Unknown Place — Late Night
A house was on fire — perhaps a farmhouse, isolated, standing alone in the middle of open land that stretched for miles.
Screams echoed from inside, brief and desperate, before fading into the roar of the blaze. However, a man with an eyepatch stood outside, a cigarette in his hand, watching the inferno with calm, almost bored eyes.
Andrei Ivanovich Morozov — a Class-1 Senior Officer of the VSK.
He was broad-chested and muscular. At first glance, anyone might mistake him for a beast rather than a man — his massive build, rough features, and thick beard adding to his feral presence.
He took a slow drag and muttered, "How pathetic."
He wasn't alone. Several others stood around him — some with bloodstains on their clothes and skin, as if they'd just come out of a brutal fight, a fight that had clearly gone one way.
"Sir Andrei, we've got the hardware," one of them called out. He was a giant — built like a Kazakh warrior: broad-shouldered and grim.
A wide grin spread across Andrei's face as he flicked away his cigarette and crushed it under his boot.
"Those fools… if they'd handed it over earlier, I wouldn't have had to waste so much time," he said, staring at the burning house, which was now collapsing inward. A dull roar followed as sparks shot into the night sky.
Just then, a car appeared in the distance — its headlights cutting through the darkness. Instinctively, everyone grew tense; it could be an ally, or it could be an enemy.
The black sedan rolled to a stop a short distance away. From it stepped a man in a perfectly pressed black suit.
"Whoa — it's you again, Dmitry," Andrei said. Though he smiled, it was clear he wasn't pleased to see him.
Dmitry, however, showed no emotion. Without a word, he reached into his coat and handed Andrei a sealed envelope.
"This is your new mission."
"What?" Andrei frowned. "I told you, I need a break. You do remember my daughter's birthday is in three days, don't you?"
"I know," Dmitry replied evenly. "But this mission came directly from V-13 just hours ago. There's nothing I can do about it."
Andrei took it and tore open the envelope.
"Huh… Case K-17?" He raised an eyebrow. "But I already killed that old man myself — and we found nothing there."
"That's right," Dmitry said calmly. "But HQ has reopened it. The envelope contains all the details you'll need."
Andrei pulled out a photo from the envelope.
"That's Michael Gutmann," Dmitry explained. "He's the grandson of Friedrich Keller. He's our new target. We believe he has what we're looking for."
A slow smile crept back across Andrei's face.
"Ah, no problem," he said. "I'll take care of it quickly."
♦♦♦
The slave market was on the western side of the city, surrounded by its own high walls. Though not as massive as the city's main walls, they were still tall — about the height of a two-story building.
A road branched off from the city's main street and led straight through the market's gate.
Beside the gate stood a watchtower, and above the gate, large iron letters spelled out:
"Albham SLAVE TRADERS' MARKET."
Michael noticed several guards lounging near the entrance. They weren't alert or tense — just sitting idly, watching the wagons and people going in and out.
Like everyone else, Michael walked through the gate without being questioned or stopped.
But the moment he stepped inside, a foul stench hit him so hard that he instinctively pinched his nose.
"Eww…"
The stench was unbearable — thick and foul, as if he had stepped into a giant open sewer that hadn't been cleaned in years. His stomach churned; the smell clung to his skin, his clothes, his very breath.
He felt dizzy, nauseated — his head lightened as if he might pass out any second.
Then, suddenly—
[WARNING…]
[Air Quality: Toxic – Level 3 Contamination]
[Detected Compounds: Hydrogen sulfide | Ammonia | Organic decay residue]
[Alert: Toxic exposure level currently unsafe for Host.]
[Analyzing Host Vital Signs…]
[Oxygen intake irregular — danger threshold exceeded: Host survival priority — Critical.]
[Initiating Emergency Defense Protocol…]
[Emergency Air Purification Protocol – ACTIVATED]
[Dimensional Energy Consumption: 0.01% / minute]
[Warning: Continuous operation will deplete energy reserves.]
In an instant, the air around Michael seemed to shimmer, growing denser. A faint ripple of invisible energy wrapped around him, then vanished.
On his next breath, the change was immediate — no more stench. The air was crisp, cool, and clean, like standing in a mountain breeze.
[Toxicity: Neutralized]
[Host safety restored.]
Michael blinked, still surprised.
"Hey, Sista, if the system had this feature all along, why didn't you use it before — like when I was walking through that rotten alley?"
[Host, it wasn't life-threatening or harmful to your health back then. But the situation is different now. I've already told you — the Emergency Defense Protocol only activates automatically when something poses a real threat to your life or well-being.]
"Ah, I see… Still, that's freaking awesome."
He began walking again, glancing around the busy street. It amazed him that just moments ago the stench here had nearly knocked him out — yet everyone else looked completely fine, moving about as if nothing was wrong.
Hmm… do they have some kind of purification system too? he wondered.
[No, Host. These people have simply adapted to the environment. Their senses have grown accustomed to the odor, so it no longer affects them as it does you.]
"Ah, I see…"
On both sides of the stone-paved street stood rows of shops — each belonging to slave traders. Inside the shops, and even outside them, people were chained like animals, some locked in cages, others bound with iron shackles. Some of them were completely naked, others wore tattered scraps of cloth barely covering them. Hunger and despair filled their eyes.
The source of the stench was obvious now — the slaves themselves. Most looked as if they hadn't bathed in months. Those trapped in cages were in the worst condition: the cramped spaces gave them no room to move, forcing them to eat, sleep, and relieve themselves in the same place. It was utterly disgusting.
Also, their bodies were smeared with filth — crusted and dark, as if they'd been rolled in the bottom of a latrine pit.
Michael's stomach turned as he saw some of them — too far gone from hunger — licking or eating from that same filth.
Hell, ewww. This place is even more hellish than I imagined. These people — no, these poor souls — aren't even treated like animals! Ewww! Gross! There's no way I'm buying anyone that filthy.
[Host, most of these slaves are low-grade ones, which is why they're in such miserable condition and look so dirty. You should head deeper into the market — there you'll find the mid- and high-grade slaves.]
Following Sista's advice, Michael headed further in.
Still, he couldn't help but wonder how these people managed to stay alive. If he were in their place, he thought, he'd rather die than live like this.