Novels by ARGA27

"Hold that bracket steady!" Jaka shouted over the deafening roar of water cascading through the upper utility conduits, his knuckles white as he jammed a salvaged railway spike beneath the leg of his primary prep table. "If this tier slips, three months of cured pork belly and my entire peppercorn reserve go straight into the subterranean sewer system!"Kanya didn't answer with words; she simply threw her entire tactical weight against the opposite side of the heavy oak table, her boots sliding two inches through the greasy, silt-laden water now ankle-deep across the platform. With a sharp groan of stressed metal and splintering wood, the table hopped upward three crucial inches, locking into a makeshift shelf bracket Bambang had welded into the concrete wall just days before the storm hit."Table’s secured," Kanya gasped, wiping a streak of black soot and muddy condensation from her forehead with the back of a tactical glove. She swept the beam of her weapon-

"Forget the bounty hunters," Kanya shouted over the mounting, metallic roar of thousands of gallons of pressurized storm runoff slamming against the upper drainage infrastructure. "If we don't clear the jam at the primary sluice gate right now, the entire West Concourse tunnel is going to turn into a high-speed flume! Jaka, grab the heavy winch poles and get those prep tables up on the upper rack brackets immediately!"Jaka didn't hesitate, his hands already gripping the edges of his primary stainless-steel prep table as water began to spill in thin, freezing sheets over the edge of the lower platform. "And leave my spice inventory down here to dissolve into a muddy soup? Not a chance! Help me heave this rack higher before the overflow hits the bottom shelves!""There's no time to save every sack of paprika, Jaka!" Mara barked, her single eye wild as she wrenched a heavy iron pry bar from her tool belt and shoved it into Kanya’s hands. "The water level in the

"Top-notch or not, she can't cover thirty yards of open track by herself if the drainage pipes blow," Mara added, her boots scraping sharply against the soot-caked concrete as she drew a heavy, serrated combat knife from her belt. "And they are about to blow. Hear that rumble? That's not bounty hunters. That's ten thousand gallons of untreated runoff from the Heights backing up behind the primary sluice gate right above the West Concourse."A deep, subterranean groan echoed through the dark tunnels, vibrating right through the soles of their boots and rattling the stacked pots on Jaka’s prep table."The storm on the surface," Kanya said, her eyes flashing toward the vaulted ceiling where moisture was already beginning to bead and drip in heavy, rhythmic pulses. "If the main sluice gate holds back that much water, the pressure will blow the entire junction wall out. It won't just flood the kitchen—it'll drown Bambang and the range before the bounty hunters even

"Jaka, stay put at the primary platform," Kanya ordered, her voice cutting through the damp air like a drawn blade as she checked the magazine of her sidearm with a sharp click. "Mara, I need two of your sharpest scouts to watch the southern ventilation shafts. If those bounty hunters bypass the bypass, they’ll try to flank us from the lower drainage pipes.""You think I'm going to stand here and knit while Bambang drags a two-hundred-pound cast-iron range straight into a crossfire?" Jaka demanded, slamming his stainless-steel prep knife onto the wooden cutting board with enough force to make the cleavers hanging on the rack rattle. "He's carrying the heavy chassis by himself because our cargo cart threw a wheel yesterday. He won't even hear them coming over the screech of the gears."Mara spat another stream of tobacco onto the platform edge, her single eye narrowing as she looked between the chef and the security enforcer. "The cook’s got a point, Kanya. You

"Not residential. They’re hitting the supply lines," Mara said, her single eye locking onto Jaka with uncharacteristic urgency. "They aren’t clearing out pests or looking for runaways this time. They want the food trade crippled. If they intercept Bambang with that second cooking range in the bypass, they won’t just take the metal. They’ll melt the whole rig down with you and your big friend inside it."Kanya’s hand dropped entirely to the grip of her sidearm, her knuckles whitening. "How many?""At least a dozen," Mara replied, crossing her heavy arms over a leather vest reinforced with jagged strips of corrugated iron. "Equipped with thermal optics and chemical flares. They dropped right past the old municipal security checkpoints before the sensors even flickered. My scouts spotted them moving south toward the West Concourse bypass less than twenty minutes ago. If Bambang hasn't reached the junction yet, he’s walking straight into an abattoir."Jak

"You picked a bad night for a moving party," Mara interrupted, her weathered face tightening into a grim line as she spat a glob of chewed tobacco onto the soot-stained tiles. "Unless you want your shiny new range used for target practice by the surface scavengers, you’ll wait until dawn.""We don't wait," Kanya snapped, taking two sharp paces forward until she stood nose-to-nose with the gang leader. "Every hour we delay, the underground cartels claim another stretch of that junction. If Bambang says the path is clear, it's clear.""Bambang is strong enough to flip a freight car, Kanya, but he can't outrun a synchronized ambush from the Upper Heights," Mara retorted, jabbing a grease-stained finger toward the dark mouth of the tunnel. "A squad of bounty hunters just dropped through the intake vents three stations north. They’re hunting anyone with a grease stain and a pulse."Jaka froze, his hands hovering over his folded apron. "Bounty hunters? In t

The passage behind the wall was a throat of concrete and shivering shadow. Dimas stepped inside, his boots clicking hollowly against a floor that felt less like theater storage and more like the interior of a submarine. The air tasted of ozone and copper, an electric tang that made the hair on his arms stand straight."Okay," he whispered, his voice sounding thin and alien in the darkness. "This is fine. This is totally normal."System Alert: Energy signature detected. Proximity: Three meters. Warning: Unknown source.He moved forward, his hand trailing against the wall. The texture was cold, slick with a residue that felt like dried gel. As he walked, his vision glitched, the HUD in his mind flickering as if the air itself was trying to scramble his connection to the System. He didn't have to look down to see that the glowing green patch on his nose had flared into a bright, pulsing neon. It was acting like a lantern, casting long, wavering shadows against the stone."You’re a freak,

The hallway seemed to stretch infinitely, a tunnel of fluorescent lights that hummed in discord with the static currently flooding Dimas’s brain. His nose—the source of that neon, lime-green glow—felt like a beacon in the night."Dimas, hold up! Are your legs suddenly made of lead or are you just playing hard to get?" Irina’s voice echoed off the linoleum, sharp and insistent. Her footsteps were rapid, a staccato rhythm that signaled she had no intention of letting him vanish."Just leave it, Irina! Don't you have a psych paper or something?" Dimas didn't look back. He rounded the corner, his pace bordering on a jog. His heart was hammering a frantic, uneven beat."Psych paper? You’re joking, right? My interest in human behavior just skyrocketed to the top of my priority list," she called out, catching up just enough to grab his sleeve. He yanked his arm away, his muscles rippling beneath the janitor’s jacket."You don't want to see this. Seriously, my skin is—it’s doing things. Weird

The door to the locker room gave way with a sickening crack, splinters of wood showering the concrete floor like confetti. Tyler stepped through the frame, his face flushed with the kind of smug, unchecked arrogance that usually came with a varsity jacket and a lack of consequences. His two shadows followed close behind, their eyes wide and roaming, searching for the "freak show" they had been promised.Dimas stood in the center of the room, the janitor’s jacket hanging off his frame like a child’s costume. He didn't flinch. He didn't back away. He didn't even blink."Well, look at this," Tyler sneered, scanning the room. "The locker room gym rat. You think you can just hide in here, Dimas? You think the janitor’s closet wasn't enough of a stage for you?"Irina stood near the showers, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. She watched the scene unfold with a detached, chilling focus, as if she were a scientist observing a particularly volatile chemical reaction."Tyler, take

The hallway outside the gym felt less like a sanctuary and more like a pressure cooker waiting to blow. Dimas leaned heavily against the lockers, his breath coming in ragged, painful hitches as the sensation of his anatomy restructuring itself continued to burn through his limbs."Dimas? You're actually, literally, growing," Irina said, her voice strained. She paced in a tight circle, her eyes darting between him and the long, vacant stretch of the corridor. "Your shirt. Look at the seams. They’re splitting."Dimas looked down. The fabric of his flannel, which had fit him perfectly that morning, was pulling taut across his chest and shoulders. The stitches around his bicep groaned, a high-pitched protest of thread failing under the pressure of expanding, dense muscle."I can't—" Dimas gritted his teeth, his jaw working as if he were trying to chew through iron. "I can't go back in there. I can't let them see this. I’m already the guy who fell into the pasta. If I start ripping through

The cafeteria was a cavernous, echoing hall of clattering trays and the aggressive scent of lukewarm fries. As Dimas stepped through the double doors, the hum in his head spiked, a jagged note of static that made his vision swim."Ready?" Irina whispered, walking a half-step behind him. Her voice was steady, but he could see the slight tension in her jaw."I think I’m going to throw up," Dimas murmured, his fingers curling into his palms. "This is a nightmare.""It’s a performance," she corrected, giving him a sharp nudge. "Focus, Dimas. You’re not the victim here. You’re the director. Make it loud, make it weird, and get it over with.""A love song, Irina? Really? That’s what the system wants?""It’s what’ll get the job done," she said, nodding toward the center of the room, where the social elite of the student body held court at the prime tables. "The more pathetic, the better. That’s the rubric, right?"Dimas took a breath, the metallic taste of adrenaline coating his tongue. "If

The scent of bleach and stale floor wax hung heavy in the cramped janitor’s closet, but to Dimas, it was the smell of a prison cell. He gripped the edge of the mop bucket, his knuckles white, his breath hitching in his chest. Irina was still hovering, her hand hovering just above his shoulder, her brow creased with a concern that felt entirely too heavy for the situation."Dimas? You're spacing out again," she said, her voice soft, dropping that edge of sarcasm she usually wore like armor. "You're safe. We’re in the closet. The coast is clear.""I'm not safe," Dimas whispered, his voice trembling. He felt his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs. He looked down at the bucket again, squinting through the dim, artificial light. "He was there, Irina. I saw him. That face—it wasn't a reflection. It was… it was like looking at a ghost, but worse."Irina sighed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, her movements jerky and anxious. "A ghost? Seriously? W