Michael slouched on his couch in his Seventh Street apartment, the neon glow of New Eridu seeping through the cracked window, casting electric hues across his laptop screen.
The Inter-Knot's interface flickered, a digital hub buzzing with Proxy gigs, Hollow raid updates, and Sixth Street vendor ads.
His tie was gone, his white shirt unbuttoned, and his trimmed beard itched faintly as he scrolled.
The apartment's a bit cleaner still had a busted Bangboo in the corner that felt oddly comforting, a grounding contrast to the chaos of Hollows and mercenaries.
Browsing the Inter-Knot beats running from bullets, he thought, his rational mind focused on his next move.
He'd vowed to use his mystic ability less, a decision rooted in a chilling discovery.
His power wasn't like the overpowered cheats of isekai protagonists-no plot-armor skills or world-bending hacks.
Instead, his mystic ability converted the luck of living things around him into his own, a parasitic mechanism that carried enormous risks.
I could accidentaly kill someone just to win a million-Dennie lottery ticket, he thought, recalling the mechanics.
The thought wasn't despairing, just a cold fact he'd analyzed.
His mind drifted to the Cunning Hares-Billy, Anby, and Eous.
His mystic ability had nudged fate, causing accidents that saved them: collapsing platforms, missteps.
But what if he'd drawn luck from them? Or worse, from Phaethon, the Proxy duo central to Zenless Zone Zero's story?
If I'd drained their luck without realizing, I could've derailed the whole game's plot, he thought, his calm reflection noting the loophole he'd caught just in time.
He'd stopped short, pulling back before his power rewrote New Eridu's narrative.
The real breakthrough came from understanding his ability's interaction with Ether.
Unlike other transmigrators' abilities, his Mystic power treated Ether as a living entity, allowing him to steal luck from Ethereals.
This was a game-changer, but not without limits.
Ethereals' luck was fixed, their "value" low in the world's causality.
Stealing 20 luck points from an Ethereal, like a Hoplitai , had a weaker impact than siphoning the same from a human like Billy.
To cause significant misfortune to an Ethereal, he'd need to draw a massive amount from them.
Enough of that, he thought, closing the Inter-Knot tab.
His decision was firm: focus on the White Star Institute.
His job offered stability, a chance to climb New Eridu's ladder without relying on his Mystic ability.
His technical skills-data analysis, pattern recognition, and his computing ability-were enough to keep him afloat, maybe even earn him a promotion if he played it right.
I don't need to mess with fate to pay rent, he thought, his pragmatic outlook steady.
But one loose end nagged him: the mercenaries.
Tied to his old boss's Null_Face embezzlement, they'd abducted him, believing he knew where the money was hidden.
They were still out there, likely coming back here to get him.
Can't ignore them forever, he thought, opening a new Inter-Knot tab.
To deal with them, he needed information-leads on their crew, their Null_Face connections, anything to stay one step ahead.
That meant setting up a proxy account, a digital alias to navigate New Eridu's underbelly without exposing himself.
It's not about luck-it's about being smart, he thought, already drafting a username.
The brass coin sat on his coffee table, untouched, its faint warmth a reminder of the power he'd sworn off.
Michael leaned back, the laptop's glow reflecting in his dark eyes.
The White Star Institute was his path forward, his skills his shield, and the proxy account his next move.
I'll handle the mercenaries my way, he thought, his calm resolve unshaken.
New Eridu's dangers loomed, but he was done rolling the dice with fate.
***
Back on Earth, I was a whiz with computers.
As a kid, I was tapped as one of those rare talents who could shape the future of coding-writing scripts that made professors gawk and hacking school servers for fun.
I dreamed of leading the charge, building systems that mattered.
But dreams don't survive market realities.
Companies, obsessed with cutting costs, ditched human coders for AI as it got cheaper and smarter.
No one wanted to pay for talent when a neural net could churn out code for pennies.
That was the end of my dream, I recall, not bitterly but matter-of-factly.
It didn't break me-it just redirected me.
My skills, though? Those never faded.
They are as sharp as ever, but I never used them in New Eridu, not that I recall having them until recently.
I finish setting up my Proxy account, the Inter-Knot's verification ping confirming my access.
All that's left is a username.
For a laugh, I pick something obscure, a nod to a trollish figure from an old anime I binged on Earth.
Zelrech. It fits.
Let's see how the mercenaries like a ghost in their system.
I think, my fingers already moving.
I dive into the Inter-Knot's underbelly, scanning anonymous requests tied to me and the embezzlement mess from my old job.
A thread catches my eye-a deleted post, user accounts scrubbed clean. Amateur move.
I type a quick code, a simple script to retrieve their Inter-Knot IDs.
The data pops up: two accounts, ghosted but traceable.
Got you, I think, calm as I dig deeper, pulling up their activity logs.
To stay invisible, I slip a blank shield into the Inter-Knot's main system-a tiny patch, untraceable by moderators, cloaking my presence.
It's like flipping a switch. I sift through the IDs' data, my screen a cascade of encrypted chats, transaction records, and aliases.
The more I type, the more I uncover, my old coding instincts kicking in like muscle memory.
This is what I'm good at
Stretching my arm to ease a cramp, then diving back in.
I find the mercenaries' trail-a shoddy server, barely secured, linked to their operations.
How can they have servers this poorly protected? I think, almost offended.
No firewall worth a damn, no encryption beyond basic. These guys are a giant mercenary group, but their tech's a joke.
I crack their defenses in minutes, my scripts tearing through like a hot knife.
The data spills out: unauthorized IDs used in frauds, money-laundering schemes, even Hollow smuggling gigs.
It's a goldmine of dirt, but I'm after one thing.
There it is-the jackpot. The mercenaries were hired by a rival company to my old employer, a shady outfit called Vortex Dynamics.
They're after the embezzled money my boss hid, thinking I know where it is.
They picked the wrong guy to mess with, I think, my calm resolve hardening.
I start typing, my fingers flying, ready to repay Vortex and their hired goons in kind.
I lean back, the laptop's glow reflecting in my eyes.
***
In a dimly lit office tucked among Lumina Square's neon-soaked skyscrapers, the Canice mercenary commander slammed his fist on a metal desk, his scarred face twisted with fury.
The room buzzed with the hum of New Eridu's nightlife filtering through the windows, but inside, tension crackled.
His squad-hardened operatives with cybernetic implants and Ether-charged rifles-stood rigid, their excuses faltering under his glare.
"How," he growled, "could you not capture a normal citizen?"
They stammered, citing Michael Varen's escape from the warehouse, his uncanny evasion across rooftops, and the Hollow dive that lost them.
"Enough!" The commander barked, silencing them.
"Tomorrow, you bring him in, or you'll pay for it. Canice's reputation doesn't take hits." His voice was a blade, sharp and final.
Before anyone could respond, their phones and gadgets erupted in a chorus of pings.
The mercenaries exchanged confused glances, pulling out their devices.
Screens lit up with a single message, its tone deceptively cheerful: Greetings, Canice.
Then, the greeting vanished, replaced by a sinister cascade of words: Reach the designated location in 20 minutes, or all your information will be leaked.
A chilling addendum followed: If you think I'm kidding... On cue, each device displayed their personal data-bank accounts, fake IDs, Null_Face contracts-laid bare like a gutted fish.
Panic swept the room. One mercenary's hand shook, and another cursed under his breath.
The commander's eyes widened, then narrowed as he crushed his phone in his grip, plastic splintering.
"Move!" he roared. "Get to that location now!"
The Canice group stormed into an abandoned building on the outskirts of Brant Street, their high-tech combat gear gleaming under flickering neon signs.
***
The structure was a skeleton of rusted beams and shattered glass, reeking of motor oil and Hollow residue.
Rifles hummed, visors scanned for threats, and the commander clutched a new phone, its screen dark until a notification pinged.
He opened the message, his jaw tightening.
From a user named Zelrech, a trolling GIF looped-a dancing Bangboo with a mocking grin. Below it, text read,
You have been trolled.
The commander's grip tightened, but before he could react, booming cries echoed from behind.
"Hands up! Weapons down!"
The mercenaries spun, panic flaring as New Eridu Public Security flooded the building, their Ether-charged batons glowing.
Drones buzzed overhead, red lasers pinning the group.
Worse, among the officers stood a figure in a distinctive outfit-Hoshimi Miyabi, the youngest Void Hunter, her katana sheathed but radiating menace.
Her calm voice cut through the chaos.
"Cooperate. No unnecessary actions."
Most mercenaries froze, hands rising, rifles clattering to the ground.
Their reputation was iron, but Miyabi's presence-and Public Security's numbers-crushed their resolve.
The commander, however, saw his chance in the confusion. He bolted, slipping through a side exit, his boots pounding the concrete.
Sweat poured down the commander's face as he sprinted through a narrow street hallway, the neon lights of Brant Street blurring.
It was a fucking setup! he thought, rage mixing with dread.
He should've known-Zelrech, whoever they were, had played them like pawns.
His new phone pinged, another message from the same user: Next time, be good.
A final text followed: Look ahead. You might avoid the tail.
He glanced up, eyes wide, just as a sleek figure darted from the shadows.
A tail-long, agile, and tipped with precision-struck him, sending him crashing to the pavement.
Pain exploded in his chest, his vision swimming.
Jane Doe stood over him, her rat-like tail swaying, her eyes glinting with amusement.
She picked up his phone, her fingers dancing across the screen as she scanned the messages.
"Zelrech, huh?" Jane murmured, her voice low and intrigued.
"Interesting."