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Chapter 8 – Mission Briefing
The final test arrived far sooner than I expected.
No announcement. No dramatic speech about proving ourselves. One morning, after breakfast, every remaining subject was simply escorted to a different briefing room. No squads, no partners, no simulations.
Just one mission. A real one.
The hallways were quieter than usual. Instructors barked fewer orders. Even the guards seemed more alert. Everyone understood what it meant.
Training was over. From here, Bloom wanted results.
As I walked down the corridor, I caught glimpses through reinforced glass windows of other briefing rooms — one subject bent over holographic documents, another receiving equipment, someone already shouting somewhere farther down the hall.
None of it sounded encouraging.
The escort stopped at a plain gray door. One of the guards pressed his palm against a scanner.
Beep.
The lock disengaged.
"In."
The room wasn't large. A single table, four chairs, one blank holographic screen on the wall. Lighting bright enough to reveal every scratch on the tabletop. No windows. Nothing to distract from the room's purpose.
I sat and waited.
Several minutes later, the door slid open.
A woman entered without looking at me. Green skin. Sharp yellow eyes that seemed permanently narrowed. Short black hair cut just above the shoulders. Not particularly tall, not especially intimidating — but something about her expression suggested she'd been personally offended by the concept of happiness. She looked like someone who considered smiling an unnecessary waste of energy.
Without acknowledging my existence, she crossed to the opposite side of the table, sat down, and dropped a thick data file in front of me with a dull thud.
No greeting. No introduction. Not even a glance.
"You may call me Handler Two-Four-Five." Her voice was perfectly flat. Not cold, not angry — simply devoid of emotion. "Or simply Two-Four-Five."
I resisted the urge to ask whether she had ever laughed in her life. Judging by her face, probably not.
She slid the file toward me. "Your mission is simple."
I stared at her for a moment.
Whenever someone started a sentence with *your mission is simple*... it never was.
I activated the file. A holographic screen unfolded above the table, and the first thing it showed was a photograph. A broad-shouldered man somewhere in his forties, short dark hair, a thick scar running diagonally across the left side of his face. Even standing still for the camera, he radiated confidence — or maybe arrogance. His expensive suit couldn't quite hide the muscle underneath.
Definitely not someone I'd mistake for an office worker.
Handler 245 spoke without looking at the display. "Target designation: Flex. Branch manager of a local Night Corporation division." The profile shifted. "Officially, he oversees regional corporate operations. Unofficially, he has interfered with Bloom assets on three separate occasions in the past year."
She tapped the table.
ELIMINATION AUTHORIZED flashed across the screen in bold red letters.
So that was how Bloom handled business disputes. Assassination. Efficient. Morally questionable. Very efficient.
The hologram zoomed closer to Flex's face. "Multiple opportunities to remove him existed. Each was rejected due to collateral risk. This operation prioritizes discretion."
I studied his expression. He looked exactly like someone who enjoyed reminding everyone around him how important he was.
245 enlarged another section. "He is classified as an E-Rank Warrior."
I filed that away. Useful. Not useful enough.
The profile disappeared, replaced by an image of an enormous office tower. Glass walls mirroring the surrounding skyline, sleek architecture that screamed wealth — not just a building, but a statement. Night Corporation clearly wanted the entire city to know they had more money than everyone else.
"Our objective," 245 said, "is straightforward." She highlighted the fiftieth floor. "You will infiltrate this building, eliminate the target, and exit the premises." She looked directly at me for the first time. "Without causing significant disturbance."
I blinked once.
Sure. Because sneaking into a heavily guarded corporate headquarters to assassinate a superhuman executive was exactly the kind of thing people did every Tuesday.
The hologram shifted. A new photograph — a younger man, lean and athletic, short dark hair, sharp eyes that seemed to be tracking something outside the frame. Simple tactical clothing instead of an expensive suit.
"Flex employs only one permanent bodyguard." The image enlarged. "E-Rank Esper."
Lines of information scrolled underneath.
*Primary Ability: Super Speed.*
My optimism immediately decreased.
Fast opponents were annoying enough. Fast opponents assigned specifically to protect someone were considerably worse.
"The bodyguard maintains close proximity at nearly all times," 245 continued. A distance indicator appeared: *Average Separation: Five meters.* "He reacts aggressively toward perceived threats."
Wonderful. So I'd need to kill the boss while avoiding someone capable of crossing a room before I finished blinking. Nothing stressful about that.
The display changed again — psychological evaluations, behavioral reports, witness statements, medical records. An entire section dedicated to Flex's personality.
"Fortunately," 245 said, "the target possesses several exploitable weaknesses."
Now that sounded promising.
She enlarged one report. "Flex demonstrates severe narcissistic tendencies. He consistently overestimates his own abilities. He believes non-awakened humans are biologically inferior." Another report appeared. "Last month, one of his employees accidentally spilled coffee onto his desk."
The room stayed silent for a moment.
"Flex responded by breaking both of the employee's legs."
I frowned. "...Seriously?"
"The employee later expressed gratitude."
"...What?"
245 read directly from the report. "'Manager Flex showed remarkable restraint by allowing me to live. I am thankful for his mercy.'"
I stared at the screen. Either this world had very strange workplace culture, or terror was an incredibly effective management strategy.
Probably both.
245 seemed completely unfazed. "He maintains authority primarily through fear." New photographs appeared — Flex beside expensive cars, Flex posing next to defeated monsters, Flex holding oversized weapons, Flex shaking hands with politicians. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. "His office walls are covered with trophies and personal photographs. He seeks constant recognition, enjoys public admiration, and frequently exaggerates his accomplishments."
I couldn't help myself. "So..."
She looked at me.
"He's unbearable."
"...An acceptable summary."
That might have been the closest thing to humor she was capable of. Progress.
"His arrogance has gradually reduced his personal security," she continued. A blueprint appeared. "He relies almost entirely on his own combat ability and his personal protector."
That actually made this mission possible. If Flex had surrounded himself with dozens of elite Awakened guards, Bloom probably wouldn't have sent a trainee after him. Arrogance had created an opening, and they intended to exploit it.
245 closed the personality reports and opened another file. "This operation includes temporary support."
A familiar face appeared above the table. Messy dark hair. Relaxed smile. Thin build.
Ira.
Well. At least I'd be working with someone I'd already met. Not that I actually knew much about him.
"He will assist your infiltration."
I looked up. "In what way?"
"His ability is appropriate for covert operations."
That answered absolutely nothing. Apparently she noticed my expression.
"The exact application will be explained before deployment."
Translation: stop asking.
She folded her hands neatly on the table. "If you have questions, ask them now."
The silence that followed felt strangely peaceful. I hadn't realized how exhausting it was to listen to someone speak with the emotional range of a malfunctioning refrigerator.
I glanced back at Flex's profile. Another question came to mind.
"There is one thing."
245 looked at me.
"What exactly is E-Rank?"
For several long seconds, she simply stared. Those sharp yellow eyes narrowed slightly — not with anger, more like she was trying to determine whether I was genuinely asking or mocking her.
The room went uncomfortably quiet.
Eventually she answered. "E-Rank," she repeated slowly, as if giving herself one last chance to believe I'd been joking. When I said nothing, she let out the faintest sigh — the exhausted kind, the one reserved for explaining basic arithmetic to a child.
"All awakened individuals are classified according to rank." With a flick of her finger, the holographic display changed. Flex's profile disappeared, replaced by a simple vertical chart.
At the bottom: **E**
Above it: **D**
Then: **C — B — A**
And at the very top: **S**
"E-Rank through S-Rank. These classifications are used universally by every major organization. The higher the rank, the greater an awakened individual's overall combat capability."
"So E-Rank is the weakest."
"Correct."
"And S-Rank is the strongest."
"Correct."
At least someone in this world had resisted the temptation to invent an overly complicated system involving stars, colors, gemstones, and mythical creatures.
"Understood." Then another thought occurred to me. "If S-Rank is the strongest... do A-Ranks and S-Ranks actually exist?"
For the first time since entering the room, her expression changed.
It wasn't surprise or confusion. It was something dangerously close to amusement.
"No."
I blinked. "...No?"
"There has never been a confirmed S-Rank. Nor a confirmed A-Rank."
I stared at her. "...Seriously?"
"Yes."
"Then..." I gestured toward the chart still floating above the table. "Why are they there?"
Surely no one had invented two entire classifications purely for decoration.
245 regarded me quietly. Then her yellow eyes narrowed. "Did you lose your memory?"
The question hit like a hammer.
For a fraction of a second, my heart stopped. Cold sweat prickled across my back. Had I slipped? Was this it — one question too many?
I forced myself to stay still. Years of pretending to understand things I didn't suddenly became incredibly useful.
Face calm. Breathing steady.
"I was merely curious."
Silence. She continued watching me. One second. Two. Three. Long enough to make me wonder if she could detect lies.
Finally, she sighed — not angry. Exhausted.
"The ranking system predates modern civilization." The chart shifted. Ancient-looking documents appeared beside it, fragments of faded diagrams, symbols I didn't recognize, old records preserved in digital form. "It originated during the Root Era."
My attention sharpened immediately.
Root. I'd heard the name before — only fragments, never enough to understand what it actually was.
"All awakened beings ultimately trace their origins to experiments conducted by Root." She spoke with the same mechanical precision she'd used throughout the briefing. "They developed the original awakening process. They established the first ranking criteria. They recorded theoretical limits that had never been achieved."
Her finger pointed toward the highest two letters. "A-Rank. S-Rank. Their existence remains hypothetical. The Root researchers believed further evolution was possible — they predicted individuals capable of surpassing all existing awakened beings and assigned those theoretical stages the designations A and S."
"So they expected someone to eventually reach those levels."
"Correct."
"But nobody ever has."
"Correct."
For a civilization advanced enough to create awakened humans, that was surprising. Either they'd dramatically overestimated humanity — or something had gone very, very wrong.
Questions flooded my mind. What exactly had Root been? Where had they gone? If they created awakened people, who created *them*? Were they human? Alien? Something else entirely?
245 had already started closing the files.
I raised a hand. "Wait. What exactly was Root?"
"That information is unnecessary for your mission."
"...It sounds pretty important."
"It is."
"...Then why can't I know?"
"Because your assignment is to eliminate Flex."
*Not attend history class.* She didn't say that part. She didn't need to.
I sighed inwardly. Apparently curiosity had officially become illegal.
The holographic screen disappeared. The room fell silent. Neither of us spoke — the awkward kind of quiet where neither person particularly wants to continue the conversation.
Fortunately, the door slid open.
Two more people entered. One was another handler. The other —
Ira.
He looked exactly the same as I remembered. Average height, lean build, messy dark hair that seemed to ignore gravity. A relaxed smile spread across his face, as though he'd mistaken this assassination briefing for a social gathering. Compared to Handler 245, he radiated enough positive energy to power a small city.
I glanced at him for barely a second before looking away.
Then something felt wrong.
A strange sensation prickled at the edge of my awareness — almost instinctive. The room felt different somehow.
I looked back toward the doorway.
Empty.
I froze.
The spot where Ira had been standing was vacant. His handler remained by the entrance.
But Ira had vanished.
Every instinct I had screamed danger. I shot to my feet —
A hand landed gently on my shoulder.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. My body twisted on reflex, one hand already moving toward the knife at my waist before my brain caught up.
Ira stood directly behind me.
Grinning.
"I get that reaction a lot."
For several seconds I just stared. He'd crossed the entire room without making a sound, without me seeing him move, without triggering a single flicker in my peripheral vision.
That wasn't just fast. That was absurd.
He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry. I probably should've warned you."
"You think?"
He laughed. "Fair."
I looked toward Handler 245. She hadn't reacted. Neither had Ira's handler. As if this happened every single day — which somehow made it even more unsettling.
I studied him more carefully. Nothing about him looked extraordinary. No oversized muscles, no glowing aura, no intimidating presence. He looked like an ordinary college student who'd wandered into the wrong building.
Yet he'd appeared behind me without me noticing a thing.
If that was what an E-Rank Esper could do, I'd underestimated awakened abilities. By a lot.
I opened my mouth. "So your ability —"
"We're leaving."
Both handlers spoke almost simultaneously.
Ira sighed dramatically. "Aww. I was about to look cool."
"You already did," I admitted before I could stop myself.
He flashed a satisfied grin. "See? I knew it."
Handler 245 ignored us completely. "The aircraft departs in twenty minutes. Be prepared." Without another word, she turned and walked out. Her counterpart followed immediately.
Ira shrugged. "Guess that's our cue." He headed for the door and looked back over his shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll pull this off."
His confidence sounded completely genuine.
Whether it was earned — I'd find out tomorrow.
The walk through the facility somehow felt longer than it had the day I arrived.
Maybe because this time I actually noticed everything around me. Or because every step was carrying me closer to my first real mission. Neither possibility was particularly comforting.
Handler 245 led the way without speaking, pace brisk and unwavering. Ira and his handler followed a few steps behind, two armed guards bringing up the rear.
An escort. Or an armed reminder that leaving wasn't an option. Probably both.
The first security checkpoint came into view — massive blast doors blocking the corridor, thick enough to withstand a missile strike. Soldiers in matte-black combat armor stood motionless on either side, rifles held across their chests. One glanced toward us. A blue light flashed.
Identity confirmed.
The doors slid apart with a deep metallic rumble. We passed through. They slammed shut behind us.
*Boom.*
Then another checkpoint. Retinal scans. Then palm-print verification. Then a full-body scanner that bathed us in pale blue light.
"No unauthorized equipment detected."
A little farther ahead, tiny drones emerged from concealed ceiling compartments, circled each of us for several seconds, then disappeared just as silently. Biometric verification, I guessed — heartbeat, body temperature, whatever else.
The pattern became obvious the deeper we traveled: every section of this underground complex was isolated from the others. Escape one laboratory and you'd still need to cross multiple sealed sectors. Breach one checkpoint and five more waited ahead. Even if you defeated every guard, you still wouldn't know which direction led outside.
Bloom hadn't built a headquarters. They'd built a prison — one designed to contain people far more dangerous than ordinary humans.
I found myself wondering how many awakened individuals were hidden behind the countless reinforced doors lining these corridors.
Judging by the security, more than I wanted to imagine.
Beside me, Ira let out a low whistle. "Talk about overkill."
Neither handler acknowledged him. He leaned toward me instead. "If I ever decide to escape, remind me not to use the front door."
I glanced sideways. "Were you planning to?"
"Nah." He smiled. "Too much walking."
I wasn't entirely sure he was joking.
Eventually the sterile hallways opened into a chamber so enormous I instinctively slowed down.
It looked less like part of an underground base and more like a futuristic airport. Or perhaps an aircraft carrier buried beneath a mountain. The ceiling disappeared into darkness hundreds of meters overhead. Towering support pillars stretched upward like the trunks of colossal trees, each one covered in glowing circuitry pulsing with soft blue light.
Dozens of aircraft rested on launch platforms spread across the hangar floor — and every single one looked decades, if not centuries, ahead of anything I'd ever seen. Smooth black metal with no visible seams, no propellers, no conventional wings, no exposed engines. Nothing that suggested how they actually flew.
They looked almost *grown* rather than built. Elegant. Silent. Predatory.
Maintenance drones floated around them like mechanical insects, running inspections without a single human in sight.
Ira looked around with wide eyes. "...Okay." He whistled. "That's cool."
For once, I couldn't argue. If someone had shown me this back on Earth, I'd have assumed it was a movie set.
Handler 245 led us toward one of the smaller craft. Smaller was relative — it was still nearly twenty meters long, its sleek black hull reflecting overhead lights like polished obsidian. A hatch silently opened along its side.
"No delays," 245 said. "We depart immediately."
We climbed aboard.
The interior surprised me. Instead of cramped rows of seats, the cabin resembled a luxury transport — comfortable reclining chairs, soft indirect lighting, storage compartments seamlessly integrated into the walls, large panoramic windows stretching along both sides. Everything looked minimalist, expensive, efficient.
The pilot was already seated in the cockpit. I couldn't tell if they were even human beneath the dark flight suit and reflective visor.
No introductions. No mission briefing. No safety demonstration.
The hatch sealed behind us with a soft hiss. The engines — if there were engines — made no sound at all. The pilot tapped several holographic controls.
"Departure authorized."
That was the only warning we received.
The aircraft shot upward.
Not forward. *Upward.* One instant we were resting on the platform, and the next, gravity slammed me into my seat as the craft accelerated vertically like a launched missile.
"...Seriously?"
Ira burst out laughing beside me. "You get used to it!"
"I somehow doubt that!"
Within seconds the sensation eased — the acceleration became so smooth it felt almost unnatural. No vibration, no turbulence, nothing. The aircraft glided through a massive launch shaft toward a distant circle of daylight.
We emerged from underground, and sunlight flooded the cabin.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I saw the sky.
Blue. Clear. Almost painfully bright after weeks beneath the earth.
I stared through the window in silence as the underground entrance vanished beneath us, concealed once more by dense vegetation. If I hadn't watched us leave, I never would've guessed one of the world's largest secret organizations operated under that forest.
Then something strange happened. A ripple spread across the aircraft's surface — the black hull shimmered, resembling disturbed water for a brief instant. Then it disappeared.
I leaned closer to the glass.
The wings — assuming the craft even had wings — were invisible. The nose was invisible. Everything was invisible. Only empty air surrounded us.
I blinked. Still invisible.
If any country on Earth possessed technology like this, global military dominance would follow within months. Stealth satellites, invisible bombers, undetectable reconnaissance. Entire wars would become one-sided. The thought made me strangely grateful that my old world had never developed anything remotely comparable.
Outside, an endless ocean of green stretched across the horizon. Forest, mountains, more forest. The trees were impossibly dense, their canopies forming an unbroken sea of emerald beneath us.
Ten minutes passed. Still forest.
I'd never seen wilderness on this scale before. The Amazon had always seemed unimaginably vast back on Earth. Now it suddenly felt small. Or perhaps this world itself was simply much larger.
Given everything else I'd witnessed, I wouldn't have been surprised.
Eventually the green began breaking apart. A narrow road carved through the trees. Then another. Small settlements appeared between the canopies, little more than clusters of buildings surrounded by cultivated land. As the aircraft continued forward, they gradually grew.
Villages became towns. Towns became districts.
And then the city appeared.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
The forest simply ended. In its place rose a skyline unlike anything I'd ever imagined — thousands of skyscrapers piercing the clouds, each one a masterpiece of futuristic architecture. Some were sleek towers of black glass that reflected the sky like mirrors. Others twisted upward in elegant spirals. A few seemed to defy gravity entirely, their upper sections floating independently above their foundations, held together by shimmering rings of blue energy.
Even from kilometers away, they looked colossal. As we drew closer, their true scale became apparent. They weren't merely tall — they were mountains disguised as buildings. Several towers disappeared into the clouds entirely, their peaks hidden from view.
"...Wow," Ira whispered beside me.
For once, he had nothing sarcastic to add.
Neither did I.
Between the skyscrapers stretched glowing bridges suspended hundreds of meters above the streets. Vehicles streamed across them in neat, organized lines, moving with such precision there wasn't a hint of congestion. And above those bridges — more traffic. Hundreds of sleek flying vehicles weaving between towers through invisible aerial lanes, some resembling cars, others more like compact aircraft, a few with no obvious shape at all. Smooth metallic capsules gliding silently through the air.
Everything moved with incredible order. No horns, no sudden swerves, no accidents. Compared to the chaotic traffic back on Earth, it looked almost unreal.
Gigantic holographic advertisements floated between the buildings, large enough to cover entire skyscrapers. One displayed a warrior effortlessly cleaving apart a monster with a sword larger than a car. Golden letters flashed beneath him: *Become Stronger Than Yesterday.* It dissolved into particles and was immediately replaced by a smiling woman holding what looked suspiciously like a syringe, streams of glowing blue energy flowing through her body.
*Next-Generation Genetic Enhancement. Side effects reduced by forty-two percent.*
I couldn't help smiling. Apparently advertising hadn't changed much across dimensions. The technology improved. Marketing remained equally shameless.
As the aircraft descended further, I could make out the streets below. Thousands of people moved through the city with practiced efficiency. Humans. Green-skinned races like Handler 245. People with horns protruding from their foreheads. Others with glowing eyes — gold, blue, crimson. Some with tails, others with pointed ears. One man walking across a skybridge appeared to have metallic skin that reflected sunlight like polished steel.
Nobody paid them any special attention. To everyone else, this was normal.
For the first time since arriving in this world, the truth truly settled into my mind.
This wasn't Earth. Not a different country, not a hidden civilization, not some underground city. An entirely different world. Until now, Bloom's underground facility had kept that reality at arm's length — concrete walls and laboratories could almost have belonged to Earth if you ignored the aliens and psychic powers. This city erased every remaining illusion.
Earth was gone. Whatever life I'd once had existed only as a memory.
The aircraft entered the city without slowing. I instinctively expected alarms, air defense systems, security drones demanding identification. Instead, the flying traffic simply adjusted around our invisible craft as though we'd been expected all along. Either Bloom had incredibly high-level clearance, or their stealth technology was far better than I'd imagined.
Probably both.
We flew deeper. Tower after tower slid past. Some displayed massive company logos covering entire floors. Others featured hanging gardens spilling greenery down their sides. One building had waterfalls cascading from halfway up its structure, the water somehow vanishing before it reached the streets below.
I decided not to question the physics.
Eventually our aircraft slowed. Ahead stood an enormous mansion tucked between several towering skyscrapers — calling it a mansion felt almost insulting. It was closer to a private estate. High walls, perfectly maintained gardens across several acres, a small artificial lake reflecting the nearby skyline like a mirror.
The aircraft descended directly onto a private landing platform attached to the upper level. No one stopped us. No one questioned us. The invisible craft settled with barely a whisper.
The hatch opened. Fresh air drifted inside.
"We've arrived," Handler 245 said, her voice as emotionless as it had been several hours ago.
Some things, apparently, never changed.
The interior was ridiculous.
Soft carpets over polished wooden floors. Crystal chandeliers hanging from ceilings nearly three stories high. Elegant furniture filling spacious rooms decorated with expensive artwork. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking landscaped gardens. A grand staircase curving upward to the second floor.
Everything radiated wealth — not flashy wealth, but old money. The kind that didn't need to prove itself.
"This location belongs to Bloom," Handler 245 explained. "It functions as a temporary safe house."
That explained the complete absence of people. No servants, no guards, no owners. The mansion felt almost abandoned despite looking as though someone had spent millions furnishing it.
I wandered into the living room while the others spoke quietly near the entrance. One of the sofas looked softer than every bed I'd slept on since arriving in this world. I pressed a hand against the cushion.
It practically swallowed my arm.
"...I miss comfort."
Ira laughed. "First thing you're worried about?"
"You have no idea how terrible Bloom's beds are."
"I kind of got used to them, actually."
I stared at him. "...That's depressing."
"A little." He shrugged. "I've slept in worse."
I decided not to ask.
Nearby stood a massive display built into the wall. A kitchen larger than my old apartment occupied the next room. Everything sparkled.
For one dangerous moment I imagined spending an entire day here. Sleeping, eating actual food, watching movies, pretending I wasn't being trained to assassinate people. Maybe even ordering pizza.
Then reality politely reminded me that I had an assassination scheduled for tomorrow.
Some dreams simply weren't meant to come true.
An hour later, all four of us gathered in the mansion's conference room.
Unlike the lavish living areas, this space was designed for business. A long black table at the center, one wall entirely made of glass overlooking the city beyond. Even from this height, streams of flying vehicles moved between distant skyscrapers like glowing rivers.
The opposite wall was blank — until Handler 245 touched it.
The entire surface lit up. A three-dimensional hologram burst into existence above the table, and the city unfolded before us in miniature. Thousands of buildings rising from the glowing map, perfectly recreated down to the smallest detail, slowly rotating in the air.
Even after everything I'd seen today, technology in this world still managed to surprise me.
245 enlarged one section until a single skyscraper rose above all others. "This is the local headquarters of Night Corporation." The surrounding buildings faded away until only the tower remained — nearly fifty stories tall, dark glass exterior mirroring the neighboring skyline. A glowing company emblem rotated above the roof.
"As one of the world's largest corporations, Night Corporation maintains extensive security protocols." The building split apart, each floor unfolding individually to expose its internal layout. Elevators, emergency stairwells, maintenance shafts, office spaces, conference rooms, storage areas. Everything.
Colored lines spread through every corridor — green, blue, red, each representing a different security system. "Cameras monitor nearly every hallway. Very few blind spots." More icons appeared. "Motion sensors. Pressure-sensitive flooring in restricted sections. Biometric access points."
The amount of security was honestly absurd. This wasn't an office building — it was practically a fortress.
"Awakened detection systems are installed throughout the structure."
That got my attention. "Awakened detection?"
"They identify abnormal energy signatures."
"So they'll know the moment someone with abilities enters?"
"If concealment is not employed." She pointed toward Ira. "He will prevent that."
All eyes turned toward him.
Ira leaned back in his chair and gave a cheerful thumbs-up. "No problem."
For some reason, that wasn't remotely reassuring.
I looked at him. "So your ability hides awakened energy?"
"Among other things." He grinned. "I'll explain tomorrow."
"You really enjoy being mysterious, don't you?"
"A little."
245 ignored the exchange. "We will simultaneously interfere with the building's camera network. Even if visual concealment fails temporarily, surveillance footage should remain compromised."
*Should.* I noticed that word immediately.
"Should?"
She met my gaze. "No operation proceeds perfectly."
Fair enough. At least she was honest.
The hologram zoomed into the lobby. Red markers appeared throughout the entrance and repeated on every subsequent floor — guards patrolling hallways, stationed near elevators, clustered inside security control rooms. "Approximately eighty-six security employees within the building during standard business hours."
Only eighty-six. How generous.
"The majority are ordinary personnel. Only a small percentage are awakened." The hologram scrolled upward, floor after floor, until it stopped at Level Fifty.
Unlike the floors below, this one contained only a handful of rooms. A luxurious office occupied nearly half the floor, large windows overlooking the city, private meeting rooms surrounding it. A single red icon pulsed inside the main office.
"Flex." His photograph appeared beside the marker. "This is where he conducts daily operations." A timeline materialized beside it.
*10:00 — Arrival. 10:15–13:00 — Administrative work. 13:00 — Departure for lunch or external meetings.*
"He remains in the office consistently between ten in the morning and one in the afternoon." She looked directly at me. "That three-hour window is your operational window."
I nodded slowly. Enough time — assuming nothing went wrong.
Which meant something almost certainly would.
Another red icon appeared beside Flex's. Smaller. Moving. "The bodyguard." Unlike Flex's marker, this one continuously circled the office — four meters, six, three, five. Never farther.
"He does not leave."
"So I'll need to deal with both of them."
"Correct."
"No backup?"
"No."
I considered complaining, then remembered who I was talking to.
The hologram shifted again. Possible entry routes appeared — maintenance shafts, emergency stairwells, ventilation systems, service elevators. Bloom had studied this building thoroughly. I found myself unconsciously memorizing every corridor, every intersection, every emergency exit and security checkpoint.
Because tomorrow, getting lost could get me killed.
Handler 245 finally dismissed the hologram. The miniature city dissolved into countless particles and disappeared. Silence settled over the room.
"The operation begins tomorrow morning." Her calm voice somehow made those words feel heavier. "You are free to choose any room within this residence." A brief pause. Her yellow eyes locked onto mine. "For your sake..."
Another silence.
"...do not fail."
The room suddenly felt colder. Those four words weren't spoken like encouragement or advice — they were a statement of fact. If I failed, Bloom wouldn't be interested in excuses. I wasn't entirely sure whether Flex would kill me first, or Bloom would.
Neither possibility appealed to me.
"This briefing is concluded." Without another word, she gathered her files and walked toward the door. Her partner followed immediately. The two handlers disappeared into the hallway, leaving Ira and me alone.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Ira stretched his arms above his head. "Well..." He smiled. "Tomorrow should be interesting."
I looked at him. "You have a strange definition of interesting."
"I've been told that." He laughed lightly and walked toward the door. "Try to get some sleep. I'll need you thinking clearly."
I watched him leave.
Once the door closed behind him, the mansion became strangely quiet.
Tomorrow, someone was going to die. The only question was whether it would be Flex — or me.
I took a slow breath and made my way upstairs toward the room I'd chosen earlier.
Sleep suddenly felt very far away.
My room was larger than the entire apartment I'd rented back on Earth.
A king-sized bed occupied the center, covered in dark gray sheets that looked far softer than anything Bloom had allowed us during training. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city, and a private bathroom connected to one side. Everything was immaculate. Too immaculate. It felt less like a home and more like a luxury hotel waiting for guests who never arrived.
I closed the door behind me.
Click. Silence.
For the first time in days, I was completely alone. No instructors, no guards shouting orders, no alarms, no sounds of dozens of other trainees moving through the hallways.
Just me.
I slowly sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress sank beneath my weight.
"...Now that's dangerous."
If I'd been given this bed during training, I might never have gotten up again.
For a brief moment, I considered lying down immediately. Then my eyes drifted toward the city lights outside the window.
*Tomorrow.*
The word lingered.
Tomorrow I would kill someone. Not during a training exercise. Not in self-defense. Not because a monster was trying to tear me apart. A real person — a man with a name, a face, a life.
I waited for guilt to come. For horror. For that instinctive revulsion that every normal person should experience before taking another human life.
Nothing came.
Instead, my mind replayed the holographic blueprint from the briefing. Floor fifty. Two elevators. One emergency staircase. Three security cameras outside the executive office. Four guards stationed on that level. The bodyguard within five meters of Flex. Possible escape routes, blind spots, timing, probability.
I frowned.
Why was I thinking about routes instead of morality?
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. A few months ago I'd been an ordinary college student. Biggest concerns: exams, rent, what to eat for dinner. Now I was calmly planning an assassination. Like it was a difficult homework assignment.
That realization disturbed me far more than the mission itself.
"When did that happen?"
I asked the empty room. No answer came.
Maybe it had been gradual — a little during the laboratory experiments, a little during survival training, a little every time I watched someone die, a little every time I accepted that tomorrow wasn't guaranteed. Perhaps nobody changed all at once. Perhaps they just kept adapting until one day they no longer recognized who they'd been before.
I let out a slow breath. Was this Bloom's training? Break people down, strip away hesitation, replace it with efficiency?
If so, it was working. That thought should have frightened me. Instead I merely acknowledged it — because denying reality wouldn't change it.
I stood and walked toward the window.
The city stretched endlessly beneath the night sky. Flying vehicles left glowing trails between skyscrapers. Neon advertisements illuminated entire districts. Somewhere out there, Flex was living his normal life. Holding meetings, giving orders, completely unaware that Bloom had already decided he was dead. He didn't know a trainee assassin was coming for him tomorrow. Didn't know his every movement had been studied, his habits recorded, his routines analyzed, his arrogance documented.
To him, tomorrow would begin like every other day.
It would also be his last.
I should have felt sorry for him. Instead I remembered the report — the spilled coffee, the broken legs, the terrified gratitude for being allowed to survive. The photographs. The trophies. The casual cruelty. No, Flex wasn't innocent. That didn't make killing him easy. But it made it easier.
I looked down at my hands. They looked exactly the same as always. No blood, no scars, nothing to suggest they might soon take someone's life. Funny — people always imagined murder changing your appearance somehow. Making you look like a monster. Reality was much quieter than that.
Monsters often looked perfectly ordinary.
I wondered which category I was slowly drifting toward.
A faint knock interrupted my thoughts. Three quick taps.
I opened the door. Ira stood outside holding two steaming mugs.
"I figured you might still be awake." He raised one. "Tea?"
I looked at him suspiciously. "...You're offering me tea?"
"Believe it or not, yes."
I accepted the mug. The warmth spread into my hands immediately. "Thanks."
"No problem."
For a minute, neither of us spoke. We simply stood in the hallway sipping hot tea while the city lights shimmered beyond the windows.
Finally, Ira broke the silence. "Nervous?"
I considered lying. Instead, I shrugged. "A little."
"Good."
I looked at him.
"The people who aren't nervous before their first mission usually don't survive very long." He said it easily, matter-of-factly. "I still remember mine. I barely slept."
"You?"
He nodded. "I thought I'd throw up."
I couldn't help laughing. "You don't seem like the type."
"That's because you met me afterward." His smile became more subdued. "It gets easier."
I wasn't sure whether that was reassuring or depressing.
After another minute, he finished his tea. "Try to sleep. We leave early." He started walking away, then paused. "Oh. And don't worry too much." He flashed an easy grin. "You've survived everything Bloom has thrown at you so far. I'd rather not lose my partner on day one."
Then he disappeared down the hallway.
I closed the door. The room went quiet again. I placed the empty mug on the bedside table and finally lay down.
The mattress felt impossibly comfortable.
Sleep refused to come anyway.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw blueprints. Security cameras. A smiling man with a scar across his face. A bodyguard fast enough to disappear from sight.
Sometime after midnight, exhaustion finally won.
Tomorrow, everything would change.