Shun stared at the van's ceiling, too tired to sit up. A soft holographic panel flickered into existence above him anyway—his personal inventory, a neat 4×4 grid glowing faint blue.
Sixteen slots, most of them filled with weapons, tools, and the occasional stack of potions.
"Hunters get a spatial pocket," he explained, voice rough from exhaustion. "We call it an inventory. Think of it like… a private storage space that follows you everywhere. No bag, no weight, nothing."
Selen's eyes widened, reflecting the blue glow. "Must be nice. You can carry anything."
"Limited, though. Only sixteen items total. Stackable stuff—potions, bullets, magiteck charges—goes up to thirty-two per slot, but some things are stricter. Healing potions max out at eight, for example."
She let out a small, wondering laugh that sounded almost like a kid discovering a new game. "It feels like we're inside a video game."
The van took a gentle curve. Shun's expression darkened behind the mask.
"But this is reality," he said quietly. "We don't get extra lives. Die once and that's it. The gods—or whatever runs this messed-up system—treat life like it's some cheap simulation. It's sickening."
He paused, the melancholy in his tone softening just a fraction. "Yet without the system… humanity would've been wiped out a long time ago. So maybe I hate it. Maybe I don't. Hard to tell some days."
The silence that followed felt lighter than before. Selen stayed turned around, studying him with that same careful intensity.
"What about you?" Shun asked, tilting his head slightly toward her. "Do you like this world, Selen?"
She didn't answer right away. The van's interior lights painted soft shadows across her face as she looked out at the passing city lights—neon signs, floating billboards, the occasional patrol drone drifting overhead like lazy fireflies.
"Yes," she said at last, voice small but steady. "I love it."
"Oh?" Shun's tone carried real curiosity now, the exhaustion momentarily pushed aside. "Why?"
"The food is delicious," Selen said, staring out at the glittering city lights. "The night sky here… it's the most beautiful thing I've seen. And the people—they're nice."
A low, ironic chuckle slipped from behind Shun's mask. "Nice? They left you to die."
"But you didn't."
"That doesn't make the rest of them kind. Try dying on the sidewalk sometime. See how many hands reach down to help."
"You would."
Shun's grip tightened. "Kid, don't mistake coincidence for heroism. I don't patrol the streets saving lost girls. I was only there because I had my own business."
"Even so," she said softly, "people like you make the city a little warmer."
Shun shifted his gaze to the window. Towering corporate spires slid past, cold and indifferent..
"Warmth?" he muttered. "This city only offers warmth to those at the very top of the ladder. The rest of us freeze."
As he spoke, the van emerged from a tunnel. The highway they rode on rose four stories above the lower districts, a river of concrete and steel suspended in the night.
Ahead, a monolithic building dominated the skyline—Kinrara Corporation. Tiny windows glowed like dying stars across its face. At its peak, a massive cannon sat motionless, a silent sentinel aimed at the heavens.
Selen leaned forward, eyes wide. "What is that?"
"Kinrara's defense system," Shun answered. "Their pride and their fear."
The cannon's barrel rotated with mechanical precision, tracking something unseen in the dark sky.
"To protect the city from demons?" she asked.
"From people like us," he said flatly. "From anyone who might break the system they spent decades perfecting. They're terrified of what happens when the lower levels stop playing by their rules."
Selen's expression went distant, her eyes hollowing for a moment. Shun didn't need to ask what memories surfaced. He had seen what corporations like Kinrara did to their workers—how they drained souls for quarterly profits and discarded the husks without a second thought.
"Still think the world is worth liking?" he asked, voice edged with mockery.
The question pulled her back. She was quiet for several heartbeats.
"Yes," she finally said. "My sister used to tell me… bad things happen. But the things worth loving are hidden in the nooks and crannies. Finding them—that joy—makes everything else worthwhile."
Shun let out a short breath that might have been a laugh. "If that's how you want to see it."
"Did I say something wrong?" Selen frowned, studying the side of his masked face. "Why do you look at everything like life itself hates you?"
"If that's the story you want to tell yourself, be my guest." He didn't elaborate.
The van soon slowed, tires screeching softly as it pulled up before a modest house. Warm light spilled from the windows, cutting through the night like a reluctant promise.
"Is this your house?" Selen asked.
"Yes."
The garage door slid upward with a quiet hum, revealing a cluttered workshop filled with half-finished inventions, scattered car parts, and strange metallic contraptions that looked half-alive. Shelves groaned under the weight of unknown devices.
She left the van with a leap.
"Don't touch anything," Shun said as the window rolled down. He remained inside the van.
Selen nodded, but her eyes had already locked onto a figure standing motionless in the corner.
The girl was unnaturally beautiful—skin pale as porcelain, jet-black hair cascading down her back, eyes glowing with a faint ember light. She looked like a doll brought to life.
"Oh, hello," Selen said, waving.
The gear doll did not reply. She simply stood, empty and perfect. Selen's smile faltered.
"It's a gear doll." Shun's voice suddenly came from beside her.
She startled and spun. He had been inside the van only seconds ago. Now he hovered in mid-air, supported by two sleek drones whose claws gripped his waist with surprising gentleness. His body curled weakly, spine bent like a broken shrimp, limbs dangling like wet noodles.
"Jellyfish," the image flashed in Selen's mind before she could stop it.
"Hm?" Shun tilted his masked head.
"Nothing," she said quickly, turning back to the doll. Tiny seams were visible at the joints now that she looked closer. "Did you make her?"
"Yes. She's missing an energy core. I'm still developing one." The drones carried him steadily toward the inner door, his fragile limbs twitching uselessly. "Come. Follow me."
Selen trailed after him, eyes drifting across the workshop. Her gaze caught on a dim orb resting on a shelf, metal fragments orbiting it slowly like a miniature solar system, humming with contained power.
The house smelled faintly of oil, metal, and something sharper—antiseptic, like a hospital corridor. The thick cables snaking across the floor only reinforced the feeling.
After a brief tour of the main areas, they stopped before a wooden door fitted with a digital lock glowing red. Cables disappeared neatly into the wall just above the frame.
"Open," Shun commanded.
The lock beeped, the light flicked green, and the door swung inward on its own.
Inside waited a surprisingly soft room: king-sized bed with a large bunny plush resting against the pillows, an empty wardrobe, a simple desk by the window.
The walls were painted in gentle pink and white. A faint floral scent lingered, fighting against the mechanical smell of the rest of the house.
"This is your room," Shun said.
Selen turned to him, hesitant.
"My eldest sister moved out for work," he cut in, anticipating the question. "She's been nagging me to clear her things for months. She won't mind. In fact, she'd be happy someone's finally using them."
Selen's shoulders relaxed. "Thank you."
"Take a shower. Get some rest." The drones rotated and carried him back toward the garage. The door shut behind him with a soft thud.
In the dim hallway, Shun allowed himself a moment of stillness. The soft buzz of machinery from the adjacent room gradually filled the silence.
A new member in the house.
Claws now hunting his head.
And the cube that controlled the hunters.
The drones obeyed his unspoken command, shifting from idle green to active yellow as they carried him back to the workshop. They lowered him gently onto the recliner beside his workbench.
Shun exhaled, long and slow. The soft cushions swallowed the pain in his ruined spine and brittle bones. For one brief, precious moment, the world outside—the city, the corporations, the demons, the hunters—faded.
Only the warmth of the chair remained.