~~~
The fluorescent light buzzed overhead like a dying insect, casting harsh shadows across the concrete walls of the abandoned warehouse basement. Ryujin pulled his thin hospital-issued jacket tighter around his skeletal frame, the fabric hanging loose where muscle and fat had once been.
He hadn't had time to change clothes before Ren kidnapped him to meet with some dark web dealer.
Seriously? This is where I'm gonna die? In some creepy-ass basement that smells like a morgue?
"Bro, I'm starting to think this was a terrible idea," Ryujin wheezed, his voice barely above a whisper. The basement reeked of rust and stagnant water, a metallic tang that coated his throat and made his already labored breathing even more difficult.
His brother sat beside him on an identical metal folding chair, leg bouncing with nervous energy that made the rusted frame creak. At twenty-four, Ren still carried the broad shoulders and healthy complexion that Ryujin remembered from before everything went to hell.
Before the diagnosis. Before the chemo. Before his body became this hollow mockery of what it used to be.
"You sure about this?" Ren's voice cracked slightly, then he cleared his throat like he was trying to sound more confident. "Just a few minutes, Ryu. They should be here anytime now."
"A bit late to be asking that, don't you think?" Ryujin turned to study his brother's profile—the same sharp jawline they'd inherited from their father, now clenched tight with worry. "I mean, what choice do I have? Doctors gave me three weeks."
Three weeks if I'm lucky. Could be three days, the way I feel right now.
"Don't say that, okay? Just... don't." Ren's jaw worked silently, and Ryujin recognized the expression. Usually came right before his brother disappeared for hours, chasing down another desperate lead.
"Look, I'm not trying to be morbid here," Ryujin said, attempting a smile that felt more like a grimace. "But let's be realistic. I'm dying either way. At least this way, there's a chance something interesting happens."
He's trying so hard. Poor bastard probably blames himself for not finding this sooner.
"How much longer?" Ryujin shifted on the metal chair, feeling it bite through his jeans into skin that had grown too thin over prominent bones.
"He said twenty minutes. Should be here soon." Ren checked his phone for the third time in two minutes. "Maybe we should've... I don't know, met somewhere public? This place gives me the creeps."
"What, like Starbucks?" Ryujin let out a raspy laugh. "'Hey, let's discuss illegal experimental drugs over lattes.' Yeah, that would've gone over well."
"Ryu? You okay? You're looking kinda..."
"Gray. Yeah, I know. It's been a while since I got out of the hospital." Ryujin waved him off. "I'm okay, brother. Truly."
The lie comes so easily now. Fine. Okay. Just tired. Not much pain today. All the small deceits that make it easier for everyone else.
"We've come this far," Ryujin continued, his voice gaining a bit more strength. "Might as well see it through. Who knows? Maybe this actually turns out to be a miracle cure."
Or maybe I die faster and save everyone the trouble of watching me waste away.
Ren studied his face for a long moment. Ryujin knew what he was seeing—the yellowed skin, sunken cheeks, eyes that had receded deep into their sockets—a skull wearing a thin mask of flesh.
Ren was probably wondering if Ryujin would collapse and start vomiting blood before their contact even arrived.
Honestly, he wasn't far off.
"Who is this guy again?" Ryujin asked, mostly to fill the silence.
"Found him through contacts at work." Ren's gaze shifted to the staircase leading down into their concrete tomb. "Dark web stuff. Pharmaceutical research that got... shut down."
"Shut down by who?"
"Government. FDA, maybe? All the data, all the people involved—wiped out. Like, completely erased. Official records, research papers, and even the building got demolished."
Great. So either this guy's legit and got screwed by rich, or he's completely insane.
Ryujin was about to ask more when heavy footsteps echoed down the concrete stairs. Both brothers tensed, Ren's hand instinctively moving toward the pepper spray in his pocket.
Ryujin just sat straighter, ignoring the way his spine protested every small movement.
The man who descended looked exactly like what Ryujin imagined when someone said "dark web contact." Middle-aged, completely bald, a long black trench coat swaying around his legs, wire-rimmed sunglasses that threw the fluorescent light back in cold flashes. He carried a small metal briefcase.
Is he cosplaying Morpheus? Seriously?
And how is he even seeing with those sunglasses down here?
"Right on time." His voice was deep, deliberate. "Few people ever are."
"Yeah." Ren's voice came out tighter than usual, like he was trying not to show how nervous he was. "You're with Lyfe?"
The man tilted his head, lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Lyfe is the name you were given. There are others. Nothing matters more than the choice in front of you."
Great. Real chatty, this one.
The stranger set his briefcase on a rusted table that looked like it had been hauled out of a condemned office building. The latches popped open, sharp metallic clicks echoing in the damp basement. Inside, nestled in pristine foam, were two capsules—one blue, one red.
Ryujin almost laughed out loud. "Are you fucking kidding me? The Matrix? Really?"
Oh shit. He's not joking about this.
But the Morpheus cosplayer had a serious expression, and Ryujin could tell he was a no-nonsense type of person, just like his father.
"The blue pill is a placebo."
The man lifted each capsule with the care of someone handling live explosives, turning them in the light so their surfaces gleamed.
"Sugar and food coloring. A gentle surrender. Take it, and you drift back into the bed you fled from. Three weeks at most, exactly as the doctors foretold."
Ryujin's mouth went dry. Well, at least he's not sugarcoating it.
"And the red one?" Ren leaned forward, knuckles white where he gripped his chair.
The man lifted the second pill carefully, as though it pulsed with weight beyond its size.
"This is a possibility. My colleagues once sought to rewrite the language of cells, to push beyond the limits set at birth. Their work was erased. I salvaged fragments. This capsule may rebuild you. Or it may burn through you faster than your disease."
He paused, letting the words settle like ash.
"Or…"
Ren's jaw clenched. "Or what? Just say it."
The man's glasses reflected nothing but fluorescent glare. "Or you step past the veil, and awaken into a truth you were never meant to see."
What the hell does that even mean? Awakened to reality? This guy's definitely watched The Matrix too many times.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the fluorescent light's electric buzz and distant water dripping somewhere in the darkness.
Ren forced the question. "Payment. What's the cost?"
The man chuckled low in his chest, a sound that made Ryujin's skin prickle. "The cost is already written. Your decision only decides what it buys."
This cryptic bullshit is getting old fast.
Ren snapped, "Money? Favors? Blood? Just tell us—"
But the man only smiled wider, gesturing toward the pills with both hands like a magician revealing his final trick. No matter what Ren said after that, the stranger remained silent, staring at Ryujin with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
"Fuck. Dark web weirdos." Ren muttered under his breath, then louder: "Look, we need actual information here. Side effects? Success rate? Anything?"
"Brother." Ryujin's voice cut through Ren's complaints. When Ren looked at him, Ryujin saw his own death reflected in his brother's eyes.
"This wasn't how I imagined this would go, but..." Ryujin placed a hand on Ren's shoulder, feeling solid muscle and warm skin. Life. Everything he was losing.
Nothing ever goes how you imagine when you're dying.
"I take this or not, nothing changes for me. I'm fucked either way."
"Ryu—"
"No, listen to me." Ryujin's grip tightened. "I've already done my part. Said my goodbyes. Whatever happens next... take care of the family. Take care of yourself. And for the love of god, stop blaming yourself for this shit."
God, I hope he listens. I hope he doesn't do anything stupid after I'm gone.
"Don't you dare—" Ren started.
But Ryujin was already reaching for the red pill.
The capsule felt warm in his palm, almost alive, pulsing with some hidden energy that made his fingertips tingle. He thought about the hospital bed waiting for him. The morphine drip. The slow fade into nothing.
Fuck it. What's the worst that could happen? I die? Big deal.
"Hey, Morpheus wannabe," Ryujin said, looking directly at the stranger. "If this kills me, I'm haunting your ass for eternity."
"Ryu, wait—"
But Ryujin had already swallowed it.
Fire exploded in his stomach, spreading outward through his veins like molten metal. His vision blurred, the basement spinning in nauseating circles. He tried to speak, to tell Ren he was okay, but his tongue felt thick and useless.
Oh shit.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit. This was a mistake. This was a huge fucking mistake.
"Ryu! Ryu, what's happening?!"
Ren's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. Ryujin could hear his brother shouting, could feel hands shaking his shoulders, but everything was dissolving into white-hot pain and darkness.
The stranger closed the briefcase with clinical precision, each snap of the latch echoing.
"Interesting. Usually takes longer to—"
Ryujin's world collapsed into darkness.
…
What the hell...
Consciousness returned slowly, like swimming up from the bottom of a deep, dark pool. His first coherent thought was that he should be dead. His second was that something felt fundamentally wrong with everything around him.
I'm alive? How the fuck am I alive?
He opened his eyes and immediately sat up—a motion that should have sent waves of agony through his cancer-riddled body. Instead, he felt... strong. Healthy. Like he could run a marathon without breaking a sweat.
"What the hell?" The words came out strong and clear, in a voice that wasn't his own.
The room around him bore no resemblance to the warehouse basement. Sunlight streamed through large windows, illuminating a space that radiated middle-class comfort. Family photos lined the walls, showing people he didn't recognize but who somehow looked familiar.
The pill worked? Am I cured? But where the fuck am I?
He stumbled toward what looked like a bathroom door, muscle memory guiding him through a layout he'd never seen before. His legs moved with easy confidence, carrying weight they shouldn't have been able to support.
This is impossible. I could barely walk yesterday, and now I feel like I could bench press a truck.
The face staring back from the bathroom mirror made his knees buckle.
Light blue hair caught the morning sunlight. Pale blue eyes gazed back at him with sharp intelligence. The features were young—sixteen at most—and belonged to someone who'd never been sick a day in his life.
"What the hell..." The voice wasn't his. Higher-pitched, stronger. "That's not my voice. That's not my face. What the fuck is happening?"
Okay, don't panic. There's a logical explanation. Maybe I'm hallucinating. Maybe the pill gave me some kind of psychotic break.
"I'm not... this isn't..."
But even as he thought it, memories that weren't his began surfacing like bubbles rising from deep water. Jin Winters, sixteen years old, orphaned, living with his uncle's family. They were enjoying their vacation in the city of Yonah after awakening their Mantles.
Mantles.
The name sent electricity through his borrowed nervous system.
I know that word. I know it from somewhere...
More memories merged with his consciousness. And underneath it all, like a half-remembered dream, something else. A story he'd read dozens of times during those long hospital nights when sleep wouldn't come.
"Mantle of Gods." The words escaped his lips in a whisper.
No fucking way. No way in hell.
A world where people awakened supernatural powers called Mantles. Where monsters lurked in Lost Zones and heroes attended academies that trained them to fight the darkness threatening to consume everything.
"I'm in the book. I'm actually in the fucking book."
The words escaped his lips in a whisper.
His hands shook as more pieces fell into place. He knew this world. He'd read every chapter, analyzed every plot point, memorized every character arc and power system.
"Jin Winters... Jin Winters..." He searched the borrowed memories, cross-referencing them with his knowledge of the story. "I don't remember any Jin Winters in the novel. Which means I'm a nobody. A fucking extra."
But that's not necessarily a bad thing.
He began pacing the small bathroom, his mind racing with possibilities.
"Okay, okay, think about this logically," he muttered to himself, a habit he'd developed during all those sleepless hospital nights. "I'm in Mantle of Gods. I know everything that's going to happen. Every plot point, every hidden treasure, every mistake the protagonists make."
His reflection grinned back at him, and for the first time in months, it was a real smile.
"I can change this. I can actually fucking change this. Those four idiots are going to doom the world with their ego trips, but I know how to prevent it. I know where all the game-changing resources are hidden. I understand the Mantle system better than anyone in this world."
But first, I need to know what I'm working with.
His own Mantle.
He closed his eyes and reached inward, the way countless characters had done in the pages he'd memorized. He felt for that spark of power that existed within every person in this world, the connection to concepts and legends that granted supernatural abilities.
Come on, come on. Please let this work. Please let me have something useful.
The sensation was immediate—a warm pulse in his chest, like a second heartbeat made of pure potential.
He opened his eyes and spoke the words that would change everything.
"I call upon my Mantle."
Here goes nothing.
A blue, transparent screen shimmered into existence before him, and Jin's grin widened as he read the words that would change everything.
~~~