The morning after the storm, Vladivostok's streets were slick with a thin glaze of ice, the kind that made every step a negotiation. Mitya moved through the city with his hood up, hands deep in his pockets, Ledger notifications flickering at the edge of his vision like a second weather report.
Balance: 200.00Pending Offers: 1
The System's voice was quiet today, almost patient.
Operator: Contract window closing in 02:14:56.
He ducked into a narrow side street where the wind couldn't reach him. The offer expanded in his mind's eye:
Contract Type: Verification & RelayLocation: Vladivostok Freight Terminal, Sector 3Objective: Confirm presence of marked container.Risk Level: Low.Complication: Possible interference from unsanctioned actors.Reward: 500.00 + Reputation Increment.
Reputation. The word had weight. In the System's lexicon, it wasn't about street cred—it was currency in a different market, one where trust was measured in precision and silence.
"Accept," he said.
The Terminal
Sector 3 was a maze of stacked containers, each one a steel tomb for something the world wanted moved quietly. The air smelled of rust and brine, and the gulls screamed overhead like they knew secrets.
The System overlaid a faint path in his vision—no glowing arrows, just subtle highlights on the ground, as if the frost itself had been brushed in the right direction. He followed it, keeping his pace casual, his eyes moving like he was just another dock rat killing time.
Halfway in, he spotted them: two men in heavy coats, standing too still for the cold. Not dockworkers. Not sailors. Their eyes tracked the space, not the work.
Operator: Potential interference. Recommend avoidance or neutralization.
"Neutralization" in System-speak didn't always mean violence. The Training Sim had drilled that into him—sometimes the cleanest win was the one no one noticed.
He adjusted his route, slipping between two container stacks. The metal walls funneled the wind into a low howl. At the far end, the target container sat like a sleeping beast, its ID number faint under a layer of frost.
The Mark
He crouched, pretending to tie his boot, and let the System's scan wash over the container. A faint pulse in his vision confirmed it: Target Verified.
Relay confirmation?
"Yes."
The data packet shot off into whatever dark channels the System used. No phone, no wires—just gone, like a thought you couldn't take back.
The Tail
On his way out, one of the heavy-coat men peeled off and started shadowing him. Mitya didn't look back, but he adjusted his pace, letting the man close the gap. The System's voice was calm.
Operator: Evasion route available. Alternate: confrontation.
He chose evasion. A quick turn into a service alley, a climb over a low fence, and he was in the back lot of a shuttered fish market. The smell was enough to keep most people away. He waited, counting heartbeats, until the footsteps faded.
The Ledger Moves
By the time he reached the main road, the Ledger had updated.
Balance: 700.00Reputation: +1 (Novice Tier)Note: Efficiency recorded. Collateral: none.
The System added something else: Warehouse Slot 1 Unlocked. Inside, a single item appeared—sanitized silhouette, no name, no serial. Just a shape. Compact. Lethal.
Operator: First inventory item available for acquisition. Cost: 500.00.
He stared at it. Buying it would drain most of his balance. But the shape called to him, not because of what it could do, but because of what it meant: capability on demand.
"Purchase," he said.
Acknowledged. Delivery: Cleanroom Protocol.
The Cleanroom
That night, in his apartment, the Cleanroom engaged. The air shimmered, and the item appeared on his desk—real, solid, impossibly there. He picked it up, feeling the weight settle into his palm like it belonged there.
The System spoke, almost softly.
Operator: Training Sim—Live Integration available.
He knew what that meant. The next time he stepped into the white horizon, it wouldn't just be theory. It would be muscle memory, recoil, and the cold discipline of knowing exactly what you could do—and choosing whether to do it.
Outside, the city's lights flickered in the wind. Inside, Mitya sat with the weapon in his hand, the storm in his chest, and the quiet certainty that the first step was already behind him.