Linn blinked in disbelief, trying to process what she had just heard.
This guy leads the group?
But he looks so innocent.
She searched for the right comparison, her gaze lingering on him as if waiting for him to suddenly look more like a leader.
Then, unexpectedly—
Meow~
Her eyes widened slightly as the comparison clicked into place.
Right.
A cat.
That is what he is like.
She quickly composed herself, forcing her expression back into something calm and unimpressed.
“Oh. I see. Cool.”
Jion noticed immediately—the slight hesitation in her voice and the way her eyes kept flicking toward him as though she were still trying to reconcile what she had been told with what she was seeing.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“It happens a lot,” he said, amused rather than offended.
“People expect leaders to look more intimidating.”
A few people passed along the corridor without giving them a second glance.
Everything around them felt routine, as though everyone already knew where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to do.
Linn glanced around as she walked, taking in the layout.
The deliberate spacing between rooms, controlled lighting, and complete lack of windows made the entire place feel sealed off from the outside world.
It did not feel like a building meant for comfort.
It felt built for control.
“So everyone who has a unique ability like me is an anomaly?” Linn asked, breaking the silence.
“What about fortune tellers? Are they not different from me? They can predict the future too.”
Jion glanced at her sideways.
“You still do not look convinced I lead the team.”
Linn stiffened.
“I am. I mean—no. I did not say that.”
“It happens a lot,” he repeated, the faint amusement returning to his eyes.
Then his expression settled as he returned to her question.
“Fortune tellers predict possibilities. You see events.”
Linn frowned.
“That sounds like the same thing.”
“Possibilities are branches. They change depending on choices, timing, and probability. Most people who claim to see the future are reading the strongest branch.” His gaze shifted ahead.
“You do not read branches. You see what actually happens.”
Linn followed behind him, her thoughts caught on the distinction.
Events.
Branches.
Possibilities.
They sounded too precise to be something she was supposed to understand.
They stopped in front of an unmarked door.
Jion scanned his ID against the panel, and a soft click sounded before the door slid open.
Inside was a wide, dimly lit room filled with scattered tools, floating holographic schematics, and half-assembled devices suspended above magnetic platforms.
Wires hovered in controlled loops, giving the entire space the appearance of chaos carefully forced into order.
At the center stood a man hunched over a partially disassembled device.
Several metallic rings rotated around its core at uneven intervals, repeatedly correcting themselves as though struggling to stabilize.
“That frequency shift does not make sense,” the man muttered.
His fingers moved rapidly across a floating interface.
“It should have locked after calibration unless the residual distortion is still interfering—”
He stepped back and exhaled sharply.
“I swear, if this thing does not stabilize in the next revision, I am throwing it out.”
Only then did he notice them.
He straightened, his expression flattening as his attention shifted from the device to them.
“Perfect timing.”
His eyes landed briefly on Linn.
“I was about to ask you to bring her here.”
“This is Jayden,” Jion said.
“Codename: Chaconne.”
Jayden barely reacted to the introduction.
His attention drifted back toward the device as he adjusted a floating interface, his mind seemingly still occupied by the problem in front of him.
The device emitted a low, uneven hum as Jayden tapped its interface again.
“He also built your signal suppressor,” Jion added, glancing at the device on Linn’s wrist, “and the scanner we used to locate you during the operation.”
“It worked,” Jayden muttered, clicking his tongue.
“Until it didn’t.”
Linn’s eyes moved toward the device.
Up close, it looked even more complex—rotating rings, fragmented signals, and a system constantly correcting itself.
“Phase Scanner,” Jion said, noticing her gaze.
Linn blinked.
“Phase… what?”
“Phase Scanner,” Jayden repeated without looking away from the device.
“It detects anomalous distortion patterns.” He turned back toward the scanner.
“It helped us locate you during the Zeropoint chase.”
“…Distortion patterns,” Linn repeated quietly, narrowing her eyes.
Jion stepped toward the console beside the device.
“Jayden is the reason we found you in time. Without him, Zeropoint would have reached you before we confirmed your position.”
Jayden shrugged, already half finished with the conversation.
“Stop making it sound impressive. The scanner is still unstable. That is what I am trying to fix.”
A brief silence settled over the room, filled only by the device’s uneven hum.
The rotating rings shifted again—misaligned, correcting themselves, then slipping out of alignment once more.
Jayden exhaled sharply.
“That is exactly why I needed her here.” He turned to Linn fully, his expression becoming more focused.
“The suppressor on your wrist was calibrated using incomplete data. During the chase, your signal did not just spike. It fluctuated.”
Jion’s gaze shifted toward him, but he said nothing.
Irritation threaded through Jayden’s voice.
“That should not happen. Not unless something is interfering with the baseline frequency.”
He stepped closer, already reaching for her wrist.
“I need to recalibrate it while your signal is stable. Otherwise, the next time it spikes, Zeropoint will not need a second window to lock onto you.”
Linn instinctively pulled her hand back slightly.
“So this is about fixing your device.”
Jayden paused.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then his gaze shifted toward the Phase Scanner behind him.
The rings flickered again, struggling to align.
“Not just that.” He turned back to the console and tapped through several floating panels.
“This scanner was built to detect anomalies like you. But during the operation, your readings were inconsistent.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your distortion pattern changed mid-tracking.”
He frowned at the readings.
“That should not happen unless—”
He stopped.
Jion’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Unless what?” Linn pressed.
Jayden hesitated for a fraction of a second before dismissing the thought with a small scoff.
“Unless my scanner is flawed. Which is exactly what I am trying to prove.”
His eyes lingered on the screen for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he reached for Linn’s wrist and turned it toward the light.
The suppressor responded instantly, a thin layer of luminescence spreading across her skin as though mapping something beneath it.
“Hold still.”
He pulled up another floating interface.
Before Linn could respond, a second panel flickered to life, lines of data streaming rapidly as the device synchronized with her vitals.
She felt a faint pressure beneath her skin.
Not painful, but distinctly uncomfortable.
Her brows furrowed.
“What is it doing?”
“Reading your signal, neural rhythm, and residual distortion. Do not move.”
His grip tightened slightly when she instinctively shifted—not rough, but firm enough to stop her.
Linn’s irritation sharpened.
“You always handle people like equipment?”
Jayden did not look up.
“If I asked, you would hesitate. That would affect the readings.”
A series of soft clicks followed as he adjusted the calibration.
The light pulsed once, then again, before settling into a steady rhythm.
The pressure gradually faded. The source of this chapter is g.com.
“Baseline is cleaner now,” he muttered, finally releasing her wrist.
Linn pulled her hand back immediately, her gaze shifting toward the Phase Scanner behind him.
The rotating rings still struggled to align, correcting themselves in uneven intervals.
Jion stepped forward.
“We are done here.”
He turned and gestured for Linn to follow.
She did, though more slowly this time.
Just before the door opened, Jion glanced briefly toward Jayden.
Jayden did not return the look.
His attention remained on the interface, his fingers hovering for a moment before tapping something unseen.
The door closed behind them.
Outside, the hum of the restricted lab dulled into a distant vibration.
“I hate his attitude,” Linn said, breaking the silence.
Jion smiled, his hands slipping into his pockets as they walked.
“Jayden is like that when he is frustrated. He may be obsessed with accuracy, but believe me—he is actually a nice guy.”
Linn frowned.
“I did not understand anything he said.”
“Do not stress yourself. You don’t need to understand everything all at once.”
They turned down another corridor, the lighting growing slightly dimmer as they approached another steel door.
Like Jayden’s lab, it was unmarked.
A faint glow appeared along its edges before the door slid open.
Inside was a stark contrast.
Walls were lined with screens—dozens of them.
Some displayed static grids, others showed live camera feeds across the city.
Data streamed endlessly across a central monitor, lines of code moving faster than Linn could follow.
But instead of the intense, high-tech atmosphere she expected—
“NO WAY! THAT DID NOT COUNT!”
Linn blinked.
At the center of the room were two men.
One sat slouched in his chair, controller in hand, laughing as though he were not surrounded by equipment worth millions.
The other leaned forward aggressively, practically on the edge of his seat, eyes wide with disbelief.
Linn stared.
Are they not the same guys from earlier?
The hacker.
And the porn enjoyer, who was now dramatically arguing over a video game as though nothing humiliating had happened to him earlier.
“YOU ARE CHEATING!” the porn enjoyer shouted, jabbing a finger at the screen.
The hacker grinned, completely unbothered.
“It’s not cheating if you don’t get caught.”
“THAT IS LITERALLY THE DEFINITION OF CHEATING!” the porn enjoyer snapped, gripping his controller as though it had personally betrayed him.
The hacker snorted.
“Skill issue.”
The porn enjoyer nearly stood up.
“YOU ALTERED THE SETTINGS! I SAW THAT!”
“I did not touch anything,” the hacker said innocently.
On one of the side monitors, a tiny line of code quietly flickered and disappeared.
“LIAR! YOU ABSOLUTE—”
He cut himself off with a frustrated groan as his character was wiped out again.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?! AGAIN?!”
The hacker burst out laughing.
“You are losing to someone who is not even trying!”
“I AM NOT LOSING!” the porn enjoyer protested.
“YOU ARE JUST—YOU ARE JUST—THIS IS RIGGED!”
Jion sighed under his breath.
“Niel.”
“Give me a second,” the hacker said, waving him off casually.
“I’m about to win.”
The porn enjoyer froze for a second before flailing his hands dramatically.
“I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THIS! REMATCH! RIGHT NOW! NO CHEATS! NO SETTINGS! NO—WHATEVER YOU JUST DID!”
Linn stood there for a moment, quietly taking in the chaos, the noise, and the ridiculous normalcy of it all.
For a group that operated in the shadows and dealt with hidden threats—they looked strangely human. updates every tuesday