I am HighG, a member of Light Remain. After that horrific explosion, I woke up in a crowded, bustling area filled with the sounds of people passing by. This was the safe zone for survivors—a temporary shelter in this chaotic world. Around me, dozens of people were resting on thin mattresses. Some were having their wounds bandaged; others stared silently into space with the empty gazes of those who had lost too much.
What caught my attention the most were the individuals in black armor patrolling the area. They moved with organization and professionalism, and on each of their helmets were three letters: CPS. I watched them in silence, trying to guess what this organization was. A rescue team, perhaps? Or a government security force? Whatever the case, they seemed to be in complete control of this area, and that didn't make me feel entirely comfortable.
I sat up, checking my body. Fortunately, my wounds had received preliminary treatment, and I had almost fully recovered. In truth, the explosion had been incredibly powerful—enough to wipe out an entire building. But luckily, the shield I usually wear on my back has a special function: it reduces 60% of damage from behind. It was thanks to it that I wasn't as badly injured as I should have been. It was a valuable piece of equipment I had collected from a dangerous mission in the past, and now, it had saved my life.
However, there was one thing I had lost—the distinctive helmet of Light Remain. It wasn't just an identifying symbol but also a sign of which organization I belonged to. Losing it in this situation was perhaps a blessing in disguise. I didn't want the people here to know about my past, about what I had done as a member of Light Remain. Luckily, they—those people in black armor—didn't seem interested in questioning backgrounds. They just did their job: maintaining order, distributing food, and ensuring security for the area.
I sat there, observing and reflecting. Around me, the survivors were trying to cope with their loss. A child was crying in its mother's arms, an elderly man was staring intently at a family photo in his hand, a young woman trembled every time there was a loud noise. These were the scars left by the disaster—not just on their bodies, but deep in their souls.
While I was lost in thought, a group of three people in black armor began to approach me. Their footsteps were steady, creating a synchronized sound on the concrete floor. I looked up, bracing myself for whatever might happen. One of them—who seemed to be the leader based on the insignia on his shoulder—was holding something in his hand.
As they got closer, I realized it was my deer skull mask. The mask I had lost after the explosion was now in a stranger's hands. How did they find it? And more importantly, did they know who it belonged to?
The leader stopped in front of me, his gaze behind the helmet's visor fixed straight on me. His voice was cold but not hostile:
"You're taking up space. You can go now."
The sentence was like a polite expulsion order. They didn't ask who I was, where I came from, or what I did. They simply wanted me to leave. Perhaps they realized I had fully recovered and no longer needed care. Or perhaps they knew something about this mask, about my true identity.
I calmly stood up, said nothing, and just took the deer skull mask from his hand. Its cold material touched my skin, evoking memories of battles past. I gave a slight nod as a silent thanks, then started walking toward the exit.
As I walked out of the central area, I finally realized the scale of this place. This wasn't a simple rescue station as I had thought. This was a tightly organized base, with solid security fences, watchtowers, and dozens of people in black armor on duty everywhere. They carried Vector guns—a modern and powerful weapon—and stood guard at every strategic angle. Their eyes were always scanning, wary of any potential threat.
I walked past them, feeling their gazes follow me. But no one stopped me, no one asked any more questions. I just kept walking... and walking... past the first fence, through the second checkpoint, across the peripheral zone. Each step took me further from the safety of that area, and closer to the mysteries waiting outside.
Finally, after nearly half an hour of walking through the ruined streets, I stopped in front of a familiar building. Our base—the place Light Remain had used as its headquarters recently. But something was wrong. The air around it was too quiet, too still. No sounds of people, no lights, no signs of life.
I entered carefully, each step gentle to avoid making unnecessary noise. Inside, the building was pitch black, with only dim light from the cracks in the windows. Dust was thick on every surface, showing no one had been here for a long time. I called out softly:
"Is anyone here?" -
Nothing. I only received the echo of my own voice. I remembered the security cameras we had installed everywhere. If they were still working, I could find out what had happened. I went to the control room, where the central monitoring system was. Luckily, the backup power was still running.
I turned on the monitors and asked the cameras:
"Where is the Chairman? Report base status."
A mechanical voice echoed from the speaker:
"The Chairman is no longer here. Base was ordered to evacuate 48 hours ago. Initiating destruction protocol in 3 minutes."
"What?!"
I was startled. Destruction protocol?! That meant... The camera monitors began to flash red. A countdown timer sounded. I realized it immediately: The base had been rigged with bombs to self-destruct! And I had very little time.
Without a second thought, I bolted out of the control room, running at full speed toward the exit. The hallway seemed endless, each step a race against death. The countdown echoed in my head: "60... 59... 58..."
I burst through the main door, jumped down the steps, and ran straight out of the danger zone. Behind me, I heard a series of small explosions—the bombs had begun to activate. I dashed forward, trying to create a safe distance.
—BOOM!—
A terrible explosion tore through the air. The shockwave threw me forward, sending me tumbling to the ground. I turned my head, witnessing the horrifying scene: Our base—the place that held so many memories, so many plans, so many hopes—was now just a smoking pile of rubble.
Flames rose high in the darkness, illuminating my shocked face. I lay there, unable to believe what I had just seen. Why? Why was the base destroyed? Who gave the order? And most importantly, where was everyone else?
That last question brought me to my senses. Right, I couldn't just lie here. I needed to find the others—the Chairman, Lucy, Hachi, Notug... where were they? Were they safe?
I stood up, brushing the dust off myself. My body ached from the second explosion of the day, but I had no time to complain. I needed to find clues, to know what was happening.
Suddenly, an image flashed in my mind—Lucy. She was always the careful one, always had a backup plan. If there was an emergency evacuation, where would she go? I tried to remember the meetings, the contingency plans we had discussed.
"Sector Two!" - I exclaimed. That was it. In the contingency plan, if Sector One—the main base—was compromised, everyone would move to Sector Two. It was the building across the street, originally used as a storage warehouse and emergency hideout.
I looked across the street, into the darkness of the night. On the other side, a five-story building stood silent, without a single light, without a sign of life. But that was exactly where I needed to go.
With new determination, I crossed the ruined street, avoiding debris and deep pits. Each step was careful, as I didn't know what other dangers this area held. Monsters could be lurking in the dark, mines could be planted anywhere, or strangers like those CPS people might be watching.
Finally, I arrived in front of Sector Two. This five-story building had a strange structure—completely different from normal buildings. According to our design, each floor represented a rank in the organization. The special thing was, the lowest rank was on the 5th floor—the top floor, while the highest rank was in the basement. It sounded absurd, but that was how we organized it, an unconventional system that had its security reasons.
I pushed the door. It opened strangely easily, as if it was waiting for me. Inside, the hallway was pitch black with only the dim emergency light from LEDs on the wall. The air was suffocatingly still, my every footstep creating an eerie echo.
I took a few more steps in, and suddenly, a figure appeared at the end of the hallway. The dim light shone from behind, making it so I could only see the silhouette. But the familiar figure—the height, the stance, the way the hands were clasped behind the back—all told me who it was. I exclaimed:
"Chairman!"
The person stood still, not turning to look at me. Just a lonely back in the dark hallway. The air suddenly became heavy, as if weighing down on my shoulders. I sensed a strange feeling—disappointment, sadness, or perhaps anger radiating from the figure.
Was he disappointed in me? Because I wasn't there when the base was evacuated? Because I had lost the helmet—the symbol of Light Remain? Or for some other reason?
I swallowed, trying to summon the courage to speak:
"Why was the base destroyed? Sir."
My question echoed in the hallway. I waited, each second stretching on. Finally, the Chairman's familiar voice spoke—but there was something wrong with the tone:
"Three days ago, the government found Sector One and discovered many of our organization's secrets... But I've already redeemed it! As for the base, I knew nothing about it!"
The answer sounded plausible, but something was off. I frowned, trying to analyze every word. "Three days ago"—so that was before I even went on my mission. "The government found out"—but why would that lead to destroying the base? And what did "I've already redeemed it" mean? Redeemed how?
There were too many contradictions. And the most important thing—why wasn't the Chairman turning to look at me? For as long as I had known him, he always looked people in the eye when he spoke. That was his principle, his way of showing respect and sincerity.
A sudden thought appeared in my head, making me shudder: "Maybe... this is an illusion!"
I had heard about a type of monster capable of creating illusions, making people see what they wanted to see or feared most. Or this could be some kind of technology—a hologram, or an enemy trap.
Without hesitating any longer, I clenched my fist and rushed toward the figure. My speed was like lightning, a powerful punch with all the strength I had. But... My fist passed right through it!
I lost my balance, nearly falling forward. Turning back to look, the figure had vanished completely, as if it had never existed. There was nothing left, just the empty hallway with its dim LED lights.
"I was right. It was just an illusion." - I sighed, both relieved and worried. Relieved to know it wasn't the real Chairman, but worried because this meant something very dangerous was going on in here...