The shadows rippled and Brock rose up alongside Mio. The sun shone high in the sky, portraying signs of midday. The air was crisp and warm, and among the walled off horizon of New Paris, Brock recognised the shifting mass of fog that surrounded the city. The Eiffel Tower peaked high in the sky, seeming to pierce past the heavens.

Tens of thousands of kilometres were rendered ineffectual by Mio’s shadow jumping. Brock gazed out over the familiar sight of Paris, admiring the city and dreading the people within it. He knew he’d better move quick before Maxwell found him and tried something-

Oh, come on…

Immediately, he detected several auras converging on his position. They were moving fairly rapidly, and upon closer inspection, he was amazed to find that they were all closing in on level 65. Genesis certainly hadn’t been slacking off in the time he spent saving Jane.

He snorted humorously. Sorry guys, but I don’t have time for this.

A small grin broke out on his face, and he looked over at Mio, his easy ticket out of this predicament and right to Adam. Only… she was gone. A cackle resounded in the distance as several men and women streamed into the street, weapons raised and auras released.

“Hands on your head! Now!”

…I’m gonna kill her one day. I swear to the System.

**

Brock gritted his teeth as the muzzle of a gun jabbed him in the back, ‘encouraging’ him to walk faster. Over a dozen armed soldiers flanked him to the left and right, and a further half of that were behind him, sights trained on his body, eager to fire at the slightest movement out of line.

If not for the aura he could see wafting up from the armaments – the result of an enchantment - he would have just lashed out and sped away. Clearly though, their weapons were fairly advanced now, and in that same vein, scarily capable. I wonder if I can take a bullet?

A woman with a ramrod straight back and a prideful posture marched at the front of the little procession. Her uniform was noticeably different, owning brighter colours, and her greying blonde hair was tied up into a tight bun atop her head. Evidently, she was the superior officer to this little group.

Briefly, Brock entertained the idea of teasing her, although he quickly remembered that getting shot was supposed to fucking hurt.

No one really seemed to recognise him among the civilians strolling along the streets, and most cast a curious glance but otherwise went about their day. Whether it was because crime was common, or because people breaking into the city unannounced was common, he had no idea. He was betting on the former.

When the threat of death fades away, human meekness fades along with it. Brock glanced at the guards beside hi-

“Eyes straight.” A soldier to his left growled at him, rubbing the barrel of his weapon menacingly. While they all still had the typical Tutorial weapons sheathed on their backs or waist, they all clearly favoured a more modern approach to combat.

Or a ‘point and click’ approach, as he’d heard James say once or twice.

Regardless, Brock clicked his tongue and refocused ahead of him. Harry might have been able to shrug off a hail of these enhanced bullets with only a few bruises, but he wasn’t Harry, and he wasn’t willing to test his bullet survivability. Being able to use his Augment of Skies certainly would have made a difference here, although he quickly realised that he didn’t actually need it.

For he had something far more menacing.

Several of the guards looked at him as they felt a minuscule amount of his aura enter the air, but they ultimately ignored it. It was a negligible amount, easily able to be explain by a fluctuation in emotion.

The sounds of footsteps marching down the street were joined by the idle chatter of people as Brock was led toward a rather large building toward the centre of the city. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Genesis’ Headquarters would be an accurate guess. Well, that or a prison.

He wasn’t really sure which he’d rather.

“Y… you?”

Brock’s step faltered midway, and as he looked over to the source of the voice, so did many of the guards. The procession continued, but their attention was diverted. Standing along the sidewalk cradling a bag of produce in her delicate arms, was a familiar girl, no older than sixteen. Her cheeks were full, and her skin was coloured and healthy.

Before he realised it, Brock found a small smile across his face. It was that young girl he’d saved back in the Skin Walker den. She looked… happy. With furrowed brows, she glanced between him and the entourage of guards and stepped forward.

“Hey,” her features scrunched up, “he’s not a criminal. He saved my life.”

There was a spark of defiance in her eyes, one Brock recognised that was much like his own when he was in his youth. It was certainly not a boon.

The leading officer shouldered her weapon and scoffed, shuffling closer to the girl, “Lisa, he accessed the city through unlicensed teleportation. You know that’s illegal. I’m well aware that you are.”

Putting aside the matter of apparent laws, albeit ones that exercised a degree of control, Brock focused on the expression upon the young girl’s – Lisa’s – face. From how guilty she looked, it was clear to him that she had broken that very same law. Probably more than once, considering how familiar the guardswoman seemed to be with her.

He chuckled, and someone behind him pushed a muzzle into his back. It dug into him uncomfortably.

“And? So what Miranda?” she said, crossing her arms, the bag held in one of her delicate hands, “it’s a stupid rule anyway.”

Miranda, the guardswoman, placed a hand on her forehead and sighed, “Lisa, please. Don’t make me arrest you for the fifth time this month.”

“You know I hate the paperwork…” she mumbled afterwards. Brock chuckled and was once again nudged in the back roughly.

Ultimately, even after five minutes of protests, Lisa didn’t achieve the result she wanted at all, and a small retinue of guards broke off and escorted her back to what Brock assumed was her adoptive home. He’d wanted to ask how she and the others he’d rescued were doing, but maybe he could another time.

When he wasn’t under the threat of being shot, that is.

It was another ten minutes of marching before they finally entered the building they were heading towards. It was rather minimalist, a mix of modern style and practicality. White walls, sleek shapes and vanilla furniture taste. It appeared to embody the word ‘neutral’.

A man was seated at the receptionist desk, and upon sighting the troop, he tapped his keyboard several times and gestured toward a door to the left, nestled beside the staircase leading to the second floor. A gun poked him in the back, and he understood that they wanted him to keep moving.

Whoever keeps doing that, I promise you I’m gonna slap the shit out of you.

The door was painted grey and was otherwise unmarked, save for a polished silver handle. The woman at the head of them all, Miranda, stepped forward and opened it, and they walked in.

Beyond the doorway was a spacious office, far larger than any room of that purpose needed to be. A desk rested against the wall to the right, shelves dotted two of the three walls, occupied by files and worn books. A rather rundown looking computer rested upon the desk, and a stack of papers a ruler’s length high stood tall beside it.

The familiar face of Adam Seezy looked up from his desk, and his eyes widened marginally. Whether from horror or surprise, Brock had no idea.

The diplomat glanced between Brock, and the guards tracing their firearms on him, and he looked like he was about to have a stroke. The leader rested her gun on her shoulder, “We sensed the use of unlicensed teleportation magic and found this man; he resembles the images on the profile of Brock Carter.”

Brock furrowed his brows, “You guys have images of m- ow!”

A gun jabbed him in the shoulder blade. Brock gritted his teeth. The woman continued, “We were unsure whether you wished to meet with him, or for us to throw him in prison. How should we proceed.”

Adam looked past the woman and locked eyes with Brock, “…I’m so sorry.”

Brock shrugged and stepped forward. As the guards raised their weapons and took desperate aim, the surroundings dimmed for a brief moment. Their magazines slipped out and clattered to the floor, “Eh, it’s alright.”

He had already managed to release his minimal aura amount at roughly five percent, so what was stopping him from applying the same rule to Oppressive Might? That way, there was no activation time, and he could mobilise it instantaneously. Which made pulling their magazines out effortless. I’m a fucking genius.

The surroundings darkened again a second after and a man doubled over, holding vomit in behind his teeth. Revenge asshole.

He was certain that was the guy jabbing him in the back.

The others stepped back, and sighing, Adam dismissed them from his office. They rushed out, rather shaken. The man sitting behind his desk rubbed the bridge of his nose as Brock plopped down into one of the chairs opposite him.

“Tough day?”

Adam levelled his gaze with him. It held meaning, “Tough people.”

Brock chuckled.

Adam leaned back in his chair and cracked his neck. The motion looked confident, but from how stiff it was, Brock could tell it was an act. Sporting a gorgeous red and black suit, the owner of the office regarded him, “So, what can I do for you?”

“Source. Sources. The Source. Big, golden tree. Any of those ring a bell?”

Adam furrowed his brows, before beginning to type on his computer. His eyes flickered over the screen, and a few moments later, he spun the monitor around. Surprisingly, it was capable of a 180-degree swivel, “Like this?”

On the screen was several images of a vast desert in the distance, silvery roots weaving through the ebony sands and riding the dark dunes. There, the sky was obscured by the gargantuan canopy of the tree in the centre, its silver trunk stretching high into the heavens. This one’s silver? Not gold?

A wave of relieve washed through Brock as he disregarded the thought and focused on the images, and he felt himself melt in his seat, “Exactly like that, yeah. Where is it?”

He was somewhat leery of the fact that it was a desert, just like the outback technically was, though he was rather intrigued. The first and only Source he’d been in had stationed itself inside a sprawling jungle, which he found quite ordinary. This one, clearly, was found in a barren landscape, devoid of flora.

The silver roots were certainly a point of interest, contrasting the golden roots he’d seen, although he ended up pinning it as a matter of environmental adaption. Potentially. Either way, he was quite eager to find out. And to find a way to save himself from death.

Adam’s face fell into a grim expression, “I’d like to just give you the information, of course, but Maxwell would be… unhappy, to say the least. In fact, he’s probably listening right now, and if I try to give you it, my computer will most likely be disallowed confidential access before I can do so.”

Brock gritted his teeth, searching the room for cameras. He found none, “So… what then? I can’t have it?”

“Well…” Adam stewed on what to say next, before sighing softly, “Maxwell is a very… business orientated person, meaning-”

“He wants something in return?” Brock guessed.

The suit grandmaster nodded, “Exactly.”

Brock went silent. This… would certainly pose a problem for his plan of saving himself. The Skin Walkers were no longer an issue, meaning what Maxwell could ask of him could be just about anything. It was far too unpredictable for Brock’s tastes.

Though, at the same time, he supposed, running an errand or paying an exceptional amount of money was a cheap price for his life. Plus, even if he heard out the offer, he didn’t actually have to accept. He could even take some time to consider what they wanted, if he needed to. Although, time was technically of the essence.

He met Adam’s eyes, grimacing.

“Like what?”