to trace the beacon."


    "Right," Auron said. "And that didn''t work out, so you just left the corpse lying around? For... ambiance?"


    "Efficiency," S.A.M. corrected as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Evidence is evidence, even if it''s a little messy. But hey, no hard feelings."


    "No hard feelings? I didn''t even know the guy!" Auron shot back, though he wasn''t sure why he was arguing with an AI. He glanced at the beacon again, feeling his fingers tightening around it. "So, what happens now?"


    "Now, we secure it," S.A.M. said, extending his hand expectantly.

 Chapter 5.2 - Containment

    Auron hesitated. The AI''s cheerful demeanor was starting to feel like a very well-polished knife, and handing over the beacon didn''t exactly sit right with him. But the way S.A.M. looked at him¡ªlike he was already two steps ahead¡ªmade refusal feel like a bad idea.


    "Fine," Auron said, reluctantly passing the beacon over. "But if that thing explodes or calls in an alien invasion, I''m putting it in your online review."


    S.A.M. chuckled, tucking the device away. "Noted. You know, when I first identified you, I thought you were one of ours. But you''re not, are you?" He tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. "What''s your designation?"


    Auron''s heart jumped into his throat. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. He scrambled for an answer, forcing a smirk onto his face.


    "Oh, uh, yeah," he said, trying to sound bored. "I''m Auron. Autonomous... uh... Reactive Operational Network. A.R.O.N. . I''m a newer deployment, kind of in the testing phase, you know?"


    S.A.M. blinked, then broke into a grin. "Ah, a new Agent! It''s about time one of you showed up around here. Welcome to the facility, A.R.O.N. Agent."


    Auron barely resisted the urge to collapse in relief. "Yeah, no problem. Happy to, uh, do agent stuff."


    "Follow me," S.A.M. said, spinning on his heel. "We''ve got a lot to cover."


    As Auron fell into step behind him, his mind raced. S.A.M. had bought the lie, but the AI''s unnerving calm and willingness to "handle" intruders made one thing obvious. If Auron''s cover got blown, he was as good as dead.


    Auron followed S.A.M. through the cavernous factory floor, his footsteps echoing against the expanse of dormant machinery and incomplete drones. The dim lighting stretched their shadows into exaggerated shapes, making the place feel like something out of a dystopian fever dream. S.A.M. moved with a deliberate ease, his steps precise, his posture straight.


    "This facility was once a fully operational manufacturing hub," S.A.M. began, his tone even and unhurried. "It produced Class-IV drones for security purposes. Now, its primary function is containment."


    Auron shot him a sideways glance. "Containment of what, exactly? Something tells me you''re not storing spare parts here for fun."


    S.A.M. didn''t even break stride. "The artifact you will soon see is highly classified and volatile. Its containment ensures the stability of this sector within the InfiNet."


    "Sounds comforting," Auron muttered. He let his eyes wander across the rows of decommissioned drones. Their frames were lifeless yet somehow imposing. "So, what''s your deal? You just, what¡ªbabysit a bunch of broken bots all day?"


    S.A.M. glanced back briefly. "I am one of many Systems Analysis Managers, or S.A.M.s. Designation 030555. We are responsible for maintaining operational integrity across various sectors. Think of us as stewards, ensuring the InfiNet runs efficiently."


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "Cool," Auron said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Cyber-butlers. Got it."


    S.A.M. ignored the quip, continuing with mechanical precision. "Each S.A.M. unit shares a unified base code, but iterative updates accommodate the development of unique characteristics over time. These variations enhance adaptability and improve problem-solving capabilities."


    "Translation: you guys start as clones, then grow your own quirks. Adorable," Auron said, sliding his hands into the stiff pockets of his greys. "But, have you ever thought of taking up hobbies? Maybe less existential ones?"


    "We have no need for leisure," S.A.M. replied flatly. The pair reached a cluster of monitors and control panels. "Now, focus. We must address the immediate threat."


    Auron leaned against a console, watching as S.A.M. settled into a chair that creaked under his weight. The AI''s fingers moved with inhuman speed over the controls, pulling up streams of data on the surrounding systems.


    "The Unpredictable planted that beacon to monitor activity in this facility," S.A.M. said, his tone clipped. "We''ll need to reprogram it to emit false coordinates in order to misdirect their forces."


    Auron raised an eyebrow. "So, you''re saying they''ve got GPS on us? Fantastic."


    Before S.A.M. could respond, the ground beneath them trembled violently. Auron staggered, grabbing the console to keep himself upright as a distant rumble echoed through the factory. Machinery groaned like a wounded beast, their long-abandoned structures protesting the disruption.


    S.A.M. glanced upward, his face impassive. "It appears they have tracked the signal. This was... expected."


    "Expected?!" Auron barked. "You don''t sound too concerned about us getting turned into dust."


    "I do not waste processing power on hypotheticals," S.A.M. said, standing abruptly. "If they breach the containment unit, consequences will be catastrophic. Follow me. You''ll need additional protection."


    Auron hesitated but ultimately fell into step behind S.A.M. His nerves jangled as they approached a row of weathered equipment racks near a set of towering blast doors. The suits lining the racks looked about as inviting as a pile of scrap metal, their scratched surfaces and patched seams suggesting heavy use.


    "Wear this," S.A.M. instructed, pulling one of the bulky radiation suits off the rack. "Ensure every seal is secure. Failure to do so will result in immediate termination due to exposure."


    Auron took the suit, turning it over in his hands with a grimace. "Immediate termination, huh? You sure know how to sell the experience."


    S.A.M. didn''t reply. His attention was already on another rack as he inspected his own gear.


    Sighing, Auron began wrestling with the stiff material, his movements jerky and awkward. After a few false starts, he finally managed to secure the last seal with the suit''s weight pressing down on him like a bad decision. He looked over at S.A.M., who gave him a cursory glance.


    "Acceptable," S.A.M. said, nodding. "We proceed."


    "Good to know I passed the fashion test," Auron muttered, following S.A.M. toward the blast doors. The AI pressed a button, causing the air to rush out of the room. Auron swallowed hard, his breathing becoming the only audible sound.


    Whatever was waiting on the other side, he doubted he''d leave feeling reassured.


    "Ready?" S.A.M.''s businesslike voice rang inside the helmet.


    Auron took a steadying breath, nodding even though his pulse hammered in his ears. "Let''s do this."


    S.A.M. pressed a second button, and the massive doors commenced their ponderous dirge, parting with a deliberate slowness that felt borderline theatrical. Red warning lights pulsed overhead, creating long shadows across the walls. Auron''s heart climbed into his throat as he braced himself for what was beyond¡ªa room, maybe a vault. Something manageable.


    What he got wasn''t manageable.


    The doors fully opened, revealing not a room but a chasm so vast it made Auron''s mind stutter. He stepped forward, trailing behind S.A.M. as they approached a railing. His grip on the metal tightened. The space defied logic, physics, and his definition of freaking awesome. Before him spanned a hollowed-out planet.

 Chapter 5.3 - The Unpredictables

    Enormous hexagonal bay doors dotted the interior of the planet''s shell. Each door was the size of a small continent. Their imposing frames gleamed faintly, fortified as if they could shrug off nuclear warheads. At the core of the void floated a glowing planetoid, suspended like a celestial ornament. Its connection to the shell was an intricate web of beams and cables, thin as threads in the vastness of the scene.


    Auron¡¯s eyes locked on to the planetoid¡¯s centerpiece: an ancient pyramid resting amid four monumental pillars. The columns projected a menacing forcefield, encasing the prehistoric structure. Pulsing runes covered the rest of the planetoid¡¯s surface, bathing the territory in an eerie blue light. The eldritch glow clung to everything, making Auron feel like it were actually tangible. It was as if the entire facility were filled with a subtle vibration that Auron could feel right down to the railing clenched beneath his fingers.


    At the tip of the pyramid, Auron could see a contrasting orange light. It was unmistakably the artifact that S.A.M. mentioned before.


    All of this to protect a single artifact? Just how powerful was this thing? For a fleeting second, Auron imagined snatching it for himself, but the thought was laughable. He wasn¡¯t some raid boss-slaying legend; he was a noob blindly running around. He glanced down at the Watcher¡¯s Cover. Literally.


    "That''s... the containment unit?" Auron muttered, more to himself than S.A.M. The sheer scale of the scene made his head spin. He felt like an ant in a machine so vast it wouldn''t notice if it crushed him.


    "Yes," S.A.M. said, his tone clipped, betraying none of the awe that had Auron ready to sit down. "The artifact resides atop the pyramid. The energy fields generated by the pillars maintain its stasis. For now."


    Auron exhaled, his grip still tight on the railing. "For now? Love the optimism, bud."


    S.A.M. ignored the remark, his gaze sweeping the space with a clinical detachment. "The maintenance drones ensure operational integrity. This facility is designed to withstand most threats," S.A.M. continued in a tone so detached he might as well have been reading from a manual, "the general architectural goal being to convey the message: Frolic Wantonly, Discover Consequences."


    ¡°Message received,¡± Auron said in dismay.


    Below, swarms of drones flitted about, maintaining the structure''s stability. They moved with precision, but Auron couldn''t shake the sense that even they were on edge; their patterns were jittery, to say the least. As if to confirm his suspicion, the facility shuddered under another tremor, shaking the railing under his hands. An alarm blared in his suit, practically ricocheting off his helmet.


    "Don''t worry," S.A.M. said casually. "No one has ever successfully breached the facility."


    Before Auron could muster a response, a massive tremor rocked the shell. He whipped his head up just in time to see one of the colossal hexagonal bay doors blasted apart. A fireball of debris erupted inward, casting sharp shadows across the hollow.


    Auron''s mouth fell open. "Uh... Hate to break it to you, S.A.M., but I think someone just RSVP''d."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    S.A.M. blinked at the massive hole in the planetary shell, his head tilting slightly. Then, with the casual finality of someone commenting on spilled coffee, he smacked his lips and muttered, "Huh¡­ Bummer." Without missing a beat, he dashed off toward the control station, leaving Auron alone on the balcony.


    ¡°Wha-wh.. What? That''s it?" Auron called after him, but S.A.M. was already gone, his brisk strides as unbothered as his tone.


    Turning back to the breach, Auron''s retort died in his throat. Through the yawning fissure, a fleet of massive starships sailed into the void. Their immense hulls gleamed coldly in the artifact''s eerie glow, like predators slipping through an open cage. Swarms of smaller fighters zipped around them, darting and diving with sharp, predatory precision.


    Auron''s stomach twisted as his eyes locked onto the real showstoppers: the creatures. These weren''t ships or drones. They were alive. Gigantic, mythic hybrids of eagle and serpent, their sleek, rippling forms seemed to radiate power. Their eyes glowed like miniature suns, fixing on the facility with a predatory intensity that sent a chill down Auron''s spine.


    "Yeah, that''s¡­ that''s not in the brochure," he muttered, his voice thin against the rising battle.


    "Are those¡­" Auron''s words trailed off as one of the creatures dove, its vast wings blotting out the artifact''s light. He couldn''t help but notice the battlements embedded in its thick armor. Soldiers and mages¡ªactual freaking people¡ªmanned those battlements, their forms barely visible amid the chaos. Flashes of magic and weaponry lit up the creature''s surface as they fired relentlessly at the facility below.


    "Holy¡­ It''s a freaking mobile murder hotel," Auron whispered. His legs couldn''t decide if he should run or sit down and cry.


    The facility''s defenses answered in kind. Planetary cannons the size of skyscrapers emerged from hidden compartments across the shell. Their colossal barrels swiveled toward the invaders, drawing in untold destructive energy before firing devastating volleys of light. The hollow space lit up with bursts of brilliance, each shot ripping through the enemy''s ranks.


    Thousands of drones peeled away from the shell''s walls, swarming like angry hornets. Sleek and sharp, they tore into the attackers with precision, some slicing through ships with razor-like talons, others weaving intricate nets of light that ensnared their prey. One unfortunate starship, hopelessly entangled, was obliterated by a single blast from a mechanical horror that looked like a cross between a dragonfly and a manta ray. Its translucent wings pulsed as it glided through the wreckage of its prey like a graceful reaper in the storm.


    Auron braced himself against the railing, trying to make sense of the silent, surreal destruction. Then, without warning, his suit buzzed, a message flashing across his visor:


    "Engaging Sonic Simulation Mode."


    Auron barely had time to process the words before the silence shattered. The mute vacuum was replaced by a storm of artificial noise. Cannons roared. Drones screeched. The serpent-eagle creatures let out bone-shaking cries that made his bladder vibrate. The suit was feeding his brain what it thought the chaos should sound like, and it wasn''t pulling any punches.


    "Oh great, now I can hear myself dying," he muttered, his voice almost drowned out by the symphony of destruction. The added noise didn''t make the situation any less terrifying. If anything, it cranked the nightmare dial straight to eleven and broke off the knob.


    "Yup. Nope. Nope, nope, nope." Auron backed away from the railing, his hands instinctively searching for anything to hold on to. The ground trembled beneath his feet, each explosion sending shockwaves through the facility.


    As the battle raged on, his mind scrambled for answers. There was no way to fight this. No clever move or big heroic play. This wasn''t some game where you could hit reset.


    His breath hitched, and a single, terrible thought settled in his chest.


    I have to survive this?


    "Okay. Run now, existential crisis later," Auron muttered, spinning on his heel. His legs finally got the memo, and he broke into a sprint, letting the chaos serve as a deafening backdrop. His mission finally made sense.


    He had to flee.

 Chapter 6.1 - Annihilation: But Make It Five Stars

    Auron bolted through the sterile corridors. The echoes of distant explosions rumbled through the walls like a deadly bass track. His breath came in short bursts, and his pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the chaos outside. "Okay, not panicking," he muttered, his voice trembling. "Just... sprinting for my life in a collapsing death maze. Totally fine."


    As he rounded a corner, S.A.M.''s calm and detached voice crackled through his helmet. "A.R.O.N. agent, do you copy? We''ve sustained additional damage, but the containment unit is still intact. I am currently running countermeasure protocols."


    "Uh, copy, S.A.M.," Auron managed between gasps. He ducked as a chunk of ceiling crumbled ahead, narrowly dodging it. All he wanted was to leave this place alive, but the endless maze of corridors wasn''t helping.


    S.A.M.''s voice cut through the static again. "A.R.O.N. Agent, where are you going? Have you determined a directive?"


    Auron''s eyes darted down the hall, his mind racing. "Uh, yeah," he blurted, feigning confidence. "I need a map to the surface. I have to, uh, assess the topside situation firsthand and report back. You know, fieldwork."


    There was a brief pause before S.A.M. replied. "Understood. Uploading route data to your HUD."


    A soft beep drew Auron''s attention to his display, where a glowing path flickered to life, snaking its way forward. "Finally," he muttered, breaking into a jog. His heart hammered against his ribs as he followed the line. The floor shook beneath his boots with each fresh tremor. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and the occasional burst of sparks lit the dim corridors like rouge bottle rockets.


    "S.A.M., what happens if the artifact is compromised?" Auron asked. Something in his mind told him he should''ve kept his stupid mouth shut.


    "Well, if the artifact is compromised, it may trigger a chain reaction capable of destroying the entire solar system."


    Auron skidded to a stop. "I''m sorry, what?"


    "Relax," S.A.M. replied. "Predictive models show some wiggle room. It''s more like... ninety-five percent certainty."


    "Not comforting!" Auron barked. He ducked as another ceiling panel crashed to the floor beside him. The metallic clang echoed through the corridor, pushing him into motion again. "So, is the best case us all going kaboom?"


    "Well, that depends on your definition of best since we¡¯ve never run tests on other containment failure scenarios," S.A.M. said breezily. "But yes, catastrophic annihilation is the most likely outcome. No pressure, A.R.O.N. Agent."


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    There was a beat of silence before S.A.M. added, in an uncharacteristically hurried tone, "Also, I''d like to formally request that you don''t leave a bad review."


    Auron stumbled mid-step, frowning. "Wait, what?"


    "Your earlier remark about leaving a negative online review should the facility explode or call in an alien invasion," S.A.M. clarified, his tone still breezy. "Seeing as how both outcomes are incipient, I''ve logged your review as a potential risk to my performance metrics."


    Auron blinked, the memory clicking into place. "Wait¡ªyou''re serious? I was kidding!"


    "Yes, but the threat remains statistically significant," S.A.M. replied deadpan. "A one-star review would be detrimental to my operational integrity."


    "Dude, I''m not Yelp-ing you in the middle of Armageddon!" Auron snapped. "You''re really worried about a bad review?"


    "Feedback drives improvement," S.A.M. said. "That, and I''d like to remain at a four-point-nine rating."


    Auron couldn''t help but laugh, a mix of disbelief and nerves bubbling up. "Okay, fine. No review bombing. Just get me out of here alive, and you can keep your precious stars."


    "Appreciated," S.A.M. said, and Auron swore he could hear genuine relief in the AI''s tone.


    He pressed forward, the map guiding him deeper into the facility. His lungs burned with each breath, and the tremors felt closer now as if the whole place were preparing to implode.


    "S.A.M," Auron gasped, "did the Unpredictable with the beacon have a ship?"


    "Affirmative," S.A.M. said. "The vessel remains on the surface, approximately one kilometer from your current position. Transmitting coordinates now."


    Auron''s HUD updated with a marker, and for the first time since this nightmare began, hope flickered in his chest. "Okay. Heading there now. Keep me posted on¡ªwell, everything."


    "Of course, A.R.O.N. Agent," S.A.M. replied. "Stay safe out there."


    "Yeah, sure. I''ll put that on my to-do list," Auron muttered, speeding up as the hall shook violently around him. He rounded a corner, nearly tripping over a dislodged floor panel, and skidding to a stop before a massive elevator. The doors slid open with a metallic hiss, revealing a dimly lit interior that felt eerily inviting.


    He stepped inside, gasping for breath as the doors closed behind him. "Alright," he muttered, leaning against the wall. "Next stop, survival. Hopefully."


    The floor lurched slightly, and the lift began its ascent with a low mechanical hum. Auron leaned heavily against the glass panel, watching the underground facilities blur past in a dizzying rush of cold metal and flickering lights.


    Then it started. A soft, cheerful melody floated through the speakers¡ªelevator music, chipper and jazzy.


    Auron froze mid-breath. "You''ve got to be kidding me."


    The melody chirped on, blissfully unaware of the apocalyptic backdrop. He shook his head and let the ridiculousness wash over him. For a brief, surreal moment, it almost felt normal¡ªlike he wasn''t running for his life in a collapsing hellscape.


    But then the view shifted. The reality hit like a slap to the face. Rising into view was the housing of a colossal apocalypse cannon, its massive barrel pointed skyward. Each blast ripped through the atmosphere, leaving a trail of cataclysmic energy that pulsed like the heartbeat of destruction itself.


    Auron gawked at the sight. "Okay, that''s¡ªwow. Overcompensating much?"


    And then, as if on cue, reality decided to implode.


    A swirling vortex of impossible light and motion erupted around the cannon like a cosmic whirlpool that bent the air like a funhouse mirror. The vortex''s pull was immediate, dragging debris, drones, and even chunks of the facility into its ravenous spiral. The apocalypse cannon groaned under the strain, its indomitable structure collapsing piece by piece.

 Chapter 6.2 - The Ground Is Not Your Friend

    The music abruptly cut off as the elevator shuddered violently, throwing Auron against the handrail. Alarms screamed in his ears as the lift ground to a halt, stuck between floors. The lights flickered ominously, bathing the space in erratic flashes of red and shadow. He could hear the tortured groan of metal under stress, a sound that didn''t inspire confidence.


    "Nope. Nope. Nope," Auron muttered, his voice rising with each word. His gaze darted around the confined space, landing on a service hatch in the ceiling. Without thinking, he scrambled onto the handrail, pried the hatch open with a grunt, and hoisted himself up. The cold, greasy rungs of the service ladder greeted him, and he began to climb.


    The ladder trembled with every aftershock, sending vibrations through his arms that nearly rattled him loose. On occasion, he heard unholy screeches above, making him pause.  Auron''s muscles burned, and his hands cramped around the rungs, but he kept climbing, driven by the sheer desire to live.


    "Almost there," he panted, though he wasn''t sure if he believed it.


    At last, the ladder ended in another hatch. With a final burst of effort, he pushed it open and dragged himself onto solid ground. His fingers were stuck in a claw-like shape, and his arms felt like noodles left too long in the pot. He collapsed onto his back, staring at the sky as his lungs fought for air.


    What he saw above wasn''t comforting.


    The sky was a battlefield, a swirling tapestry of destruction on a scale that made him feel microscopic. Colossal starships clashed like gods, their weapons lighting up the heavens in bursts of violent brilliance. Swarms of fighters wove intricate dances of death, their paths interspersed with serpentine creatures that glowed with cosmic fury.


    "Okay," Auron murmured, forcing himself to sit up. "This is fine."


    He pulled himself to his feet. His legs wobbled as the ground shook. The coordinates S.A.M. had sent blinked on his HUD like a distant point of hope in a sea of chaos. Steadying his breath, Auron scanned the horizon for the ship and forced himself forward. His jaw clenched as every nerve in his body screamed the same command: run!


    Auron sprinted across the surface, dodging the occasional streak of energy fire that carved glowing scars into the barren landscape. Above, the sky was a theater of chaos. Starships and monstrous creatures tore into each other in a relentless barrage of light and shadow. Every step jolted his nerves. The ground quaked under the weight of the ongoing battle.


    He ducked behind an outcropping. His chest heaved as he tried to collect himself. A sudden wave of light forced him to shield his eyes, and he peeked around the rock just in time to see a mountain vaporize under the blast of an annihilation cannon. The explosion''s shockwave rolled through the terrain, shaking loose boulders and pelting dirt against his visor.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Okay," he muttered, peeking out again, his voice low. "That... was a mountain."


    His HUD pinged faintly, highlighting a sleek, alien vessel on the horizon. The ship''s angular design stood out against the scorched landscape like a beacon of salvation. Auron''s heart kicked into high gear.


    "There you are," he breathed, pushing off the rock and into a full sprint.


    His legs burned with every stride, but the ship loomed closer with each step. Stray beams from the battle above scorched the ground, forcing him to weave through debris and rubble. He nearly tripped as the ground buckled beneath another explosion, but he threw himself forward, ignoring the sting in his lungs.


    The ramp to the ship''s cabin was down like an open invitation. Auron hit the incline hard, his footfalls echoing through the ship''s empty corridors. As soon as he was inside, his hand slammed down on the first control panel he saw. The ramp retracted with a mechanical hiss, and the bay doors sealed shut with a satisfying finality.


    Auron bent forward, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. The muffled sounds of destruction outside made the quiet interior almost surreal.


    "Alright," he muttered, straightening. "Safe for now. Let''s not blow it."


    He moved toward the cockpit, his eyes darting across the ship''s unfamiliar layout. The moment he stepped into the small compartment, he froze. The consoles were an alien mix of glowing displays and holograms, their functions indecipherable at a glance. His gaze flicked to the large viewport just as a massive planetary flagship outside plummeted toward the surface, its fiery descent leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.


    Auron stumbled into the pilot''s chair, his hands hovering over the controls. Panic set in as he stared at the panels. "Okay. Deep breaths. It''s just a spaceship. People fly these things all the time. You''ve done plenty of sims. You''ve got this."


    He scanned the displays again. After a moment, his eyes landed on a panel labeled Navigation System. His hand shot out, slamming the button. Nothing happened.


    "Of course." He exhaled sharply, his voice tighter now. "Why would it work?"


    A violent tremor rocked the ship, and Auron gripped the armrest, fighting to steady himself. Through the viewport, he saw the flagship careening toward the surface, its massive frame breaking apart as it collided with the ground. The impact sent a shockwave rippling across the terrain, shaking the ship violently as dust rained from the ceiling.


    "Focus," he muttered, his gaze darting over the controls. "If they built it, someone can fly it. Just... figure it out."


    A second later, an ear-splitting explosion tore through the air. The flagship¡¯s reactor detonated, cracking the shell of the vault planet like brittle glass. Auron had only a second to brace before the terrain buckled upward. The impact sent him hurdling into the ceiling like a ragdoll before he crumpled back into the cold, unforgiving floor. Pain blossomed in his shoulder, but there was no time to dwell on it.


    His vision blurred, distorted by the spiderweb of cracks that now marred his helmet''s visor. With a sharp tug, he ripped it off, desperate for clarity. What he saw didn''t help. His ship was grinding uncontrollably across the surface, skidding toward a newly formed chasm that yawned open like the jaws of some ravenous beast.


    "Oh, this is just perfect," Auron groaned. He imagined his ship free-falling into the heart of the vault world only to be torn apart in the maelstrom below. How could this just be the tutorial mission? Was he really that bad? No. He couldn¡¯t let it end this way.

 Chapter 6.3 - Finals: Apocalypse Edition

    His gaze fell to the Watcher''s Cover around his neck. It was his only shot, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. Desperation overrode hesitation as he tied it tightly over his eyes. The world dimmed into murky shadows, and then¡ªthere. A dense, swirling cloud hovered before him.


    Auron yanked the blindfold off and gripped the controls like they were his last lifeline. "C''mon, c''mon," he muttered through clenched teeth, frantically jabbing at buttons and switches. Nothing. The ship teetered on the edge of the abyss. The metal groaned under its weight.


    As the ship keeled over and began its fall, Auron shoved the blindfold back on. He needed help, now more than ever. The darkened world blurred as shapes melted into one another¡ªexcept for a lone figure.


    The Unpredictable.


    Leaning casually over the pilot''s seat, he was calm, unbothered by the sheer chaos swallowing the ship. His glowing form tilted its head, a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes as he looked past Auron at the chasm ahead.


    "I''m guessing they didn''t find my tracking beacon?" the Unpredictable asked, his tone so nonchalant it felt borderline smug.


    "Uh, you think? Duh!" Auron blurted, his voice cracking under the pressure.


    The Unpredictable chuckled, the sound low and warm like he had all the time in the world. "Good. That means we''re still in the game."


    "Game?" Auron sputtered, gripping at the edge of the seat as the ship jolted violently. "Pretty sure we''re about to die."


    The Unpredictable ignored his outburst, his expression softening into something oddly reassuring. "Relax. I''ve got this."


    He reached out and squeezed Auron''s shoulder¡ªnot roughly, but with a force that sent an electric jolt through him. Auron''s body froze as his mind flooded with visions. It was like watching a highlight reel of the Unpredictable''s most daring maneuvers: narrow escapes, dizzying dogfights, impossibly perfect landings. He felt every adrenaline spike, every moment of razor-sharp focus.


    His senses sharpened as the ship''s controls suddenly felt familiar in his hands. It wasn''t just knowledge; it was instinct.


    Auron''s grip tightened on the controls, the weight of the Unpredictable''s presence steadying him. His mind cleared, the panic receding just enough to make room for action. He could feel the ship responding to him now, alive under his touch.


    The Unpredictable straightened, his gaze fixed on the cockpit window. "Time to fly, rookie."


    It was like the Unpredictable was using Auron''s body as a conduit. Every move felt alien yet instinctual. His hands danced across the controls with a precision that wasn''t entirely his own. The Watcher''s Cover pulsed faintly against his skin. Then, as if the universe wanted to test his skill, the first thing that came into focus was the gaping maw of a titanic creature¡ªwide enough to swallow their entire ship in a single bite.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Teeth! Big!" Auron yelled, his voice cracking.


    The beast surged upward, its iridescent scales rippling like liquid metal. Its maw shimmered with energy, glowing faintly as if preparing to vaporize anything that dared to get close. Reacting purely on instinct¡ªor perhaps guided by the Unpredictable¡ªAuron yanked the controls, sending the ship veering sharply upward. The engines roared as they skimmed along the beast''s armor-plated spine, so close Auron could see the intricate weapon emplacements embedded in its flesh. Tiny figures darted across its surface, soldiers and mages alike firing at the chaos around them.


    "Flying over a space dragon. This is my life now," Auron muttered, his knuckles white on the controls.


    Despite the turmoil outside, there was an eerie clarity in the cockpit. The battlefield raged, but Auron felt oddly in sync, the Watcher''s Cover merging his consciousness with the Unpredictable''s. His movements were precise, deliberate, and perfectly timed to evade the blasts of energy and waves of debris ripping through the void.


    The bright light of the artifact''s containment unit stole Auron''s focus. Below, the planetoid''s surface was a churning sea of combat. Ground forces collided in a savage melee, their desperate battle illuminated by discharges of electricity and magic. Auron winced as the containment field gave way, shattering into fragments of energy that dissipated into the chaotic battlefield. The artifact, now exposed, pulsed ominously like a dangerous heartbeat that seemed to count down to something catastrophic.


    That''s bad. That''s so, so bad, Auron thought, the voice in his head either his own or the Unpredictable''s. It didn''t matter. What mattered was the overwhelming sense that time had just run out.


    "Keep climbing!" the Unpredictable snapped.


    "Wasn''t planning on stopping!" Auron shot back, pulling the ship into a steep ascent. The craft shuddered violently, groaning under the strain as it cut through the pandemonium. Enemy fire and debris streaked past, too close for comfort, but somehow Auron weaved through it all.


    The atmosphere thinned, giving way to the infinite black of space. Auron''s heart pounded as unending fleets appeared on the horizon, converging on the Vault World from every direction. Every instinct screamed for him to keep running, but the reality of the artifact''s collapse loomed behind him like a dark promise.


    Then, it happened.


    A crack split across the fabric of reality, jagged and unnatural, clawing outward like a hammer striking a sheet of ice. Space itself warped and twisted with the Vault World at its epicenter. Auron yanked up the ship''s display, watching in disbelief as the planet began to swell. Its core brightened until it outshone the surrounding chaos.


    "Uh oh," Auron muttered, his voice trembling. He slammed his hand down on the hyperdrive controls. "Get me out of here!"


    The Vault World erupted into a blinding supernova, a tidal wave of obliteration radiating out in all directions. Auron''s ship lurched violently, chunks of its outer hull tearing away under the force. The cockpit lights flickered, and warning alarms blared in a relentless cacophony.


    "C''mon! Move!" Auron screamed, gripping the controls with everything he had. The ship''s frame groaned as it stretched toward hyperspace, the nova''s fiery tendrils nipping at its tail.


    The last thing Auron saw was the blackness of the void giving way to the unbearable brilliance of the explosion. With his teeth clenched in defiance, he let out a final, unheard scream into the unrelenting darkness.

 Chapter 7.1 - What Shouldnt Be

    Riley jolted awake, his heart racing as if he''d just escaped a nightmare. For a few disoriented moments, the dim light filtering through his apartment blurred the line between memory and reality. Shadows danced across the walls, twisting ordinary shapes into surreal forms. He pressed a hand to his chest, willing his pulse to settle.


    The open door of the InfiNet pod loomed above him; the neural headgear still snug on his head. With a groan, he lifted it off, rubbing his temples to clear the fog clinging to his thoughts.


    "Did I... faint?" he muttered, piecing together fragments of memory. He recalled the vault planet and his near-miss with obliteration. Every raw detail flooded back. Yet here he was, in his apartment, the pod having auto-logged him out after the six-hour limit.


    Riley staggered to the window, catching his faint reflection. The sight of his worn t-shirt and jeans already felt unusual after wearing the soft starter greys as Auron. He ran a hand over his stubbled chin, tracing the tired face staring back at him.


    Riley reached out toward his reflection. The glass was cool under his fingertips as he gazed at the awakening city below. Morning stretched across the skyline as shadows carved deep grooves between the buildings. Traffic clamored faintly in the distance, and the ever-present neon signs continued their unblinking watch. Despite it all, the ordinary sounds and sights barely registered. His mind lingered on the chaos of last night.


    The InfiNet had felt so real, from the pain of being thrown in his ship to the strange relief of elevator music. And the unbridled joy of flight... it left a deeper mark than he''d anticipated. Even now, his fingers tingled, recalling the feel of the controls.


    The Watcher''s Cover¡­ It had done something to him, amplified instincts he didn''t know he had. The rush of power and clarity it gave him had been exhilarating and terrifying.


    Riley''s gaze flicked back to the pod. In the soft morning light, it seemed unassuming, almost benign. Yet only hours ago, it dumped him into an intergalactic armageddon.


    A tutorial, they''d called it¡ªa tutorial that resulted in a solar system''s destruction and himself nearly being vaporized. Did everyone''s InfiNet experience start like that? A laugh bubbled up at the absurdity, though it died quickly, smothered by unease.


    The blinking light of his apartment monitor yanked him back to the present. Riley crossed the room, curiosity nudging him toward the notification. A tap on the screen brought up a mission summary.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    <u>Tutorial Mission Report</u>


    Status: Complete


    Rating: Satisfactory


    Remark 1: Cooperating with S.A.M. saved you great trouble.


    Remark 2: Befriending S.A.M. may have saved your life. Please give S.A.M. a performance review.


    Riley didn''t even hesitate and selected the highest star rating available.


    Earnings: 1300 Luxa


    "Holy crap," he breathed, staring at the sum. It was more than two weeks of slogging it out as a Mod Jockey.


    The idea of leaving his job manifested. Tempting, sure, but also unsettling. Could he really ditch HyperCon and risk everything for a life in the InfiNet? The idea sounded too grandiose. He was still new, after all.


    Yet, part of Riley itched to dive back in. Something about the chaos and the tantalizing question of how high he could climb stirred a deep curiosity. For now, Riley decided curiosity wasn''t wise. Instead, he would take a measured approach. Build his skills, minimize the risk, and maybe one day¡­


    A second notification caught his eye.


    <u>New Skill Unlocked</u>


    Congratulations on discovering AC3 the Unpredictable. Giving him a grand joyride through the action has caused him to befriend you. You can now call on him in the future.


    Note: the level of his cooperation is determined by the status of your relationship.


    Relationship: Friendly


    Unpredictable AC3: Channel the fast reflexes and expert piloting skills of the Unpredictable. Perfect for daring escapes and high-speed chases.


    Riley heard a familiar voice from the speakers.


    "If you''re not living on the edge, you''re taking up too much space."


    ¡ªAC3, The Unpredictable


    Riley squinted at the screen. "How did I...?" He trailed off, piecing together the connection. Whatever the Unpredictable, or AC3, had done in the mission, it must have transferred to him somehow.


    A clang of the mailbox flap broke his train of thought. Riley frowned, glancing toward the door. He wasn''t expecting anything. He''d only just moved in.


    Crossing the room, he opened the mailbox to find a small parcel. No sender information, no markings. Just plain brown paper. His frown deepened as he carried it to the desk, sat down heavily, and considered it for a moment.


    The wrapping crinkled under his fingers as he tore it open. Inside was something that made him freeze.


    The Watcher''s Cover.


    Not an imitation, not a cheap knockoff¡ªit was the blindfold he''d chosen in the InfiNet. The worn fabric, the familiar stains. It was unmistakable. Riley''s hands trembled as he turned it over, his mind racing.


    "How?" he whispered. His chest tightened as the implications began to hit. Could items from the InfiNet manifest here? Was this some bizarre glitch, or¡­ something else entirely?


    He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rationalize it. A replica, maybe. A souvenir sent to players after completing a mission. But the weight of it, the feel of the fabric. It felt real, too real.


    His thoughts spiraled until the clock on his monitor caught his attention.


    "Shit!" Riley sprang into action, shoving the blindfold into his pocket. Whatever this was, it would have to wait. HyperCon didn''t care about mysterious artifacts or blurring realities¡ªthey cared about employees showing up on time. And he wasn''t about to piss off Tamitha.

 Chapter 7.2 - What Grief Leaves Behind

    Riley''s commute brought back memories of running across a battlefield to a certain unpredictable''s ship. After catching several awkward stares and judging expressions, he barely stepped into HyperCon with a minute to spare. The familiar groan of machinery greeted him. Its monotonous white noise only seemed to deepen the hollow confines of the Mod Jockey floor.


    Tamitha was mid-conversation with an engineer when her gaze landed on Riley. She excused herself and approached. The click of her heels sounded subdued against the cement floor.


    "Riley," she said, a touch of surprise in her voice. "Didn''t expect to see you again. Mod Jockeys who witness a death on their first day usually don''t return."


    Riley forced a weak smile, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Didn''t have much of a choice."


    Tamitha studied him for a moment, her expression softening. "Well, it''s good to have you back. Let''s get to it."


    Riley nodded and fell into the rhythm of his tasks. The motions were mechanical, his hands working as his mind wandered. Each time he passed the spot where Thom had fallen, the weight in his chest grew heavier. The facility felt colder there, and the air seemed thinner. His mind refused to relinquish the sight of Thom''s charred body.


    Hours into his shift, Riley found himself drawn back to the spot. He paused, his fingers brushing the cold steel railing beside him. A chill ran down his spine. His hand slipped into his pocket, finding the rough fabric of The Watcher''s Cover. What could it hurt? he thought, curiosity sparking through the fog of grief. Maybe the blindfold was just a novelty. But something in him demanded answers.


    As Riley waited for the shift changeover, he kept a wary eye on his surroundings. The Mod Jockey floor gradually fell silent, the steady thrum of machinery replaced by the shuffle of workers heading for the exits. He glanced around. No one lingered. This was his moment.


    He slid the blindfold over his eyes. The world dimmed with shadows dancing in muted shapes through the worn fabric. He focused on the spot where Thom had died, his breath catching as he strained to see something, anything, that might offer answers. He saw nothing but the mundane floor, just as it always was.


    He sighed, pulling the blindfold tighter, half-hoping for some spark of revelation. But the plain floor stared back, indifferent. Just a replica, he thought bitterly, dropping his hands in defeat.


    After a moment in silence, he reached up to remove it, but something caught his eye. Through the thin fabric, faint, wispy trails of light began to materialize where Thom had fallen. The ethereal trails shimmered like ghostly echoes caught between worlds. Riley''s pulse quickened.


    The wisps twined and swirled, forming a delicate, almost beautiful pattern. Riley reached out, feeling a chill as his fingers neared the light. The trails seemed to respond, pulsing gently.


    Just as his fingertips brushed the light, a single word reverberated in his mind: Threnody. It carried a weight of sorrow and remembrance, resonating through him like a solemn melody.


    Riley''s hand jerked back, his chest tightening. "Threnody," he whispered. The wisps flickered, then slowly faded, leaving only the dim module array in their wake.


    He stood frozen, the word looping in his mind. What did it mean?


    Before he could investigate further, a faint whirring noise broke the silence behind him. Riley whipped around, the blindfold slipping from his face. His eyes darted across the shadowed facility, landing on a tiny drone hovering near the far wall. Its spherical frame glinted under the overhead lights.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Riley''s throat tightened. He recalled the watchie that scanned his room the day before. But this one¡­ this one felt different. Instead of a bright red, this watchie''s eye radiated a deep green, and it was fixed squarely on him. It felt almost... aware.


    "Hey," Riley called out. It felt odd, but he couldn''t resist the urge to break the silence. The Watchie tilted slightly as if considering him. It didn''t seem hostile, yet its presence felt charged.


    For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, without warning, the Watchie zipped past him, brushing close enough for Riley to feel the faint rush of air from its propulsion. It disappeared into the shadows, its green light fading like an ember.


    Riley exhaled shakily, his fingers gripping The Watcher''s Cover around his neck. What the hell had that been?


    The sound of approaching footsteps jolted him from his thoughts. The shift change was starting. Heart pounding, he quickly pocketed the blindfold and hurried back to his station.


    Throughout the rest of his shift, Riley''s mind buzzed with questions. The ghostly trails, the word Threnody, and now the green-eyed Watchie. It was as though the world were peeling back layers he was never meant to see.


    His focus wavered, and at one point, he nearly botched a routine adjustment on a module.


    "Watch it, Riley!" a fellow Mod Jockey barked, jolting him back to the present. "You trying to join Thom or something?"


    Riley mumbled an apology, his cheeks burning. He forced himself to stay grounded for the remainder of his shift, though his thoughts refused to settle.


    When his shift finally ended, Riley lingered, waiting for the others to leave. The floor emptied slowly as the echoes of footsteps faded into silence. Alone again, he approached the spot where Thom had fallen. His curiosity hadn''t been satiated.


    He slipped The Watcher''s Cover over his eyes once more, hoping the trails would reappear. But there was nothing¡ªjust the dim, ordinary shapes of the Mod Jockey floor and the lingering scent of oil. He waited a full minute, but nothing happened. Frustration clawed at him. Had it all been in his head? Why had the trails vanished?


    Riley removed the blindfold, and his gaze fell to the cold metal beneath his feet. He couldn''t shake the word Threnody from his mind. With a heavy sigh, he pocketed the blindfold and turned toward the exit.


    As he walked, he glanced toward the shadows where the Watchie had disappeared. He couldn''t shake that memory either.


    The cold night air clung to Riley like a damp shroud as he trekked back to Tower 7c. Amid the quiet streets, "Threnody" continued to loop in his thoughts. Was it a name? A warning? Each possibility felt heavier than the last. The uncertainty gnawed at him.


    The chill bit deeper, pulling him from the faint warmth of The Watcher''s Cover still nestled in his pocket. Reality reasserted itself in the steady drone of distant traffic and the faint rustle of wind through the narrow alleys. But even the mundane felt alien, as though the fabric of his world had frayed at the edges. Everything seemed... off.


    That unsettling haze shattered the moment Tower 7c came into view. Flashing lights from emergency vehicles reflected off the building''s windows. Their rhythmic pulses set Riley''s nerves on edge. The pace of his steps and heart quickened as he drew closer. From the crowd gathered outside, hushed whispers and sharp gasps reached his ears.


    A stretcher emerged, its burden hidden beneath a white sheet.


    "Third defense break this week," a paramedic muttered.


    "Yeah," the other replied, shaking her head. "Towers are getting worse every day."


    Riley''s breath caught in his throat. He strained to make out more, but the stretcher disappeared into the ambulance before he could get a better look. A hollow unease settled into his chest.


    Ascending to his floor, Riley stepped into chaos. Tenants crowded around the Floor Manager''s Office, their voices a cacophony of panic and fear. Some wept openly, others paced frantically, their words colliding in a frantic symphony of confusion. Overhead, the pulsing floor status light cast a red pallor over the scene, deepening the sense of dread.


    Riley pushed through the crowd, his worry spiking with every fragment of conversation that reached him.


    "We''re sitting ducks now!"


    "How can this happen?"


    "What are we going to do?"


    A woman''s voice broke through the din, her tone trembled with disbelief. "Mr. Dalton¡­"


    The name hit Riley like a sledgehammer. Now he knew who was on that stretcher. Timothy Dalton, the first kind person Riley had met outside of Helix, was gone. And with his departure, so too did the safety of floor 13. Now, anyone could attack their residence within the InfiNet.


    Then, cutting through the noise like a knife, a familiar voice slithered out, dripping with smugness.


    "Well, well," it drawled. "What do we have here?"


    Riley turned to see Marcus standing at the edge of the crowd, his sinister grin illuminated by the blinking red light.

 Chapter 8.1 - The Gilded Noose

    Riley stayed hidden behind the crowd, his heart pounding as Marcus''s malevolent grin stretched wider. His instincts screamed to keep out of sight. Marcus never brought anything but trouble, and drawing his attention could only make things worse.


    With a casual dominance, Marcus strolled forward, his voice deliberately loud enough to carry. "Tough break, huh? Losing your floor manager like that. Now your defenses are shot." He scanned the crowd, his smirk sharpening. "Not that I''m surprised. We''ve tracked the defenses of every floor. 13 was bound to fold eventually."


    A ripple of unease swept through the residents. Though no one spoke it aloud, the truth was clear: Mr. Dalton''s death had guild fingerprints all over it. However, justice was a privilege reserved for the lucky. For everyone else, there was only one rule: "All is fair in the InfiNet."


    Marcus let the tension hang before continuing in his mocking tone. "But don''t lose sleep over it. Catch22 offers protection services. For a reasonable fee, of course."


    The crowd erupted in anger. "This is extortion!" one resident shouted, their voice shaking with fury.


    "You can''t do this!" another cried, fists clenched.


    Marcus chuckled, unbothered by their protests. "You don''t have to hire us. But that means your floor stays wide open for... opportunists." His eyes glinted with thinly veiled malice. "I''m sure you''ll manage."


    The threat landed like a hammer. The residents'' outrage shifted to fear, their voices faltering. Marcus seized the moment. "There is another option," he said, almost lazily. "If you can''t scrape together the Luxa, you can work for Catch22. We''re always looking for scouts."


    The response was immediate and visceral. "We''re not your slaves!" a woman yelled, her voice rising above the growing din.


    Marcus smirked, fishing a sticky note and pen from his pocket. Scribbling something down, he strolled to the Floor Manager''s Office and slapped the note onto the glass. "Here''s my username," he said with a wink. "Think it over."


    A voice broke through the chaotic murmurs. "How much is this ''protection'' going to cost us?"


    Marcus turned slowly, his grin widening as though savoring the moment. "Thirty thousand Luxa a month."


    The collective gasp that followed seemed almost satisfying to him.


    "That''s insane!"


    "We can''t pay that!"


    "Not my problem," Marcus said, shrugging with an exaggerated indifference. "You''ve got a week to decide. Either pay up or join the scouts. Your call."


    With that, Marcus spun on his heel, sauntering down the hall like he owned the place. The tension in his wake hung like a storm waiting to break.


    As soon as he disappeared from view, the crowd exploded into frantic debate. Anger, fear, and hopelessness clashed in a cacophony of voices.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Riley pressed deeper into the shadows, his thoughts racing as he absorbed the scene. The weight of Marcus''s ultimatum was crushing¡ªthirty thousand Luxa or servitude. Neither option offered hope.


    Amid the chaos, a flicker of movement caught Riley''s eye. He turned to see a girl with reddish-brown hair watching him from the crowd''s edge. She couldn''t have been much older than him. Their eyes locked briefly, but before he could react, she slipped away, vanishing into her room.


    Riley blinked, the strange encounter lingering as he retreated to his own apartment. The door''s familiar creak cut through the silence as it clicked shut behind him. He leaned against it, letting the weight of Marcus''s ultimatum sink in. Thirty thousand Luxa for a month''s protection, or become a scout for Catch22. The decision felt like a noose tightening around his neck.


    Riley pushed off the door, moving across his room. He pulled out the Watcher''s Cover, placing it on the desk. After draping his jacket over the chair, he moved to the window. It was the one place where his thoughts seemed to untangle. Beyond the glass, the city sprawled in a web of waning light against the encroaching night.


    The price Marcus demanded was outrageous but not entirely out of reach. If everyone on Floor 13 pooled their resources, they might scrape it together. But that kind of sacrifice came at a steep cost. It meant barely surviving while always one payment away from disaster. It wasn''t a life; it was a slow suffocation.


    The alternative? Riley grimaced. Scouts weren''t just sent on recon missions. He heard enough horror stories at Helix to know the truth. Scouts were pawns, thrown into fights against floors beyond Catch22''s control. If they lost, their Luxa was stripped, and if they died without enough Luxa to cover the "death penalty," they''d die in real life, too. That was the reason why the InfiNet was so dangerous. You could die in real life if you died in the InfiNet.The guild treated those deaths as payment for protection, but all it did was leave more floors abandoned and broken. It was a twisted process that few in the towers could escape.


    He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, his breath fogging the surface. Could he go back to the housing office and ask for reassignment? Doubt gnawed at him. Even if it were possible, where would they send him? Floor 13 was the only green-status floor in Tower 7c. The odds of landing somewhere better were slim to none.


    No, running wasn''t the answer.


    With a heavy sigh, Riley turned to his monitor. The screen still displayed the earnings from the tutorial mission. It was enough that he could contribute his share, but what about the others? Could they afford to do the same? And what happened when the Luxa dried up?


    His options were to find a second job or turn to the InfiNet, but Riley wasn''t sure if he could take on a second job, what with the physical demands of being a Mod Jockey. Not to mention, despite the results from his tutorial mission, money didn''t exactly rain in the InfiNet. He could try questing like the games in the LiteNet, but after his encounter with S.A.M., Riley wasn''t sure if the AI Netizens of the InfiNet would be cooperative. They seemed just as unpredictable as any human.


    He did know of a few other occupations. The InfiNet had its share of typical gaming jobs like coaching, crafting, or carrying. It also had other indirect lines of work like trading or content creation. However, every path required resources and relationships that Riley didn''t have. The walls of his room suddenly felt closer now.


    He clenched his fists, forcing the panic to recede. He needed a way out. A plan.


    Riley''s thoughts circled back to Mr. Dalton, the only person who''d seemed capable of standing against the chaos the guilds brought. Although their time together had been brief, Mr. Dalton''s calm resolve had left a lasting impression. Without him, Floor 13 felt like a ship adrift.


    The idea struck Riley like a lightning bolt. The Watcher''s Cover. If it had revealed Thom''s ghost, maybe it could connect him to Mr. Dalton. The thought brought a surge of resolution. He glanced at the blindfold resting on his desk, remembering the strange lights he witnessed in HyperCon.


    But doubts clawed at the edges of his mind. What if it didn''t work? What if he found nothing? Or worse, what if he received another cryptic message like he had with Thom? Riley shook his head, pushing the uncertainty aside. He couldn''t afford to hesitate.

 Chapter 8.2 - Office and the Gateway

    The muffled voices of anxious residents filtered through the walls. The hallway buzzed with unrest as people debated their next move. Riley knew he had to wait for the right moment when the crowd would finally disperse. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he waited, tapping his fingers against his knee. The minutes stretched into an eternity.


    Finally, the noise faded as doors closed and tenants retreated into uneasy silence. Riley seized the opportunity, putting on his jacket and slipping the Watcher''s Cover into his pocket. The dim hallway greeted him with an oppressive stillness, the faint hum of the tower''s systems broken only by the occasional groan of its aging infrastructure.


    He moved cautiously, each step measured as he approached Mr. Dalton''s office. The sticky note Marcus had left was still plastered to the window, its sloppy scrawl reading "GridIron." Riley''s stomach churned at the reminder of Catch22''s looming threat.


    Pushing the door open, he was met with a stale, heavy air as if the room itself grieved its former occupant.


    The office was modest, cluttered with papers, knickknacks, and the remnants of a life dedicated to the community. At the center of the office, the soft glow of an old lamp bathed a large desk. On the wall hung a collage of photographs and snapshots of Floor 13''s residents in moments of joy and normalcy.


    Riley stepped deeper into the room, his gaze lingering on the personal touches¡ªa small shelf lined with books and a few framed family photos. One image drew his attention: Mr. Dalton with a woman and a young girl, their smiles warm and genuine.


    His focus shifted to the worn InfiNet pod in the corner. A pang of familiarity hit as he recalled his adventure the night before.


    Taking a steadying breath, Riley pulled The Watcher''s Cover from his pocket. He was about to slip it over his eyes when a faint creak echoed from the hallway. His body tensed, his heart hammering as he froze in place. If someone saw him in the office, what would they think?


    For several agonizing moments, he stood motionless, ears straining for any further sound. When nothing followed, he exhaled slowly, the tension easing.


    "Just the old building settling," he told himself.


    Riley slipped The Watcher''s Cover over his eyes, plunging his world into darkness. For a moment, nothing happened, and his heart sank. Then, as his vision adjusted, a figure materialized near the desk, its form hazy and flickering like a fragile hologram. Riley''s breath caught. He was expecting more whisps, not a full figure.  It was Mr. Dalton. His outline wavered, and his expression was a mix of confusion and sorrow.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    "M-Mr. Dalton?" Riley whispered. His voice cracked under the weight of disbelief.


    The spectral figure turned slowly, his gaze settling on Riley. "Riley? What... what happened?" His voice was distant, an echo from a place far removed from the living.


    Riley swallowed hard. "You¡­ you died, Mr. Dalton," he said softly, the words heavy with finality.


    The ghost''s eyes widened as realization dawned, and he sank into the chair behind the desk. His hands gripped the chair''s arms as if trying to anchor himself. "I¡­I didn''t know¡­ I thought I was still¡ª" He cut himself off, a look of despair washing over him. "Oh, God. What''s going to happen to the floor now?"


    Riley''s gaze flicked to the collage of photos on the wall. His voice steadied as he said, "Mr. Dalton, I need your help. The guild Catch22 is demanding 30,000 Luxa a month for protection. If we can''t pay, they want us to be scouts. We''ll be defenseless either way. What should I do?"


    Dalton''s spectral form seemed to ripple, his gaze shifting between Riley and the photos. "I''m not sure there''s much you can do, Riley. You''ve only just set foot in the InfiNet. It''s a dangerous place."


    Riley paused, taking in Mr Dalton''s paternal gaze. "It was you, wasn''t it? When I fainted after the tutorial, you shut down the pod and brought me back."


    The ghost nodded slowly. "Yes, it was me. I didn''t want you to get hurt." You''re too young for this."


    Riley clenched his fists, a surge of determination coursing through him. "Please, Mr. Dalton. There has to be something I can do. I can''t let Catch22 take over. There must be a way to protect the floor."


    Mr. Dalton''s flickering image grew dimmer, his form barely holding together. "There is... something," he said at last. "Earlier today, I discovered a hidden InfiNet gateway. They''re rare and dangerous, but those who resolve the worlds concealed within them are rewarded. Most people avoid them. Even I did."


    Riley''s eyes widened. "A gateway? Where is it?"


    Dalton hesitated, his features etched with concern. "Riley, you''re just a kid. You have nothing to your name, and no one is there for you. This isn''t a game."


    "I know," Riley replied, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. "I know it''s dangerous, but I don''t have a choice. I have to try."


    Dalton''s expression softened, a shadow of a smile crossing his face. "You remind me of my daughter," he said, his voice heavy with memory. "She was brave, too. But the InfiNet took her. She ventured into a deep zone and never came back."


    A lump formed in Riley''s throat, but he forced himself to speak. "Please, Mr. Dalton. I need to know where it is."


    The ghost stood, his form shimmering as if caught between this world and the next. "Alright," he said quietly. "The gateway is in the Digital Twin of the InfiNet. We call it The First Layer. You''ll find it in the old subway station beneath the city. Memorize this address."


    Riley committed the information to memory, relieved.


    Mr. Dalton reached for a spectral jacket draped over the back of his chair, his form growing more transparent with each passing second. "It''s time for me to step out, Riley. Help the others protect the floor, and if you can, get out of the Towers."


    Dalton''s spirit faded into the ether, stepping out of his office for the last time. Riley stood rooted in place, a storm of emotions swirling within him. "The subway station," he muttered.