Beneath his armor, strips of silver lined his clothes. In his left hand, he held a long, double-edged axe. A round, Viking-style shield was braced near his right foot. Its center was covered in embossed circles. His conical iron helmet seemed to cut through the light coming from the other side.
"Want to keep playing a little longer?" said Collapse Gentel.
"After that fucking Crystal 7 broadcast, you really want things to just go back to normal?" He raised his eyebrows. The metal piece on his nose clamped tightly onto that spot.
Collapse swung his axe at a spider kneeling before him.
A fountain of deep blue blood sprayed into the air.
Had he been just a few centimeters shorter, the sticky blue liquid would've splattered across his face.
The spider's exoskeleton cracked with a loud "Thwak!"
Collapse turned swiftly. Despite the weight on him, he moved like a predator.
The clinking of the iron chain under his bronze armor grew louder.
Through the mist mixed with dust, he spotted a woman approaching.
She was walking quickly, cautiously.
Soon, her face came into view — somewhere in her forties. Her hair fell limp on both sides of her weary face."Collapse," she whispered, kneeling down.
"Aunt Ellice," said Collapse. Ellice stared at the dead spider in awe.
"Since her death, you can't stay still, can you?"
Her worried voice echoed in the air.
In the dusty, sulfur-tinged atmosphere, Collapse frowned. "With her—"
Aunt Ellice cut him off. "Don't tell me she was just a fling," she said, her voice full of pain. She took a deep breath.
The air hitting Collapse's nostrils made him shiver.
"Are you admitting you didn't love her?"
"Don't say I'm that much of a bastard," she replied. "Will you help me or not? Remember the nights she clung to you, the days she touched you with sincerity. How can you be such a shameless, cold-hearted man?"
Collapse felt those words shake something inside him.
"That's not what I meant."
Aunt Ellice pressed her hands into the ground and tried to suppress her sobs.
"I knew you wouldn't let this go. I knew you'd take revenge!" she cried, then collapsed at his feet.
Collapse was used to women's emotional breakdowns. They were like static carved into a moment of helplessness. He rolled his eyes and stepped away, crushing the dead spider underfoot.
"This is not the time, Aunt Ellice." He turned his back.
She stared at him in disappointment.
"I think the killer was a woman."
Collapse froze mid-step. Then laughed. "A woman? Women have never been this cruel. Not in any era."
"That's exactly why," said Aunt Ellice. "They showed me her body. It was torn apart. The wounds on her face and body screamed of a woman's rage. I read the signs. Grace's wounds... they screamed vengeance — the wrath of a woman who'd had enough. Grace was beautiful and successful." She sniffled. "She had no shortage of envy around her."
She paused. Memories danced behind her eyes."My husband is searching everywhere for his daughter's killer. A giant of a man, collapsed."
Collapse just kept walking.
Aunt Ellice was forced to face the harsh truth in the face of that cold indifference.
Then she screamed as loud as she could:
"If you don't lift a finger, I'll believe you had something to do with it!" she shouted, pointing a trembling finger.
Collapse felt his skin crawl.
He lowered his axe and walked toward a thorn-patterned vehicle parked beside a yellow stone building. When the engine roared to life, and the closing signals flashed, Ellice's brain jolted in shock."Fine," she said."No one knows what you did to her at night, right?"
The venom in her voice made Collapse stop cold. He felt it — everywhere in his body. Grace's starlit eyes. Her lifeless body in the morgue with purple lips. He couldn't reconcile the two.
"Right?" Aunt Ellice repeated with a pained smile."I'm the only one who saw how that calm man came to life over my niece at night."
***
Meyer found himself flying through the air — a truck barreling toward him.
He crashed onto the ground.
He was fine. The two cops weren't.
They lay still, faces bloodied.
He wanted to call an ambulance, but didn't know the number. So he grabbed one of the officers' radios and held it to his ear.
As more police and medical units arrived, bodies were scattered across the sidewalk. The truck had tipped to one side. Wheels and the engine stank. No, it was gasoline.
Meyer wasn't disturbed by the fire — he'd survived a volcanic flow before. And not just Meyer — many others.
A police car pulled up behind the ambulance. A hand reached out from the vehicle, grabbing Meyer.
"How are you even alive?"
He had no answer.
He supposed he was sad about the dead cops.
Then he thought, that's nonsense.
The Devil Chip buzzed:"You could've leveled up to three if you'd just gone to the Tower!"The guilt hit hard.
He replayed the crash in his head. He really thought he was going to die. Again.
As he pondered the afterlife, they brought him to the station. Tests. Verifications. Endless corridors.
Then he was cleared and walked out.
The Devil Chip chirped:"Finally. I thought you were spending the night in there."
"The system was weird," said Meyer.
There was a capsule locker — weird — where everyone's private data was stored. No fingerprints. Everyone was assigned a unique molecule. One that only existed in their blood.
Meyer had learned — or guessed — that these molecules were created by biotech tycoons.
He immediately suspected sinister commercial motives.
His mind drifted to the Tower again.
He remembered the truck crash.
Did I really see a spider? Or was it a hallucination?
"I was in a truck crash!" he told himself, as if reporting to someone far away. Silence.
"Steve, why isn't your heart racing? That wasn't just any crash!" the inner voice scolded him.
His body showed no reaction. No heartbeat spike. No pain. Hitting the pavement was like dropping onto a mattress.
He walked past some dull, grey shops. One display caught his eye. Orange and brown-handled obsidian knives. He reached for his pocket — no Vey. He didn't even bother pretending to check.
"Looks like you need money," said the Devil Chip.
Meyer felt like a woman harassed by underwear ads.
"Just say it. What do you want?"
"Simple. Go to the Tower, level up, get cash."
"You said my time was up!" Meyer barked.
He needed someone to look at him like he'd just made a mistake.
"Upset you got extra time? Classic devil-seed move. But hey — there's another way to get that knife."
"No," Meyer whispered, as if realizing something.
"Your reflexes are dying," said the Chip. "The things that made you you are fading."
Meyer felt his heart clench for the first time in days.
"I won't do it," he said, fists tightening.
"You've got no other choice. Who knows how expensive they are?" the Chip sneered.
Meyer stared at the blade, winking at him from behind the glass.
"So boring," sighed the Chip."Is the word steal just gonna sit there?"
That word disturbed Meyer — but which version of himself felt that way?
The seconds passed, and resistance thinned. The old Meyer, 24-year-old Meyer, was pathetic. Maybe that's why death claimed him. To birth someone new. In a new body. Maybe that's why his face never aged — so he could start again.
His fists loosened. He was breathing hard.
His brain, following the Chip's signals, calculated the glass's breaking point.
"Need my help?" it asked.
Meyer didn't want to believe he'd already made the choice. The Chip's tone had that mocking edge — like someone controlling a puppet. Like Emma.
When his thoughts drifted to that night, it wasn't emotion that rose. It was the beast inside him. He wanted to find Magnus and tear him apart.
"You did see him," said the Chip.
"Shut up," Meyer growled.
Power. That's all he wanted — proof he had control.
"Don't be rude. Of course you saw Magnus. On his knees. You idiot."
"Shut up!" Meyer gritted his teeth.
His eyelids twitched.
Sunlight triggered his migraine.
"Steal?" he muttered. The obsidian knives enslaved his gaze. He was practically aroused. He wanted to hold that handle, pick his first victim, wait patiently. His whole life felt like it had been a joke — a worm feeding on lies and petty tricks.
He didn't have any of the traits that made people "important."
Even after rising from the dead, four decades later.
The knives in the window were as irresistible as a slice of cake.
"This is me," he whispered. "This is exactly who I am."
His steps moved toward the shop, slow and certain.
Muscles tightening, wind whipping his nape, blood rushing like lava.
Adrenaline: 90%, 95%, 100%.
"The Devil Chip spoke: 'Adrenaline protocol initiated!'"