Vikram didn't sleep that night.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the man's smile. Heard the words last time we talk. Felt the cold weight of fear settle deeper than pain ever could.
Morning light crept into the room quietly, like it was afraid to disturb him. His daughter was still asleep, curled against her mother. Vikram watched them for a long moment, chest tight. He memorized the rise and fall of her breathing. The way his wife's arm stayed wrapped around their child even in sleep.
He stepped outside before they woke up.
The street looked normal again. Too normal. Like nothing had happened. That angered him more than the beating.
Vikram leaned against the cold wall outside his house and exhaled slowly.
The world shimmered.
A familiar pressure settled behind his eyes.
Then he looked at the screen.
Vikram stared at it without touching it. He already knew the contents of the task.
Still, his throat felt dry.
He swallowed and spoke under his breath, voice low, careful.
"Does this mean… inside the Tower?"
The words felt stupid the moment they left him. Inside the Tower, death was temporary. Brutal—but reversible. A system rule. A mercy disguised as cruelty.
The screen didn't answer immediately.
Then the text shifted.
Cold. Precise.
[CLARIFICATION REQUEST — ACCEPTED]
[TARGET ELIMINATION LOCATION: OUTSIDE THE TOWER]
The air around him felt heavier.
Vikram's fingers curled slowly into a fist.
Outside.
No floors.
No resets.
No system forgiveness.
This wasn't a hunt.
This wasn't a trial.
It was murder.
His gaze flicked back to the quiet house behind him. To the door that hid his wife and daughter from a world that was already sharpening its teeth.
The screen remained floating in front of him, silent now, as if it had already said enough.
Vikram closed his eyes for a brief moment.
His father's voice came back to him, uninvited and clear.
Be a good man, he had always said. Not rich. Not powerful. Just good.
Don't raise your hand for your own gain. Once you do, you can't pretend you're clean anymore.
Vikram remembered sitting on the floor as a boy, listening to those words like they were laws of the world. Hurting someone—using another person as a step—was wrong. No matter the reason. No matter the reward.
His chest tightened.
Because he believed that. He still did.
He opened his eyes and looked at his hands. The same hands that had tried to shield his family. The same hands that had failed.
His father had taught him how to be good.
The world had taught him how little that mattered.
Vikram swallowed.
Good people didn't beg on their knees in the street.
Good people didn't watch their children get threatened because of unpaid interest.
His father's lessons felt heavy now—not warm. Like a coat meant for winter, worn in a storm it was never designed to face.
He looked back at the door.
Behind it were two lives that trusted him completely.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. Not to the system. Not to the man who'd beaten him.
To his father.
The screen pulsed once, sensing intent.
[OPTIONAL TASK — ACTIVE]
Vikram's jaw tightened.
"I won't become a monster," he said quietly, the words barely leaving his throat. "I won't hurt people who've done nothing wrong."
The promise wasn't loud.
It wasn't brave.
But it was real.
He closed his eyes for a second, steadying his breath. If he had to cross this line, he would draw his own rules on the other side of it.
Only the guilty.
Only those who chose to prey on others.
Never the innocent.
The screen flickered, as if listening.
The screen faded.
And the world moved on.
National Player Association — Headquarters
The briefing room was quiet in the way only powerful places ever were.
Arjun stood near the center, arms folded, eyes fixed on the projection.
Maps of the country.
Guild markers bloomed across it.
Clusters. Networks. Lines connecting cities like veins.
An officer stepped forward, voice clipped, professional.
The projection shifted.
Red markers multiplied across the map.
"These guilds aren't focused on climbing," the officer continued. "They're recruiting muscle from low-rank players and using tower-earned abilities outside regulated zones."
New data windows opened.
KIDNAPPING REPORTS
EXTORTION CASES
ILLEGAL DEBT COLLECTION
PLAYER DISAPPEARANCES
"Families of climbers are being targeted," the officer said. "So are civilians with no tower access at all. They use threats. Forced contracts. Sometimes they sell people to other guilds as leverage."
Arjun's fingers curled slowly.
Arjun looked at the map again. At how ordinary the affected areas looked. Streets. Apartments. Homes.
Then he spoke.
"Why are these guilds still registered?"
The officer hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second.
"Because officially," he said carefully, "they haven't violated any law."
Arjun turned.
"Then let me ask you something simple," he said, voice calm but sharp.
"Can we declare them illegal?"
The officer met his gaze.
A beat passed.
Then another.
The officer exhaled slowly.
"We can't," he said. "Not yet."
Arjun's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt.
"In this country, people have the right to organize," the officer continued. "Guilds fall under that protection. We can't declare an entire organization illegal without concrete proof tying the crimes directly to the guild itself—not just its members."
He tapped the projection.
"Even if we gather evidence," he added, "it doesn't end them. They disband on paper, change names, shift leadership, and register again within weeks. New banner. Same people."
The red markers pulsed faintly.
"We shut one down," the officer said quietly, "two more take its place."
Silence filled the room.
Arjun looked back at the map.
Outside the headquarters, traffic moved. People went to work. Children went to school.
And in the shadows between laws and loopholes, guilds kept growing—patient, adaptable, and very hard to kill.