Jainal's footsteps came to a halt at the end of a dimly lit corridor.
Before him stood a steel gate—unmanned, half-shrouded in a thin mist of residual magic.
No signs. No announcements.
But from the cracks in the ruined walls came the sound of grinding metal, the hiss of machines... and the faintest whisper of a child's cry.
The Magitek Black Market – Sector 7-B, City of Kurtub.
> "There's no hope sold here," Jainal thought. "Only unacknowledged inventions… and mistakes the world wants to forget."
He lowered his hood, masking his identity under the name JanoVel, a traveling technician—just as his forged documents claimed.
Slung over his shoulder, a bag filled with broken components from ResearchSite03 served as a badge of authenticity.
---
Corridor of Forbidden Knowledge
This market could never be drawn on a map.
Every door could change.
Every room could be a trap.
But those who knew the codes… knew the way.
Jainal approached the first stall: selling magic-frequency tracking pendants shaped like gemstones.
The price? Three fingers or one synthetic soul.
He walked past.
On the other side, a worn-out man in a tattered uniform offered a small vial.
> "Memory storage liquid. Two drops to capture a single memory. Once used in experiments… now banned."
"From Project Γ, you mean?" Jainal said calmly.
The man froze. His eyes sharpened.
> "You're not a regular buyer."
---
The Third Hand: Merchant of Truths
From the shadows of the fourth stall, a young woman stepped out.
Her hair was the color of ash, and her eyes gleamed crimson behind a thin lens clamped to her temple.
> "Your mark's valid. Password's correct."
"I'm looking for... scars," Jainal said quietly.
"Copper or black?"
"Copper. I'm not ready for black yet."
She smiled faintly, handed him a rolled-up map and a slip of paper.
> "IronAlley. Sector13. Where the Scar Collector was last seen.
This isn't a favor. This is a trade.
We are the Third Hand. We don't choose truth.
We only sell it."
She disappeared back into the shadows before Jainal could ask her name.
---
Magitek That Shouldn't Exist
He pressed on, stopping at a sealed room filled with the scent of burnt charcoal and chemical residue.
There he found devices from ResearchSite03—but in cruder, unstable forms.
Trauma-Conduction Rune Gloves – used to amplify spellcasting through the user's pain.
Liquid Identity Masks – coated the face and suppressed magical signatures. Early prototypes for permanent identity erasure.
He stepped closer to one object: a neckband marked with the Δ-Lambda symbol—exactly like the one worn by Unit5 when he found him.
Jainal clenched his fist.
> "They're selling it.
All of it.
The remnants of suffering I unearthed with blood... turned into merchandise."
Before rage could overtake him, he sensed something else:
He was being watched.
---
Eyes from Above
From the upper floor of the market, behind the slats of a rusted vent, unblinking eyes tracked Jainal.
Not human.
Blue-green optical lenses—surveillance feeds from the Fourth Eye Network.
>They hadn't acted.
But they knew he was here.
And they remembered.
---
Jainal took a deep breath.
He exited the market, sliding the map into the folds of his cloak.
The sun had yet to set,
but the shadows in his mind had already deepened.
> He didn't just carry information anymore.
He carried a growing vengeance.
And the world...
kept turning its wheels
withblood.