The vast, cavernous warehouse was a tomb, the silence broken only by two sounds: the low, buzzing hum of the single sodium lamp, and the wet, terrified sobbing of the last survivor.
Anya, the gang leader with the shaved head, was a broken, crumpled thing on the concrete floor. Her tough, brawler's facade was gone, shattered, replaced by the raw, primal terror of a creature that had just watched its entire food chain get devoured.
Her mind, still reeling, tried to process the impossible sensory data. The overpowering smell of ozone, sulfur, and hot metal from the portal. The sight of Kilo's head... collapsing... like a wet cardboard box. The memory of those screeching, chittering things...
And now... the silence. A silence more terrifying than the chaos, because the source of the chaos was still here.
He was sitting on Kilo's desk, his long, 6-foot frame silhouetted against the orange light, his feet dangling just above the ruined, lifeless head of the "Badmosh" of West Delhi. He was just sitting there, untouched, his breathing slow and even, as if he were just a college kid waiting for a bus.
Anya flinched as he looked down at her. His (SPI: 39) eyes, cold, analytical, and completely devoid of pity, pinned her to the floor.
"Who," he asked, his voice echoing, "collects his money?"
The question was so normal, so procedural, that it broke her.
"Y-you... you don't understand..." she stammered, her voice a hoarse, broken whisper. She was a survivor, and her instincts were screaming. He hadn't killed her. That meant he wanted something. Information.
"K-Kilo... he ran everything west of the river," she sobbed, forcing the words out. "All the 'Gangs,' all the 'Crews'... they all paid up to him. He... he was the 'Badmosh' of West Delhi. His only rival... is 'Cheel'. The boss of the East."
Her mind, sharp and pragmatic even in its terror, was finally putting the pieces together.
"You... you didn't just kill him," she whispered, her eyes wide, staring at the carnage, at the 18-something bodies littering the floor. "You decapitated the organization. You created a vacuum."
A new, fresh wave of terror hit her. "Kilo's other gangs, the ones who weren't here... they'll go rogue. 'Cheel'... Cheel's organization will flood in to take this territory. This... this isn't over. You just started a war."
Dev processed this. His (SPI: 39) mind, a cold, humming engine, analyzed the new data.
[FACTION: CHEEL (HOSTILE, LEVEL 0)]
[FACTION: GANGS (ROGUE, LEVEL 0)]
[RESULT: CHAOS. DISTRACTION. MESSY.]
He hated it.
This "Level 0" world was a cage of fragile, annoying insects who kept distracting him. He didn't want a "war." He wanted silence. He wanted control. He needed this problem to be solved so he could focus on the Nexus.
He looked down at Anya.
[STATUS: BROKEN. TERRIFIED. INTELLIGENT. ASSET: ?]
She was smart. She was a survivor. She knew the network.
"You have two options," Dev said, his cold voice cutting through her sobs, silencing her instantly.
She looked up, her face a mask of blood, dirt, and tears.
"One," he said, hopping off the desk, his boots landing silently on the bloody concrete. "I kill you. I burn this building. And I go find 'Cheel' myself."
Anya's entire body went rigid.
"Two..."
He leaned forward, his (SPI: 39) eyes, cold and infused with the 10% Synced power of his soul, locking onto hers. She flinched as if he had physically struck her.
"You work for me. You will be my new 'Vector'. You will run my new territory. You will consolidate Kilo's 'Gangs'. You will absorb Rhys's 'Blackwood Crew'. You will handle the 'rogues'. And you will... handle... this 'Cheel'."
It wasn't a choice. It was survival.
She was looking at a 6-foot, handsome, 18-year-old monster who had just summoned demons from hell and crushed three gang bosses in five minutes.
"Yes..." she whispered, the single word a desperate, broken breath. "Yes. Boss. Whatever you say. Yes."
"Good."
Dev walked over to the floor and picked up Vector's burner phone, the one he had been summoned with. He walked back and tossed it at her. It landed in her lap.
"Clean this up," he ordered, gesturing to the carnage. The 18+ bodies. The blood. The mess. "Use that phone. Call a meeting of Kilo's other 'Gang' leaders. Tell them... there's new management."
He turned to leave, his shoulders, now broad and powerful, silhouetted in the doorway. He paused.
"And, Anya," he said, not looking back. "I'll be watching."
It was a lie. He had no way to watch her. But his (SPI: 39) mind knew she wouldn't know that.
He walked over to the spilled, blood-stained briefcase. He calmly scooped up the thick stacks of cash—hundreds of thousands of rupees—and stuffed them into the pockets of his torn, bloody school jacket.
Then he walked out of the warehouse, leaving Anya, his new "Badmosh," alone in her new, bloody throne room, surrounded by her new, impossible, terrifying job.
He walked home. The 10% Synced body was buzzing, a low thrum of contained power. He was covered in Kilo's blood, the graze on his shoulder from the bullet already a fading, pink line.
He got to his small, cramped room. He locked the door.
He looked in the mirror. His handsome face was splattered with blood. His (SPI: 39) eyes were cold. He had just conquered a "Level 0" section of his city.
And he felt... bored.
The "Level 0" fight was messy, chaotic, and annoying. He had to use his Chaff, his precious [Eternal Bond] assets, to clean up insects.
He craved real power. A real fight.
He showered. The water ran red, washing away the blood, the gunpowder, the stench of the "Level 0" world. He stepped out, his new, 6-foot, lean-muscled body clean, the bullet-graze gone, his (CON: 10) body having already healed it.
He lay on his bed. He plunged into the Nexus.
He materialized in the Ebonguard Hub.
Selina was there.
The shock from his last visit was gone. She wasn't terrified. She was... rigid.
She was wearing a new, more formal, severe-looking Faction uniform, one of silver and black, that hugged her form. She was 100% professional, but there was a new, deep, undeniable respect—and fear—in her eyes. She wasn't looking at a "dreg." She wasn't even looking at an "Initiate." She was looking at a peer. Or, perhaps, a superior.
"Agent," she said, her voice crisp, formal. She had dropped the "Initiate" title.
"Your... performance... on Tartarus-7 has been reviewed by command." Her jaw tightened, as if she was admitting a loss. "Your solo-kill on a Level 10 World Boss, and your acquisition of an EX-Rank skill, have granted you an immediate promotion. You are no longer an 'Initiate'. You are now a Faction Agent, Rank 1."
Dev just looked at her, his (SPI: 39) mind processing the new data.
"This is not just a title," she continued, her voice sharp. "It comes with new access."
She gestured, and a new, more complex holographic interface appeared.
"One: You now have clearance for the Agent-level Armory. Your Shards can finally buy you some real, Faction-grade gear. Not 'Initiate' trash."
"Two: You have access to the Faction's database on other 'Contested Zones,' rival Factions, and known 'World Bosses'."
"Three: You have autonomy. You are no longer a dreg to be sent on cull missions. You will be given strategic objectives."
Selina's expression hardened. "Your first objective."
She brought up a new, holographic file. It was a dossier. It showed a holo-image of a non-human warrior.
She looked... elven. Pale, almost luminous skin, sharply pointed ears, and short, shockingly white hair, cut in a jagged, asymmetrical style. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and seemed to smirk with arrogance, even in a still photo. She was clad in a skin-tight, black-and-silver stealth suit, and held two wicked, glowing energy daggers.
"This is Agent 'Vex'," Selina said, her voice tight with a profound, personal disapproval.
"She's... difficult," Selina spat, as if the word was poison. "She's a brilliant (SPI) and (AGI) build—an 'Infiltrator' class. She is also insubordinate, arrogant, reckless, and stupidly overconfident."
The file updated. A red [STATUS: CAPTURED] flashed over Vex's picture.
"She was on a solo, unsanctioned operation on 'Xylos-9'. She was tracking a 'Crimson Hand' Commander. And she got herself captured."
Selina turned, her eyes, for the first time, meeting Dev's as an equal.
"The Faction has two rules, Agent: We don't lose high-value assets, and we don't negotiate."
She brought up a map of a massive, heavily-fortified prison. "Your mission is not a 'cull'. It's a heist. A 'Black-Site' infiltration. Infiltrate the Crimson Hand prison on Xylos-9. Get her out."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, warning hiss.
"And, Agent? Try not to let her get you killed. She has a talent for it."