Surviving World's End

Black City

Mark stepped out of the Deacon's office with the sealed envelope tucked securely inside his coat.

The heavy iron door closed behind him with a dull metallic thud.

For several seconds, he stood silently in the corridor before finally beginning to walk.

As his footsteps echoed through the dim underground passageways, Mark quietly reorganized his plans.

Yesterday, he had already discarded Plan A.

Now, Plan B had become useless as well.

The problem was not that he had offended the Deacon. Honestly, offending the Deacon was far from the biggest issue.

The real problem was that the leak regarding compromised identities had now spread throughout Shadow Mountain.

Yesterday, only Mark knew that several foreign intelligence agencies had likely obtained information regarding the candidates' fake identities and travel routes.

But now?

Everyone knew.

Mark's eyes narrowed slightly beneath his mask.

The higher-ups had intentionally released the information.

There was no other explanation.

A candidate tricking the Deacon was not important enough for rumors to spread across the entire mountain overnight.

This was deliberate.

The authorities were resetting the playing field.

Now every candidate stood once again at the same starting line.

Mark finally began to understand the true nature of the competition.

The higher-ups were sending them a message.

Nothing would ever be simple.

Every advantage could be taken away at any moment.

And if Mark could understand this much, then the other candidates certainly could as well.

None of them were fools.

Which meant they had likely already discarded their original plans and begun activating backup strategies.

A faint feeling of pressure settled inside Mark's chest.

The competition had truly begun.

Far ahead, the underground transit sector leading toward Shadow Mountain's private airfield came into view.

Normally, candidates carrying out overseas missions would depart directly from there using the organization's covert transportation channels.

But Mark did not head toward the airfield.

At least—not directly.

By now, he had realized something important.

Shadow Mountain claimed it would provide every resource necessary for the mission.

In reality, that was a trap.

The more resources you accepted from the mountain, the easier it became for the higher-ups to monitor, predict, and manipulate your movements.

Mark had no intention of walking willingly into that cage.

Instead, he borrowed a mountain bike from one of the outer storage sectors and descended through one of the hidden forest routes surrounding Shadow Mountain.

Several hours later, after leaving the mountain territory entirely, he abandoned the bike beside an empty roadside trail and continued south on foot.

The forest around him grew denser as night slowly approached.

After navigating through the wilderness for nearly an hour, Mark finally arrived before an abandoned wooden house hidden deep among the trees.

The building looked old and forgotten.

Perfect for a dead drop location.

Mark entered quietly and moved toward the rear exit.

Behind the house sat three concealed vehicles hidden beneath camouflage sheets.

He searched briefly before finding the keys inside a rusted metal toolbox.

After a short inspection, he chose the sturdiest-looking jeep.

The engine roared to life moments later.

Without hesitation, Mark drove toward Black City.

Black City was exactly what its name implied.

The largest black market in all of Orivarion.

Located within the Solaris Continent, the city existed under the joint control of numerous criminal syndicates, corrupt officials, mercenary groups, and underground organizations.

In Black City, anything could be bought.

Weapons.

Information.

Drugs.

Human lives.

Slave traders, smugglers, assassins, organ traffickers, illegal researchers—every major criminal network within Orivarion maintained some form of presence there.

It was a city where morality had long since rotted away.

Mark arrived three days later.

This time, he wore loose-fitting dark clothes instead of his usual combat attire. A black jacket concealed his frame while a duckbill cap and face mask obscured most of his appearance.

Dressed this way, he blended into the city perfectly.

In Black City, nine out of ten people hid their identities.

Anyone who didn't usually disappeared quickly.

Mark spent nearly an hour wandering through the crowded streets.

Neon lights flickered endlessly above narrow alleys stained with blood and oil. Armed gang members stood openly at street corners while heavily modified vehicles sped recklessly through the roads.

No one cared.

No one asked questions.

That was Black City's rule.

As long as money existed, everything else became irrelevant.

Eventually, Mark stopped before a quiet bar hidden between two deteriorating buildings.

He entered calmly.

Oddly enough, the bar had no customers.

Only a middle-aged bartender stood behind the counter polishing a glass with a cloth.

The moment the door opened, the bartender looked up.

"How may I help you, sir?"

Mark sat down at the counter.

"Your best cocktail."

"Right away, sir."

The bartender began preparing the drink silently.

Halfway through, Mark spoke again.

"I also require the identity services."

The bartender continued mixing the drink.

Mark's eyes remained calm.

"Five-Star level."

For the first time, the bartender paused very slightly.

Then he resumed working as if nothing had happened.

Several moments later, he placed the drink before Mark.

Beneath the glass sat a folded piece of paper.

Mark picked it up casually without opening it immediately.

Then he reached into his jacket and placed a thick stack of cash onto the counter.

Without touching the drink, he stood and left the bar.

Five minutes after Mark departed, two men entered the establishment.

Ten minutes later, they exited calmly.

Moments afterward—

Flames suddenly erupted from inside the building.

The fire spread rapidly, consuming the bar in minutes.

Nearby civilians shouted in alarm while city authorities rushed toward the scene and ordered emergency crews to extinguish the blaze.

But most people barely paid attention.

In Black City, arson, murder, and explosions were ordinary daily occurrences.

By nightfall, almost everyone had already forgotten the incident ever happened.

 

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