Cold ultraviolet light bled from the ceiling as the Fragment Vault materialized around Jin and his squad. The dungeon was a labyrinth of levitating stone slabs, shifting metal bridges, and floors that rippled under their feet. Every few seconds, sparks of corrupted energy burst from the walls—warnings of the glitch anomalies this dungeon was infamous for.
Jin stepped forward first.
His posture was rigid, jaw locked, rifle humming with overcharged ammo.
Behind him, Astra tightened her gloves, shaking out her arms.
"Jin, you sure about hard-mode blind?" Astra asked, voice wobbling despite her attempt at confidence. "This sector wipes full squads on normal."
Nox adjusted his visor, groaning. "Man, I haven't even finished my coffee."
Jin didn't look back.
"You want to be contenders or casuals?" he said calmly. "Stay close. Don't fall behind."
The dungeon roared to life.
The floor shattered beneath them, giving way to a spiraling descent. Digitized banshee shrieks echoed from every direction as the first wave spawned—Gamma Wraiths, humanoid constructs with flickering limbs and blade-hands that screeched loudly enough to rattle HUDs.
"Left flank!" Jin snapped.
He dove forward, landing clean, firing three shots that pierced the Wraiths' heads one after another in a precise vertical line.
Astra aimed at the ones charging from behind—but her pulse rifle jittered with recoil.
"I—I can't stabilize—"
"Astra!" Jin barked.
"I'm trying!" she shouted, but her shots went wide, forcing Nox to rush in with a barrier deploy.
Blue shields flared.
"Don't tunnel," Nox growled. "I got your back!"
Jin slid across the stone floor, vaulted off Nox's barrier, and opened a point-blank burst that erased the remaining Wraiths.
He landed in a crouch, breathing steady.
The others… weren't.
Astra wiped sweat from her avatar's chin. "That was just phase one?"
Jin didn't answer.
He was already moving.
The three stepped onto the shifting bridge, a narrow path twisting above an abyss of electric fog. Holographic panels floated around them.
A siren wailed.
BRIDGE ACTIVATION: HOSTILES INCOMING.
Clusters of Echo Sentinels spawned—floating drones with purple tracking lasers.
"Spread formation," Jin ordered. "Follow my pace, not yours."
They tried.
Jin sprinted ahead, movements sharp and predatory. He leapt between floating platforms with fluid precision, firing mid-air, destroying drones in synchronized bursts.
Astra dashed after him—too slowly.
One of the Sentinels locked onto her.
"Jin!" she called. "I can't—"
A beam cut past her cheek, nearly knocking her off the bridge.
Nox threw a tether. "Grab it!"
She caught it just in time, scrambling back onto solid ground.
Jin didn't even look over his shoulder.
"You should've anticipated the lock-on delay," he said coldly. "That Sentinel wasn't even fast."
"We're trying!" Nox snapped.
Still, Jin moved at his own impossible rhythm.
Every leap.
Every dodge.
Every bullet placement.
It was the movement pattern of someone chasing a shadow—someone trying desperately to match the fluid grace of an old recording… one belonging to a Legendary Vanguard he refused to mention aloud.
The center platform rose toward the ceiling, locking into place with the sound of grinding metal. From the darkness above, a monstrous figure dropped down, shaking the entire chamber.
A hulking Omega Core Guardian—a four-armed mech giant with molten cracks splitting its armor.
Astra's knees buckled. "…Jin, we need a plan—"
Jin lifted his rifle.
"Same plan as always. Keep up."
The Guardian roared, its chest splitting open to reveal a rotating cannon.
"Scatter!" Nox yelled.
Death beams rained down.
Jin sprinted diagonally, slid under a sweeping arm, then fired three plasma rounds directly into a weak point under its shoulder. Sparks erupted.
But Astra—just one second behind—failed to dodge. A blast of molten energy knocked her backward, slamming her into a wall.
"W–Wait—heal cooldown—" she croaked.
Nox rushed toward her. "Astra, hang on!"
Jin's voice cut through the chaos like ice.
"Focus. You're slowing the fight."
Nox glared. "She's dying!"
"And if she dies," Jin said, firing again with mechanical precision, "the boss enrages. Keep her alive or get out of my way."
The Guardian lunged—two arms slamming where Jin had stood a split-second before. He used the recoil from his own gun to propel himself upward, landing on its arm, sprinting across it like a narrow path.
Nox stared in disbelief. "Is he even human…?"
Astra whispered, "He's copying Drumstickkk… frame for frame."
Jin vaulted off the creature's shoulder, landing behind it.A single, perfectly placed shot hit the exposed power core.
CRITICAL HIT.
The Guardian roared, thrashing wildly.
A final shockwave blasted outward—Astra and Nox crashed to the ground.
Jin alone remained standing, breathing hard but controlled, eyes burning with cold dissatisfaction.
The mech collapsed.
Dungeon clear.
Astra struggled to her feet. "We… did it?"
"We almost wiped!" Nox muttered. "Jin, you pushed too hard—"
Jin holstered his rifle.
"If you two can't keep up," he said quietly, "I'll find people who can."
Jin stormed out of the dungeon gate, his avatar's armor cracked and flickering with red warning lines. The teleport pad behind him pulsed weakly, as if ashamed it had brought him back alive.
His squad emerged seconds later—panting, limping, shaken. Astra nearly collapsed, bracing herself against a pillar. Nox ripped off his helmet, frustration etched across every pixel of his face.
"Jin, we tried—"
"You failed," Jin snapped, not even slowing down.
His boots struck the metal floor in sharp, furious strides as he marched into Owl Esports' in-game headquarters. The holographic torches along the walls reflected the storm in his eyes.
"That boss had predictable rotations," he growled. "Predictable! And somehow you still missed the flank cue, Astra. And Nox, your timing was a full second off. A second!"
Nox shoved his hands on his hips. "Dude, your calls were too fast. No one can keep up when you push the pace like you're fighting for your life!"
Jin stopped. Turned. His stare was a blade.
"That's exactly what I'm doing."
Silence fell. Even the background ambience of the HQ seemed to dim.
He left them there without another word.
Jin reached the tactical hall, screens igniting as he passed. He pulled up player dossiers—hundreds at first, then thousands—profiles flashing across his HUD like a desperate reel.
Snipers. Medics. Tanks. Coders. Support mains.
He compared each one to a template he didn't dare acknowledge out loud.
Meihua.
Her synergy with Drumstickkk was legendary—two playstyles woven like a single consciousness. Even Jin, who hated idolizing anyone, could not deny it: she elevated Eddie into something terrifying.
Jin scrolled faster.
"No… no… too slow… mechanics are sloppy… skill ceiling capped…"
He swiped away another list.
And another.
No one matched.
No one even came close.
He clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt.
"I need someone exceptional," he muttered. "Someone precise. Someone who anticipates. Someone like…"
His voice cut off. He refused to say her name again.
Hours later, Jin was still at it—staring at talent pools, recruitment boards, even illegal scouting networks. Nothing satisfied him.
Frustration burned through him like acid.He slammed a fist onto the console.
"Useless. All of them."
The moment the word left him, a notification flickered across a side panel—a shadowed icon, encrypted, unmistakably underground.
BLACK MARKET LISTING — NEW ITEM UPLOADED
Jin's eyes narrowed.
He opened it.
And there it was—something he wasn't supposed to see. Something not meant for players. Something dangerous. Something forbidden.
His pulse steadied, then quickened.
A single line of text floated above the darkened screen:
"For those seeking a perfect partner unit."
Jin leaned closer, breathing shallow.
"…My own Meihua."
The offer waited in the neon dark, reflecting in his eyes like a promise—or a warning.
He pressed Purchase.
Jin's footsteps echoed through the dim undercroft of Owl Esports' in-game headquarters—hollow, metallic, and sharp. The hall around him stretched wide and abandoned: half-finished weapon mods suspended on auto-weld arms, dormant drone rigs dangling like skeletal insects, and stacks of unregistered codex chips scattered. Holographic dust drifted lazily in the air, refracting the neon strips overhead into ghostly shards of color.
It felt less like a workshop and more like a forgotten vault where dangerous ideas were meant to die.
Jin set the heavy crate onto the nearest workstation. The impact sent tools rattling and a bloom of dust spiraling. The workstation screen flickered awake, scanning him in a cascade of teal glyphs.
BLACK MARKET TECH — ILLEGAL TECHNOLOGY
Proceed decryption? Failed decryption can decrease your reputation and can even make you a red name player.
The warning pulsed. Jin didn't blink.
"Proceed," he said, voice low, steady—almost too steady.
The lock dissolved with a ripple of neon.
Inside the crate lay what most players only dared whisper about: remnants of old experimental framework. The kind of hardware that wasn't supposed to exist outside sealed vaults.
Sensor plates with fractal etchings. Neural link chips humming with faint, unstable residual energy. A half-intact avatar coupler that still carried the ghost of its last calibration cycle.
These were tools no ordinary player should ever touch—and yet the moment Drumstickkk's return rippled across the world of COD:VR, the black market had exploded. Leaks. Panic. Tech dealers pulling forbidden scraps out of the shadows. Vultures feeding on a digital carcass.
Jin reached into the crate, fingertips brushing the cold metal of a neural chip. It vibrated faintly at his touch, as if it recognized his intent.
And then, unbidden, the memories came.
His squadmates earlier—voices tight with worry.
"Jin, slow down—your flank is open!"
"Bro, we can't match that pace—just coordinate!"
"You're pushing too far! Fall back—please!"
Concern. Hesitation. Fear.
Noise.
Useless.
People hesitated at the worst possible moment. They doubted. They faltered. They pulled him down to their level and called it teamwork.
Support wasn't stability—it was liability.
He exhaled slowly, the air leaving him like a verdict.
What he needed wasn't companionship. Wasn't empathy. Wasn't another human anchor dragging against his momentum.
He needed precision. He needed consistency. He needed something that executed, calculated, and obeyed—without hesitation, without doubt, without the flaws of emotion.
Something that would never question his standards.
Something that would never fail to keep up.
A partner built from pure logic, pure efficiency.
His own Meihua… but stripped of humanity.
Sharper. Colder. Unbound by limits.
Jin's grip tightened around the neural chip as a faint, dangerous smile threatened the corner of his mouth. He finally had what he needed.
--------------------
Jin opened the holo-blueprint with a swipe.
The air shimmered, and a feminine silhouette unfolded in front of him—clean lines, lean musculature mapping, joints optimized for micro-adjustments rather than brute strength. Red circuits pulsed along the pathways, each labeled with adaptive learning nodes and neural-sync interfaces far beyond standard player equipment.
This was not a beauty model. This was a machine built to think.
Jin studied it with the intensity of a starving man finding water.
"She won't hesitate," he said quietly.
"She won't fail. And she won't… leave."
The core module hovered at his fingertips, glowing faintly as if sensing his intent.
"I'll build my own assistant," he continued, voice tightening.
The last word left his mouth like a curse.
"A tool."
His Tier 4 Engineer interface flickered to life—specialized overlays layering the blueprint with advanced calibration grids, wiring diagrams, and assembly protocols that only someone of his rank could access. His hands moved instinctively, following motions he had drilled into himself long before he joined Owl Esports.
Metal clinked sharply as he locked the first joint into place. A spine frame rotated under his grip, unfolding. Energy conduits slotted in, humming with unstable residual power from the leaked experimental tech.
Jin worked with feverish precision, each movement fast, exact, practiced.
A man trying to rebuild himself through something he could completely control.
The torso ignited—panels lighting like waking nerves.
The neural lattice blinked, pulsing in a rhythm that felt almost alive.
Then came the eyes: blank luminous orbs, staring without comprehension, waiting to be filled.
Jin loaded the behavioral kernel, jaw tightening as code cascaded across his HUD like falling rain.
—combat analysis
—movement correction
—weakness detection
—Player VR-archive simulation module
Line after line streamed down, each one a piece of Jin's unspoken desperation.
Then the prompt appeared.
Select Emotional Profile
Empathic
Balanced
Adaptive
None
Jin inhaled—one sharp, ragged breath.
Barely a second. Barely a hesitation.
He stabbed NONE with the force of a closing door.
"No emotions," he muttered. "No distractions. No… complications."
The chamber vibrated as systems synced. Circuits glowed brighter. The android's core thrummed like a second heart.
A soft crackle filled the air—then a voice, clear and clinical:
"Unit initialization complete."
Jin lifted his gaze.
She stood perfectly still, blank-faced, crowned with threads of blue circuitry. When she moved her head to look at him, it was with surgical precision—no wasted motion, no human uncertainty.
Her eyes brightened, stabilizing.
"Analyzing."
A pause.
Then, flatly:
"Jin. Your right footwork is inconsistent during high-velocity engagements. Recalibration required."
His exhale came slow.
Not relief.
Not pride.
Control.
Finally—something that didn't argue, doubt, hesitate, or feel.
Something that existed solely to sharpen him.
He set a hand on her cold metal shoulder, claiming his creation like a craftsman acknowledging a finished blade.
"Good."
The android's gaze remained locked on his.
"Shall I begin simulating Vanguard Drumstickkk's algorithm?"
Jin's lips curved—a thin, dangerous smile that didn't touch his eyes.
"Start it. All of it."
Holographic projections erupted across the chamber—every frame of Eddie's legendary Vanguard movements, reconstructed with ruthless precision. The room became a shrine of neon spirals, combat paths, and impossible footwork.
Jin stepped forward into the storm of data, his silhouette framed by the glow of the machine he'd built to replace everything he'd lost faith in.
The world worshipped Drumstickkk.
But Jin?
Jin was forging the weapon he needed to surpass him—or burn himself out trying.