Arnel lay on the extended bed rack of the Sim Pod, staring at the ceiling. As the fugue slowly lifted and he became aware of his surroundings — and identity — he sighed softly to himself.

Now, out of immediate danger, Arnel began to question himself. The choices he made, the emotions he felt — the battle lust especially — and the words he exchanged with Camille. In a way, it all felt wrong. The pressure of the future, the incoming war, now weighed heavily on his mind. It wasn’t something he even discussed with the others but decided on his own.

Was it all right for him to make decisions like this, especially if these decisions aren’t for the good of the group, but his own, selfish goals? Even though these selfish goals were in line with what the group wanted — to raise Arnel’s Calamity Rank and become famous enough to go to the Abyss — it all felt a bit dishonest.

It was this dishonesty that got to Arnel. Perhaps he should tell them what his goal was. Maybe…

It was only then that Arnel realized he wasn’t alone in his room.

Slowly, Arnel sat up on the bed rack and looked at Thomas, his expression neutral and eyes cold. “What are you doing here?” Arnel asked.

“I was worried about you, bud,” Thomas said and shrugged.

In his right hand, Thomas held a comm device. Noticing Arnel’s gaze, Thomas smiled and put the comm back into his pocket.

Arnel did not mention the comm and moved to stand to his feet. Compared to the pain he felt in Singularity — which was ironic because the pain would usually be in the real world — moving was much easier in this world, despite the weakness of his muscles. Being in a coma, and bed-bound for months did not do him any favors.

“Worried about what?” Arnel asked.

Thomas lowered his head and sighed. “Look, this isn’t my field — this is Isobell’s specialty — but you went from screaming about voices in your head to immediately going back to that stupid pod.”

Arnel pondered Thomas with a thoughtful expression and then nodded. He agreed. It was pretty strange.

“I just think it’s…” Thomas trailed off.

“Weird?” Arnel asked.

Thomas shook his head. “Unhealthy.”

That surprised Arnel. Perhaps Thomas really was concerned about Arnel.

“I know things are tough for you now, and how you deal with them is up to you, but I just want you to know, I am here for you, buddy,” Thomas said. “You can talk to me. You don’t have to run to some game every time things get tough.”

Arnel’s lips parted and his eyebrows quirked upwards.

“You have friends here too. Even Isobell cares about you,” Thomas said and then burst into laughter, covering his mouth immediately afterward to keep it quiet. “If you knew the lengths she went to for recipes and meals you’d think she’s someone who had just adopted an orphan.”

Arnel cracked a smile.

“She spends so much time online looking for what teens your age like to eat that I am starting to think I should be worried about her not you. She also yelled at her cee-oh earlier because she didn’t have any sedatives to give you. Practically ordered him to send a military cargo drone with more medicine.”

Arnel laughed. It was strange that the idea of military cargo drones did not scare him as much as before, even though the incident was still so fresh in his mind.

“My point is: We care about you. Theta cares about you. We all want you to get better.”

Arnel’s eyes narrowed when he heard the AGMI’s name. “Is that all, Thomas?” he asked with a freezing tone.

The sudden change in demeanor caught Thomas off-guard. He nodded. “Yeah…” he trailed off. “That’s all, I guess.”

Thomas remained for a few seconds longer as if perhaps he had more to say but eventually turned around. “Sleep well, Arn.”

“Thomas,” Arnel said before the man could leave.

Slowly, Thomas turned around. “Yeah?”

Arnel pondered for a moment longer and then shook his head. “Nothing. Nevermind. Have a good night.”

Thomas nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

Arnel moved to his actual bed and laid down. “On,” he commanded, staring at the frame of the holo screen, and a moment later it blinked on.

“ —timated casualties now at four hundred thousand. The fires are still not contained and authorities now consider the Arcology to be lost. How did this happen, Mister Shaper?”

The ticker below the video of the burning Arcology showed a blurb on David Shaper, Director of the Sector 7 Arcology Design and Expansion Department.

“You have to understand that the outer structure of the Arcology was designed to absorb and disperse heat. It is impervious even to fusion bombs. When you have a Terrawatt beam of uncontrolled fusion hitting it from the inside — for several seconds — it will have disastrous consequences.”

“But how did it happen?” the anchor asked again. The video still lingered on the burning Arcology.

“We are still investigating the mechanism of failure. But currently, we believe that the incident was caused by a malfunctioning drone.”

Arnel was about to doze off when he heard the word drone and malfunction.

“If I am not mistaken, on that day, over a dozen drones reported serious malfunctions.”

“That is correct.”

“Some sources claim that it was an attack — a railgun strike.”

Shaper chuckled, but cut himself off. He cleared his throat. “That is absurd.”

Arnel stared at the holo screen, eyes wide in disbelief. Drones, malfunctions, over a dozen. Could it be? No. No way.

Four hundred thousand people.

___

Thomas knocked on the door and waited for a moment.

“Come in,” the reply came.

Thomas opened the door and stepped into the room. Immediately, the blue glow of monitors and the hum of machinery filled his awareness.

“How is he?” Isobell asked, staring at the monitors.

“Better, I guess,” Thomas said, taking a seat next to Isobell and looking at the monitors. They didn’t show much video, the lines mostly scrolled data. Isobell had the lead patch on and was likely in a half-submerged cyberdive — aware enough of her surroundings and the cybersphere to make it a sort of augmented reality experience, something that not many experts could pull off.

“Any news?” Thomas asked, after checking the monitors.

“I decoded the message he got,” Isobell said.

“SIGINT, huh?” Thomas said, impressed. Signals-Intelligence in this day and age was extremely complex and required AI assistance.

Isobell smiled. “I have many talents,” she said, only half-joking.

“Well?” Thomas asked.

“There is a lot to unpack, Thomas,” Isobell said. “I don’t know where to start.”

Thomas chuckled. “What happened to ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news first’?”

“There are no good news. Only bad and worse.”

Thomas pursed his lips and then nodded slowly.

“First,” Isobell said, pressing her finger into the air as if pushing a button. One of the seven monitors switched to a global map mode. “The message came from here.”

The view zoomed in on the outer territories, where the old territories of France used to lie.

“That is…” Thomas trailed off.

Isobell nodded. “Yeah.”

Thomas winced. “Please tell me that was the ‘worse’.”

Isobell shook her head. “The message itself contained coordinates. To… here.”

The view shifted again, showing a patch of open sea, off the coast of France.

“All right,” Thomas said. “There is nothing there." Thomas leaned back in his chair. "If these coordinates have anything to do with where they came from, this could be an old-world underground or underwater base.”

Isobell nodded and smiled. “You know quite a bit for a groundpounder. Special forces?"

Thomas smiled. "Me? SF? Please."

Isobell smiled knowingly. "I asked Theta to show me a satellite image of this location.”

“And?”

“My request was rejected.”

Thomas pursed his lips again, disappointed. "Theta rejected?"

Isobell smiled. “So I asked Deucalion.”

Thomas’s eyebrows shot up. She asked Deucalion?

The monitor to the left of the one with the map changed to display a frozen picture of an island. The island itself seemed strange, but it was difficult to explain how exactly. It was half-moon-shaped and seemed, almost, like an ordinary island. It was unnatural. There was something off about its shape and the way its curves reflected the light.

Goosebumps dotted Thomas’s exposed forearms. "Fuck," he said, standing up from his seat. “Ciel-on-the-sea.” He spoke the name like it was a curse.

His comm emitted a loud beep, causing him to look at his pocket. Just speaking the name caused him to be flagged by Theta. Luckily, he had some limited diplomatic immunity — thanks to his job.

“Why did Deucalion grant your request?”

Isobell shrugged. “Who knows.”

“Is it still patrolling the Cluster?”

Isobell nodded. “As always.”

Thomas slumped back into his chair and sighed. “Why did that island show up now? What is going to happen to this world?”

“You forgot the important question,” Isobell said.

“Oh?”

“What does any of this have to do with Arnel?” Isobell asked.

___

“Freeze here,” Alex said.

In the center of the cybersphere chamber was a hologram of the city of Rakab, surrounded on all sides by officers of Stygian, and its leader Alex.

“There is no way he could’ve seen me,” Baran said — he was a dark-haired individual, even in the cybersphere.

Alex paced around the hologram, viewing the church from all angles. Of course, he could only see what the observer itself saw, but the architecture was visible. “Perhaps he also had a spotter,” Alex said. “In this area.” The leader of Stygian circled an area, drawing lines towards Baran’s position.

“I doubt it,” Baran said. “We scoured the entire area and saw no one. Not even the observer spotted anything. Far as we know, the only person in that area was the target.”

“Play,” Alex said.

The far wall of the church exploded, and an object plowed through the building where Baran stood, instantly killing him. The shockwave reached the observer half a second later and then the hologram froze, glitched and distorted. End of recording.

An officer rubbed his cheek at the visual, clearly disturbed by what he saw.

On the other hand, there was another individual among the officers who was disturbed for a different reason. How many times have the officers observed his battle with Aren? None of them knew, that when he resurrected in the Grand Temple in Leone, that his class now showed Warrior. His Lord of Ash? Gone.

This individual was Titor, and he did not dare tell anyone that he had lost a treasure of the Alliance — an infinitely precious Unique class. How did it happen? He wrote a support ticket and prayed in his heart that this issue would be resolved before the others found out.

“I’ve never seen artillery like this before,” Baran said.

Alex nodded. “Its destructive power is nothing out of the ordinary, but the method itself is strange.” Alex was a veteran — he had been part of the larger Alliances, and before then, he was a member of some of the more elite Guilds. It wasn’t until that fateful day in the Abyss, when he discovered the Unique set of classes, that he decided to start his own organization.

“Maybe he is a Kineticist,” Wilford suggested — a relatively new addition to the Alliance, but he was one of the professional players that the Alliance had.

“I’ve never heard of that class,” Alex admitted.

“It is an unusual evolution of the Psion,” Wilford said.

“Usually, one would go with the Kelvinist alternative — it is much stronger in group battles,” Vier said — she was the other professional player.

Alex nodded. “Either way, what is your opinion of him? The system rated him at thirty-eight hundred.”

The other officers laughed — everyone except Titor, and the two professionals.

Wilford cleared his throat. “I don’t think it is unfounded.”

Alex’s brows knitted together in a frown. “Are you serious? Thirty-eight hundred? Is that even possible for a human to achieve?”

“Judging by the recordings provided by Titor, the observer and Zazel, I can say that his decision-making is perfect. Obviously, the rating is an anomaly because it was the first recorded battle,” Wilford explained, and Vier nodded in agreement.

“But?” Alex asked.

“Ask yourself this — can a sub-three thousand rating adventurer take out this many people? While wounded?”

“But he got hit when he fought Titor’s group!” Another officer protested — his name was Boris.

“He chose to get hit,” Vier explained. “It was the right decision to make. He probably turned his back on Titor on purpose to manipulate him into that position. If Titor fought him all-out, this could’ve ended differently.”

“Either way,” Wilford said, “I am certain that this person is not a newbie; If the rumors are true that he is an old pro, he was, probably at some point, a Worlds Contender if not a Champion.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the chamber. Then it was followed by many whispers. Many wondered who this person might be.

After a while, Alex nodded. “All right. We will dig up some info on old professionals. Titor, I leave that to you. Boris, any news from Eco?”

"Got it, boss," Titor said. When his name was called out, he almost screamed.

Boris nodded. “Yeah. I’ve talked to the Merchant’s Guild. They are not outright refusing to do business with us. But…”

Alex lofted an eyebrow and then shook his head.

“But the merchants are refusing,” Boris continued. “Our contracts are severed — even with the city guard. They are still buying the ores we sell, though.”

Alex nodded and sighed. “We have money. We just can’t spend it.” Alex rubbed at his closed eyelids. “Why is this happening now of all times?”

“I am still working on setting up trades with Bizanth,” Boris said, his voice growing quieter with each word.

Titor watched this exchange quietly and thanked his lucky stars that there was an emergency to distract from the fact that not only their raid failed, but that he lost Lord of Ash.