Sunset spilled through the half-open curtains of Jake's room.
The light was soft, orange, almost peaceful—too peaceful for the mess sprawled across the bed.
Books lay open everywhere. Thick tomes with worn covers. Diagrams of wings, claws, skeletal structures. Ancient symbols and bestiary sketches burned into the pages. Some of the books were stacked neatly. Others had been abandoned mid-page, their corners bent, spines cracked from overuse.
Jake lay on his back across the bed, legs hanging off the side, one foot lazily swinging in the air.
A massive book rested on his chest.
WYVERNS: SUBSPECIES AND DOMINANT TRAITS
His eyes were bloodshot. His face looked pale, almost sickly. Dark shadows clung beneath his eyes like bruises. He hadn't noticed how long he'd been reading.
"…Damn."
His voice came out dry.
He shut the book and let it fall to the side, staring up at the ceiling. His head throbbed faintly—not pain exactly, more like pressure. The kind you get when your brain's been pushed too hard for too long.
"I can't keep going," he muttered. "My head's gonna split."
He rolled onto his side, rubbing his temples, then pushed himself up and stretched until his back cracked.
The room felt stuffy.
Three days.
Three days since he accepted Dravers' offer.
And still—nothing.
No message. No call. No task.
Jake yawned, grabbing a black T-shirt from the chair and pulling it over his head. The fabric had a faded rock-and-roll hand sign printed across the chest. He slipped into his black jeans, shoved his hands into his pockets, and headed out.
Scene — Thoughts on the Street
The city was alive.
People moved past him in waves—workers finishing shifts, fighters strutting openly, groups laughing, arguing, living. Neon signs buzzed faintly as evening crept closer to night.
A few girls glanced his way.
Some stared longer than they meant to.
Jake didn't notice.
Or maybe he just didn't care.
Three days, he thought.
They haven't contacted me yet.
He exhaled slowly.
"…I'm starting to think they're onto something."
He stretched his arms overhead, yawning as he walked.
Should I call them?
Nah.
He shook his head.
That'd make me sound desperate.
His steps slowed.
A memory surfaced without warning.
A translucent screen flashing before his eyes.
Strength +4
Speed +8
"…Adaptability," he murmured.
His brow furrowed.
"I still don't get how that damn thing works."
He'd tried everything.
He'd sparred with Baldy until both of them were exhausted.
He'd picked fights with street scum.
He'd crushed people who thought they could test him.
Nothing.
No notifications.
No sudden growth.
Another memory surfaced.
Jake standing alone in darkness.
Bodies scattered around him.
Groans. Blood. Silence.
His eye glowing red.
And still—
Nothing.
"…There has to be conditions," he muttered.
He stopped walking.
Looked around.
"Huh…?"
The street noise felt distant.
Too quiet.
He realized he'd drifted off course.
An alley stretched ahead of him—narrow, dim, swallowing the sunset whole.
Jake turned to leave.
That's when he heard it.
"LET GO OF ME!"
A woman's voice—panicked, strained.
Jake paused.
Ahead, half-hidden in shadow, a familiar figure struggled.
Dark hair. Busty. Her face twisted in fear.
A coworker.
From the construction company.
…Tch.
He clicked his tongue softly.
I don't want anything to do with my old life.
He turned away.
She lifts her head during her struggle to get free... She notices him .. a boy walking away..
"Please!" she screamed. "HELP ME!"
Jake stopped
Silence.
The guys turn their heads to see who she was calling out to.... A wimp..
"Hey kid! If you cherish your life you're gonna have to learn to keep walking and mind your business, else you'll have your fair share of pain " the leader said with a manly voice.
" Kid you better get running not everyone gets the lucky side of buck... He never leaves witnesses, better run cuz he never warns twice!" a frail looking fighter yelled with a cocky smile.
Expression cold. Calm. Detached.
His hands in the air waving like it takes all his might to...
"Sorry, sorry," he said flatly. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
Jake raised his hands slightly.
"I didn't see anything," he muttered flatly. "Keep doing whatever you're doing."
He walked on.
Behind him—
Her eyes widened.
Hope shattered.
He's leaving…
Her chest tightened.
Is everyone like this…?
Her vision blurred.
" is the world already filled with scum?"
"All I did was mind my business, I didn't want to pick a fight with anyone, I know I'm weak.... You don't have to remind me every time you stupid world "
" am I going to loose my virginity to these scum, some one - please..."
It struck her like lightening....
No one's coming.
I'm really—
His steps halted mid-stride.
"…Tch."
He exhaled through his nose.
"I'm not a scumbag," he muttered under his breath as if he heard her thoughts.
"…you old hag."
She heard it.
Her head snapped up.
Jake was walking back toward them.
Hands in his pockets.
The gang noticed him now.
Five men.
Nasty looking. Armed. Armored.
One of them snarled, stepping forward.
" Hey! Didn't you hear ?!"
The girl's heart sank.
"…Actually," he said, voice low, thoughtful,
"this might be useful."
The gang frowned.
Jake smiled.
A thin, dangerous curve.
"This could be a good opportunity to test how that stupid adaptation works."
His eyes glinted—confidence mixed with something darker.
"Hey," the leader barked. "You deaf?, I told you to leave didn't I?!"
Jake faced them fully now.
cocky smile.
"I thought you said bucky doesn't warn twice, that sounds like a second warning to me, come at me" he says opening his arms as if waiting for a hug.
"You little! Get him!" Buck ordered
Four of the men cracked their knuckles and rushed him.
Jake's gaze sharpened.
Everything slowed.
Time stretched—not magically, not unnaturally—but because his mind accelerated, pulling details apart like threads.
Target One.
Brown hair. Black eyes. Torn jeans. Cheap tech body armor—scratched, poorly maintained. His stance was sloppy, weight leaning forward too much.
D-rank, Jake assessed instantly.
Overconfident. No real combat discipline.
Target Two.
Blonde. Missing teeth. Dagger held too tight, knuckles white.
E-rank.
Fear disguised as aggression.
Target Three.
Muscular. Thick neck. Eyes dull. Only upper-body armor.
Also E-rank.
Strength-focused. Predictable.
Target Four.
Lean. Fast. Full-body tech armor—streamlined joints, reinforced calves.
D-rank.
This one's the problem.
Jake's gaze slid past them.
Behind the four—
The leader.
He stood still, one arm gripping the girl's wrist painfully tight. His armor was different. Cleaner. Heavier. Scars traced his exposed neck like tally marks. His pupils were unnaturally small—predatory.
C-rank, Jake thought, lips curling faintly.
Finally. Someone worth noting.
A pulse of excitement flickered in his chest.
The four of them rushed him.
Jake didn't sigh.
Didn't smirk.
Didn't even change his expression.
He moved.
The first punch came sloppy—wide, desperate. Jake stepped inside it. Too close. The man's eyes widened just before Jake's elbow smashed into his throat. A dry crack. The body folded and slid across the ground like it forgot how bones worked.
The dagger flashed.
Jake tilted his head a fraction. The blade shaved air where his neck had been a heartbeat ago. He caught the attacker's wrist, twisted once—
Snap.
The scream barely finished before Jake drove an upper cut up into the man's jaw. Teeth scattered. The body lifted, slowly, then spin kicked the guy's chest sending him flying past buck who sidestepped to avoid collision, then dropped, twitching.
The third guy roared and swung both fists.
Jake ducked low, spun on the ball of his foot, and swept the man's legs out from under him. Before the body hit the ground, Jake jumps, stomped down—drilling both legs into the chest of the man hard—right into the man's solar plexus shattering the armor like glass struck by a boulder, gwah!! ... The man's body folds, eyes,both irises vanish...(solar plexus = the circular yellow glowing core of the tech armor).
Boom.
Air exploded out of his lungs. He didn't get back up.
The alley went quiet.
Too quiet.
The fourth one—the D-rank—was already moving.
Fast.
A blur slammed into Jake's side. Metal armor bit into ribs. Jake skidded across the ground, boots tearing sparks from concrete. He stopped himself with one hand, fingers carving grooves into the pavement.
He stood up slowly.
The D-rank didn't wait. He was trained. Clean footwork. Sharp angles. A straight punch aimed for Jake's liver.
Jake blocked—but the impact still shoved him back a step.
Good.
Strong.
The D-rank followed up immediately. Low kick. High punch. Elbow. Knee.
Jake slipped, parried, absorbed. His forearms rang with pain. His breath stayed steady.
Then Jake stepped in.
He took a punch to the cheek—on purpose.
The D-rank's eyes widened.
Jake grabbed him by the collar, yanked him forward, and drove his forehead straight into the man's face.
CRACK.
Blood sprayed.
Jake didn't let go.
A knee to the gut.
An elbow to the spine.
A kick that folded the man sideways into the wall.
The D-rank slid down, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Silence returned.
Slow clapping echoed from behind.
The leader let go of the girl.
He rolled his neck once. The tech armor hummed faintly as it synced to his body. His red pupils locked onto Jake like targeting lasers.
"Not bad," he said. "For trash."
Jake turned to face him.
His hands went into his pockets.
The girl stared.
The alley felt smaller. Heavier. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
The C-rank stepped forward.
Jake's shadow stretched unnaturally long behind him, licking the walls like something alive.
Finally—
Jake spoke.
Calm. Flat. Almost bored.
"…You should've sent everyone at once."
The C-rank smiled.
Good.
The real fight was about to start.