2026-02-08 23:07:08Rain fell lightly cold, straight, emotionless.
Jake stood behind the old clock tower, unmoving. Before him, the capital’s central district glowed brightly by crystal lights, guards lined in perfect formation, black armored vehicles stationed at every intersection.
Wedding banners stretched across the night air.
Richard Gregorry & Clara Elsworth.
Jake read it once. He didn’t read it again.
He noted other things instead:
— Three layers of perimeter.
— State Guard units, not civilian security.
— Surveillance drones cycling every fourteen seconds.
— Snipers in the church tower—not decorative.
⟦Threat Analysis: Primary Target under Red-Level Protection⟧
⟦Direct Access: Not Recommended⟧
Jake gave no response.
He turned away, slipping down a narrow alley. The sounds of celebration faded behind him. In the dark corridor, Jake pressed his palm against the stone wall.
The stone cracked.
Not from brute force—but from pressure held too long.
Jake clenched harder. His skin split. Blood flowed slowly, blackened beneath the rain.
Jake breathed. Short. Controlled.
⟦Emotional Stability: Declining⟧
⟦Deep Emotion Mode: Not Activated⟧
“Shut up!” he muttered, whether to the system or himself, he didn’t know.
Jake disguised himself. Not as a beggar, too obvious. He chose the role of a night archive courier instead. A gray coat, a forged badge, quick purposeful steps.
His destination wasn’t Richard’s residence.
Not the wedding.
But the Internal Security Administration Building.
A structure ignored by the media yet guarded far more tightly.
That was where the documents he needed were kept.
That was where truth was usually buried deepest.
The first entry attempt failed.
Thermal sensors flagged his body temperature as abnormal—too low.
Jake retreated one corridor, waited two minutes, then activated the heating layer sewn beneath his coat.
⟦Biological Adjustment: Masked⟧
The second attempt succeeded.
The archive hallway was silent. Tall steel shelves. The smell of old paper mixed with ozone from active security systems. Jake moved quickly, efficiently.
He didn’t read everything. He searched for patterns.
His father’s name appeared once.
Then was erased.
But traces remained in the backup logs.
Arvane, Elias.
Status: Indefinite Interrogation.
Authorization: Richard Gregorry.
Seal: Black Faction.
Jake stopped.
He pictured his father’s face.
His hand clenched the steel shelf again. This time, the metal bent.
Blood dripped onto the white floor.
⟦Warning: Physical Injury⟧
⟦Emotional Response: Suppressed⟧
Jake continued.
Other documents surfaced:
— Seizure of the Arvane family assets.
— Fabricated confessions.
— Elimination of bookstore witnesses.
This wasn’t a personal betrayal.
It was a clean operation.
Richard wasn’t acting alone. He was a tool, a public face of a much larger machine.
Jake copied everything into a thin data module, then burned selected physical files, enough to create internal chaos, not enough to trigger a national alarm.
He exited without a sound.
Elyra lived on the outskirts of the city, a small house, dim lights. No guards. But fear left its marks: salt on the windows, cheap protective symbols.
Jake knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again. Softer.
“Don’t come in,” a trembling voice answered.
Jake opened the door.
Elyra let out a strangled scream, stumbling backward into the table.
“Y-you… you’re dead,” she stammered. “I… I saw your name on the execution list.”
“No,” Jake replied flatly.
Jake closed the door. Locked it. Then stood beneath the lamp.
His face was pale. His green eyes cold. His wounded hand still bleeding.
Elyra covered her mouth. Her breathing was rapid. She was genuinely terrified.
“You’re a corpse,” she whispered. “They said… no one ever comes back.”
“Some do,” Jake said. “I did.”
⟦High Fear Detected: Subject Elyra⟧
Jake didn’t approach. He sat on a wooden chair, keeping a safe distance.
“I didn’t come for you,” he said.
“I came for information.”
Elyra laughed weakly, hysterical. “Information? I’m just… just a servant.”
“You were approached after the wedding,” Jake said. “Then fired. You saw something.”
Elyra shook her head violently. “I...I don’t know. They… they came. Two men. Black uniforms. No insignia.”
Jake placed the data module on the table. “I know them.”
Elyra stared at the blood on Jake’s hand. Her face drained of color.
“You’re… cold,” she whispered. “Like—
...”
“A corpse,” Jake finished. “Yes.”
Silence stretched.
“What did you see?” Jake asked.
Elyra swallowed. “Military doctors. They came at night. Unregistered. They carried files. Miss Clara…” She stopped.
“Focus,” Jake cut in.
Elyra nodded quickly. “Files… mental evaluations. Compliance testing. How to make someone… obedient without drugs.”
Jake recorded it.
⟦New Information: Psychological Compliance Program⟧
“Who authorized it?” Jake asked.
Elyra hesitated. Then whispered, “Richard Gregorry.”
That was enough.
Jake stood.
Elyra flinched. “Y...you’re going to kill me?”
“No,” Jake replied. “You’re still useful.”
He wrote down a safe address on a scrap of paper. “Leave tomorrow morning. Take nothing with you.”
“And if they...”
“They’ll be busy,” Jake said. “Starting tonight.”
Elyra looked at him for a long moment. “You’re not human anymore.”
Jake didn’t deny it.
“Oh..one more thing,” he added.
Elyra stopped.
“My mother?”
“They buried her beneath the fig tree,” Elyra said softly, lowering her head. “The one planted on your birthday.”
The silence thickened.
Jake’s jaw tightened. He closed his eyes.
The night deepened.
Jake returned to the rooftop of a low building facing the Security Tower. This time, he didn’t watch the wedding.
He watched patrol schedules.
He mapped camera blind spots.
He studied hidden logistics routes.
⟦System Synchronization: 92%⟧
⟦Deep Emotion Mode: Locked⟧
Jake no longer thought about love.
Weak...that’s what women are, he thought.
He no longer thought about the past.
Now, he thought in structures.
Richard was a node.
The Black Faction was the network.
Cutting a node without dismantling the network was meaningless.
Jake clenched the wall once more.
Stone shattered. Blood flowed again. He let it.
Pain kept his mind cold.
“I won’t come for you as a husband,” he murmured, barely audible.
“I’ll become hell...until you regret ever being born.”
The wind carried the fading echoes of the celebration.
Jake no longer heard them.
He activated the data module, sending encrypted copies through three underground channels—dark media, internal opposition, and one anonymous name within the Council.
⟦System Action: Limited Evidence Dissemination⟧
⟦Risk of Retaliation: High⟧
Jake smiled faintly.
Without warmth.
This war wouldn’t be fast.
It wouldn’t be clean.
But it would be real.
And for the first time since his rebirth, Jake was no longer driven by loss.
But by purpose.
“Prepare yourselves.”
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
Burn The Shadows
Pain came in waves.Jake drifted in and out of consciousness, the cold floor biting into his skin like judgment. The system worked without mercy, sealing wounds just enough to keep him alive, but not enough to dull the agony.⟦System: Stabilization – 23%⟧⟦Warning: Infection Risk Rising⟧“Yeah, I know it!” Jake rasped, teeth clenched.The safe room was barely worthy of the name. A forgotten maintenance chamber buried beneath an abandoned transit line. No cameras. No signals. Just concrete, dust, and the distant hum of the city above—alive, ignorant, hostile.He forced himself upright.The data chip glowed faintly in his palm, warm like a living thing. Proof. Leverage. A blade aimed straight at Richard’s throat.Jake didn’t smile.He knew better now.Victory never came clean.Three hours later.The city’s upper sectors shifted into heightened alert. Checkpoints doubled. Drones flew lower, their red optics slicing through the night like searching eyes.Richard Gregorry stood in the cent
Between Steel and Shadows
It didn’t rain that night.The air was too dry instead, carrying the smell of metal dust and ozone—a sign that defensive systems were active across several sectors of the city. Jake limped through a narrow underground corridor, each step sending sharp pain through ribs that had yet to fully heal.⟦System: Recovery – 41%⟧⟦Alert: Excessive Activity⟧“I know,” he muttered. “Enough.”He stopped in front of an unmarked steel door. Three soft knocks. Two beats. One final tap. An old pattern, known only to those whose lives depended on secrets.The door opened halfway.Arkon waited inside.The room was vast, cold, lit by harsh white lights that left no shadows to hide in. Six armed men formed a half-circle. No extra chairs. No drinks. This was not a meeting—it was a trial.“You’re back,” said Arkon.“With a broken body and unreasonable courage,” Jake replied.He stepped in. The door closed heavily behind him.“I come with progress,” Jake continued, “and a deadline.”Arkon raised an eyebrow.
Blood For The Circle
Night was never truly silent for Jake.He just chose which sounds were worth hearing.In a narrow, dimly lit room, the walls were covered with layers of data never visible on official networks: personal relationship graphs, hidden debt logs, deliberately fragmented transactions designed to slip through audits. All of it formed a single map. Not Richard’s map of power, but its fractures.⟦System: Intelligence Consolidation – Active⟧⟦Status: 73% Complete⟧Jake sat still, his back pressed against the cold metal chair. His face remained difficult to remember, not because it was disguised, but because he had long learned to erase himself.Richard had an inner circle that looked tidy.But his enemies were scattered, small, divided, and hating each other.And that was Jake’s advantage.“Small groups are hungrier,” he murmured. “And the hungry listen.”The first name appeared.Not a high ranking official. Not a general. Just a former regional logistics chief, whose career had collapsed witho
A Smile
Clara sat on a white wooden bench, her simple dress swaying gently in the breeze. In front of her, Franz toddled across the grass, chasing soap bubbles, his laughter breaking freely into the air. He was barely two years old—too young to understand the world, too innocent to know that every step he took was calculated by a high, level security system.“Careful, Franz,” Clara laughed softly, rising to catch her son as he nearly tripped.There was no tension on her face. No trace of threat. Just a mother and her child beneath the morning sun.And that was precisely why the scene felt wrong.From the building across the courtyard, on a floor officially listed as abandoned, the unregistered figure stood behind darkened glass. He used no binoculars. No enhanced optics. He simply watched—with a patience that felt unnatural.⟦System: Protected Subjects – Maximum Level⟧⟦Advisory: Passive Observation Recommended⟧His gaze followed Franz calmly. Small steps. Erratic patterns. Laughter that did
The Face That Never Existed
“Sir,” the chief analyst’s voice cut through the silence. “We’ve rechecked the official’s resignation. No legal pressure. No suspicious transactions. No threats.”“Nothing visible,” Richard replied without turning. “That’s exactly the problem.”On the holo display, authorization pathways shifted slowly, one new route opened, one old protocol quietly lost redundancy. Not fatal. But enough to alter decision flow in a crisis.Richard knew this well. Changes this subtle were made by only two kinds of people—amateurs who didn’t understand the consequences, or professionals who knew exactly what they were touching.And this was no amateur.At 02:17 a.m., silent alarms activated at three separate points. No sirens. No public notifications. Only a faint vibration on the wrists of a select few.Richard was already awake before the first signal came in.“Report,” he said.“Legacy archive access disturbance. Not a breach. More like… an inspection.”“Inspection by whom?”“No identity trace. Camer
Inner Circle
Richard Gregorry had started dreaming again.Not nightmares. Not memories. Just fragments without faces...empty rooms, doors that never quite closed, and footsteps that stopped just before they could be heard.He woke before dawn, sitting upright, breathing steady. His internal clock had never failed him.“Another bad dream?” Clara asked, half awake, her voice worn with fatigue.“It’s nothing,” Richard said gently. He smiled, kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”Richard didn’t believe in omens.But he believed in statistics.And the statistics pointed to one thing: disturbances were rising—slowly.Not enough to qualify as a threat.Too precise to be coincidence.The Security Tower entered its morning rush as Richard walked through the glass corridors. People straightened faster than usual. Not out of fear out of conditioned habit.“Division meeting in thirty minutes,” he said flatly. “I want all reports simplified. No interpretations.”“Including the network anomalies?” the chief
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