Damir stood motionless for several long seconds, the suppressed Glock still steady in his grip, though the barrel now pointed more toward the ground than any visible threat.
The strange prickling sensation on his skin hadn't gone away. If anything, it had deepened—now it felt like thousands of tiny electric currents dancing just beneath the surface of his flesh. The air tasted metallic, alive, like the moment right before a thunderstorm. And the sunlight… it was too pure. Too golden. No haze, no distant pollution glow. Just clean, sharp light cutting through the canopy.
He finally spoke again, voice low and measured.
"So let me get this straight. You… 'pulled me through' during the crash. Implanted a voice recorder in my brain. Transported me to another planet. And now you want me to be your personal explorer. All for the, price of seven billion dollars."
A soft, almost human-sounding sigh came from inside his skull.
"When you phrase it that way, it does sound a little theatrical."
Damir snorted.
"Try insane."
"Perhaps. But insanity is just reality viewed from the wrong angle, Reaper. And right now, you're standing in the middle of the proof."
Damir glanced at the battered Sprinter again. Despite the dents, the missing side mirror, and the solar panels hanging like broken wings, the vehicle was undeniably whole. No mangled chassis. No fire-blackened frame. It looked like someone had carefully lowered it here instead of letting it tumble hundreds of meters down a ravine.
He walked back to the open driver's door, reached inside, and pulled out a small tactical flashlight. He flicked it on, swept the beam across the interior.
Everything was where it should be. Ammo cans secured. Reloading bench folded but undamaged. Lithium bank showing 87% charge—impossible after a crash like that.
He turned back toward the trees.
"You repaired the van too?"
"Repaired? No. I… stabilized the transit. Reality is more flexible here than on Earth. The laws bend a little when you know the right frequency."
Damir rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Frequency. Transit. Mana. You sound like a bad sci-fi script."
"And yet here you are," Sayes replied, unruffled. "Alive. Intact. Armed. In possession of a mobile fortress that, by all physical laws, should be scrap metal right now."
Damir looked up at the sky again. No airplanes. No satellites. No faint glow of cities on the horizon. Just endless blue and the occasional drift of what looked like glowing pollen.
He exhaled through his teeth.
"Fine. Let's say I believe you. What exactly do you want me to do? Take pictures? Write a travel blog? 'Day 1 on Midgard: killed a some kind of Zombies or vampires, very cute, 10/10 would recommend'?"
A genuine laugh—short, dry, almost surprised.
"You have a sense of humor. That's unexpected."
"I have a low tolerance for bullshit. That's expected."
"Fair enough. What I need is data. Patterns. Observations. This world used to be saturated with something called mana. It powered everything—magic, longevity, even basic biology in some species. Now it's fading. Rapidly. I want to understand why. How fast. What the consequences are. And most importantly… whether it can be reversed. Or weaponized."
Damir's expression hardened.
"Weaponized."
"Knowledge is the sharpest weapon of all, Reaper. You of all people should understand that."
Damir didn't answer immediately. He walked around to the rear doors of the Sprinter, popped them open, and began a quick inventory check. MREs: intact. Water: still sealed. Ammo: all accounted for. The reloading press hadn't even shifted.
He spoke without turning.
"How long do I have before the batteries die? Before the ammo runs out? Before I'm just another naked ape in the woods with a fancy rifle and no bullets?"
"Realistically? Six to eighteen months of comfortable modern living, depending on how conservatively you ration. After that… adaptation becomes necessary."
Damir closed the doors with a solid thunk.
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't," Sayes said simply. "Not because I'll force you. But because curiosity will. And survival instinct. And the fact that you have nowhere else to go."
Damir stared into the forest. Somewhere deep in the green, something large moved—too large for a deer, too graceful for a bear.
He felt the weight of the Glock in his hand. Felt the familiar press of the tactical vest against his ribs. Felt the strange, electric air filling his lungs.
For the first time in many years, he didn't know what came next.
And that, more than anything, scared him.
"Alright," he said at last, voice quiet but steady. "I'll play your game. For now. But understand this, Sayes…"
He turned slowly, as if addressing the entire forest.
"If I ever find a way to shut you up—or shut you out—you'll be the first thing I kill in this world."
A long silence.
Then, very softly:
"Noted."
The voice faded, leaving only birdsong and wind in the leaves.
Sayes's voice returned, this time softer, almost like a patient teacher.
"Alright. I brought you here to explore this world, but I think it's better if I teach you what I've already learned first."
"What is it?" Damir asked flatly.
"There's a small red booklet in the compartment where you keep your weapons. I wrote down some basic information about this world in it. Seeing it yourself will be clearer than me explaining."
Damir didn't reply. He moved to the rear of the van, opened the back doors, then pulled open the small drawer hidden behind the wall-mounted weapon rack. Inside lay a compact red booklet. On the cover, in simple white letters: **System**.
"What is this for?" he asked.
"You'll understand when you open it," Sayes answered.
Damir picked up the booklet and flipped it open.
The moment the pages parted, a sharp spike of pain lanced through his skull—like someone had driven a hot needle directly into his brain. He clutched his head, teeth clenched, waiting for it to pass.
When the pain finally ebbed, he looked down.
The pages were completely blank.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Damir growled.
"No. Why would I? You just received exactly what you needed."
"What are you talking about? The book is empty."
"The book is empty, yes. But I embedded specially encoded data inside it. And right now, that data has been transferred directly into your mind."
Damir paused. "So the headache just now…"
"Exactly. Now touch the area on the left side of your head, between your ear and your eye—the soft spot."
Damir slowly pressed his fingers there.
Instantly, a translucent blue panel materialized in his field of vision. Not projected. Not holographic. It simply existed, floating perfectly in his perception.
"How… is this even possible?" he muttered, stunned.
"What do you mean?"
"All of it. You're just encoded data. How can you talk so naturally if everything is code?"
"I think you forgot what I said earlier," Sayes replied calmly. "This world's energy is fundamentally different. I used nanotechnology tuned to that energy to adapt you. Those nanites wrote the data straight into your neural structure. As long as you're alive, it can't be erased."
Damir said nothing. He stared at the glowing blue screen in front of him.
"What is this?" he asked.
"This," Sayes said, "is the System Window. On this planet, it's a natural phenomenon—every sufficiently attuned being can manifest a personal summary of their own state in a unique way. But most beings here never develop one. I forced yours into existence."
"And what good is it to me?"
"Have you ever played an RPG? It's like the character status screen in those games. Look closely—it shows your current condition in numbers. Raw data."
The panel rearranged itself into clean, minimalist lines:
```
[USER: Damir Volkov]
[Designation: The Reaper]
[Physical Condition: Stable – Minor cranial laceration ]
[Mana Saturation: Very low – Adaptation in progress]
[Core Parameters]
Strength: 38
Agility: 42
Endurance: 37
Perception: 45
Intelligence: 40
Willpower: 41
[Mastered Disciplines – Pinnacle (10/10)]
Close-Quarters Elimination
Knife & Blade Mastery
Stealth & Silent Movement
Suppressed Firearms Proficiency
Long-Range Precision Shooting
Improvised Weapon Mastery
Tactical Infiltration & Exfiltration
Lockpicking & Mechanical Bypass
Threat Assessment & Predictive Analysis
Pain & Adrenaline Mastery
Psychological Intimidation & Interrogation Resistance
[Passive Augmentations]
Hyper-Awareness
Neural Overclock
Mana-Infused Neural Interface
[Unique Traits]
Signature: Reaper Protocol – Active
(Suppressed presence · Psychological pressure aura · Trace elimination)
[Title: None Assigned]
```
Damir read it slowly.
Compared to an average human (whose stats would hover around 10–15), his numbers placed him in an entirely different league—three to four times stronger, faster, sharper, and more resilient. Not superhuman. Not yet. But the absolute peak of what a mortal body and mind could achieve through relentless training and experience.
Every discipline he had mastered sat at 10/10.
Perfect.
Flawless.
No room for improvement in the arts of death he had devoted his life to.
He felt a strange hollowness in his chest.
"So this… is me," he said quietly.
"Yes," Sayes answered. "Most people on this world fall between 8 and 15. You're already at the ceiling of human potential. For now."
Damir mentally dismissed the window. The blue light vanished.
"What now?" he asked.
"Now," Sayes said, "you start living. If you truly want a peaceful life in this world, Reaper… first you have to survive it. Peace doesn't come easy here."
Damir took the keys from his pocket.
The engine started with a low, reliable growl.
He shifted into gear and eased the heavy Sprinter forward through the moss-covered forest floor.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves ahead, lighting the path into a world that was no longer his—but one he would have to claim.