Two days passed beneath the sterile hum of the safehouse's artificial lights. The air, scrubbed and recycled, carried a faint metallic tang that scraped at the back of the throat. There was no day or night in the subterranean space, only the unwavering glow and the quiet whisper of the ventilation system.
Raymond spent most of that time on a narrow cot, the thin mattress offering minimal comfort as he let his body mend. The sharp, stabbing pain from his bruised ribs had subsided into a dull ache, flaring only with a sudden twist of his torso. The raw scrapes across his forearms were now just pale pink lines of new skin, smooth but still sensitive to the touch.
His teenage body recovered with an efficiency that felt unnatural. His old one—the one that had carried him through two decades of high-threat operations—would have needed weeks, not days, for this level of healing. This rapid regeneration was a clear dividend paid out by the System's attribute boosts. A tactical advantage he was still learning to properly quantify.
The door opened without preamble.
Carrying a leather satchel, Rakheel entered, his face drawn with the weight of imminent separation. The weathered lines along his jaw caught the overhead lighting as he approached.
"I depart tonight."
Raymond sat up, swinging his legs off the cot. "Back to your trade routes."
"Look, the longer I'm gone, the more people are gonna try to take what's mine." Rakheel put the satchel on the little table by the door. "Basim wasn't the only idiot in my family with big ideas. If I don't show up soon, they'll just decide I'm dead and start clearing out my warehouses."
Raymond nodded. The logic tracked—power vacuums attracted scavengers. "Understandable."
Rakheel studied Raymond for a long moment, uncertainty flickering behind his dark eyes. "You saved my life twice. Rescued me from the outpost. Destroyed those who would have ransomed or killed me."
"We had an arrangement."
"But, it's more than that." Rakheel waved his hand around the room, taking in the four walls and everything outside. "You totally messed up the Sand Rats. The Table will hold onto that, I'm telling you. They might have already put up bounties on your head, which will tempt a lot of mercenaries to come after you."
Raymond stood, moving to the small basin to splash water on his face. The reflection staring back remained unfamiliar—too young, too smooth, but hardening around the edges.
"I trust you to keep silent; after all, you were an accomplice in the process. Remember, though, never speak aloud about the other secret, the one we discussed when I first met you." Raymond narrowed his eyes and stared at Rakheel's reflection in the mirror.
"I understand." Rakheel's voice dropped. "But I must ask—what comes next for you? Will you remain in Cyber City?"
Raymond dried his face with a rough towel, considering how much truth to offer. Two weeks left. Fourteen days to trigger enough achievements to make this scenario worthwhile.
"I'll stay a while longer."
Rakheel frowned. "You will have difficulty navigating alone; Sayeed also won't help much since he also likely earned a bounty. Should they catch you…"
"I will be fine, but Sayeed's situation is a bit tricky indeed."
Raymond turned, looking directly into Rakheel's eyes. "Listen carefully. I cannot explain certain things. Secrets, if I speak them, would attract worse than bounty hunters." He thought about the Escalation Protocol—The World System descends like divine punishment when I share too much.
"Keep the knowledge of everything you saw—my abilities, my methods—contained. Share it with no one. Not business partners. Not confidantes. No one."
Rakheel straightened, composing himself. "You have my silence. On my family's honour and my father's memory."
Raymond nodded once. Honour and memory—currencies in this world, apparently more reliable than credits.
Rakheel lifted the satchel from the makeshift table. The portable data chips inside shifted subtly with the movement. He extended it toward Raymond, his large hand steadying the weight.
"I give you payment for services rendered."
The merchant's gaze carried more than commerce—guilt, gratitude, obligation. "Fifty thousand credits in portable chips. They will spend anywhere in Cyber City or the outer territories. No one can trace them."
Raymond accepted the satchel, feeling its weight. Fifty thousand credits—Rakheel's attempt to quantify the unquantifiable. His life, his caravan, his family's future, all reduced to portable data chips.
"Thank you."
The merchant's hand lingered on the leather a beat too long before releasing it. His jaw worked, words forming and dying behind clenched teeth. Whatever debt Rakheel felt he carried, credits wouldn't clear it.
"It's inadequate compared to what you've done, but it's what I can offer now." Rakheel moved toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "If you need anything—information, safe passage, supplies—send word through Nana Asra. She knows how to reach me."
"Understood."
Rakheel hesitated, one hand on the door frame. "May your gods watch over you, young one. Whatever path you walk."
The merchant disappeared into the corridor, footsteps fading toward the tunnel exit.
Raymond set the satchel on the cot and opened his system interface with a thought. The mission tracker displayed 92.12% completion on his main quest. His plan worked; the remnants folded quicker than he thought, without forcing him to hunt them down. Fourteen days remained before forced extraction.
Need more achievements. More titles. More REP.
He pulled up the Reputation Store catalogue. He had 120 REP to spend, but his eyes stayed on the costliest skill of all.
[ Basic Analyze ]
[ Description: The System gives you the public label—a model number, a common name. This skill lets you parse the data behind that label. You can now see the fine print directly in your interface: upgrade requirements, material composition, power draw, or hidden operational parameters that aren't part of the standard readout. It is the difference between knowing an item's name and understanding its nature. (The complexity and amount of data revealed are determined by INT). ]
The skill cost a whopping 250 REP. He already figured out the best way to gain REP in bulk involved triggering achievements, but action generated achievements, not purchasing.
I have to test my theory soon.
Raymond dismissed the interface and stretched, feeling the last residual stiffness in his shoulders. The safehouse suddenly felt confining—a cell rather than shelter.
Let me check on Sayeed.
He rose, shucking the synthetic-weave blanket from his lap. The movement was silent, efficient.
Two rooms down, the corridor was narrow, the air slightly humid. Recycled air hissed from vents overhead—faint, barely noticeable.
Raymond reached Sayeed's door, thin metallic composite cool under his palm.
TAP! TAP!
Sayeed opened the door—fatigue etched into his eyes from two days spent inside. He saw Raymond.
"Come in."
Raymond walked in, closed the door behind him. Dim light from overhead barely illuminated their features.
"What are your plans?"
Raymond asked, knowing Rakheel's departure must impact the former bodyguard. He noticed the distant look in Sayeed's eyes immediately once he asked the question.
"I don't know…"
Sayeed sat on the bed, his palms clenching the bed's edges, his head hung in contemplation.
"I never imagined we would succeed so quickly." He looked up. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I had no doubt we eventually could topple the Sand Rats, but you…," his voice tinged with genuine surprise. "When you made that reckless plan, turning yourself into the bait for infiltration, I thought you were suicidal."
He drew a sharp breath. "Even if you did get into the compound, with dozens of armed guards, I didn't expect you to single-handedly take them down." He shook his head.
"Then the Giant Rat had the MPA you mentioned." He waved his hands at Raymond. "Even with your magical abilities, just surviving should've been impossible—let alone coming out on top. But you did!"
Raymond smiled. It wasn't smooth as you put it, but the gist holds true.
"So I ask," Raymond said. "What do you plan next? I know you initially agreed to follow me so we could take down the Sand Rats, and now we accomplished that. Do you want to go back and rebuild your mercenary group, or strike out independently?"
Sayeed chuckled jokingly, "What? You so eagerly want rid of me?"
Raymond smiled and shook his head, "I will be straight with you. I won't stay here long. Two weeks tops. Then I go back to—my hometown. Before I leave, I want to do something big. Hence, I asked you. If you have plans, we best part ways as I don't want to drag you down."
Puzzlement was evident on Sayeed's face, "Something big? Bigger than this?"
Raymond nodded in affirmation. I am going to muddy the waters of Cyber City a bit before I leave, seeing if the achievement triggers are linked to the audience and impact I make in the world to some extent.
Sayeed felt conflicted; though he had thrillingly spent the last few days, his strict upbringing and military discipline ingrained a craving for stable life in him. Adventures once or twice seemed fine, but he appeared to grow weary of them already. However, he also did not want to lose the opportunity to work with Raymond.
Raymond saw the conflict on Sayeed's face. He gave a knowing smile, putting his hand on Sayeed's shoulder reassuringly.
"Look, you are a great asset, but you will have to live in this region while I am just a tourist. So, do not let me influence your decision. Think for yourself."
Sayeed felt a bit of embarrassment, but he hid it quickly.
Raymond's expression hardened. "Rakheel thinks the Table might have a bounty on us."
Sayeed opened his mouth to object, but Raymond silenced him with a raised hand. "I'll find a way to clear your name." His voice was firm, deliberate. "It's tied to what I plan to do."
Reaching into his jacket, Raymond pulled out a credit chip. He pressed 25,000 credits into Sayeed's palm—half of Rakheel's payment. "Once you're in the clear, take this. Start fresh somewhere."
A pause. Then, quieter, "Just leave me a way to reach you. In case I ever come back."
Sayeed blinked, glancing from Raymond to the credit chip and back again.
"Alright." He closed his fingers around the chip.
Raymond gave his shoulders an encouraging tap.
"Now," he said, voice steady, "who in the Table handles intelligence?"
His gaze sharpened. "And how do I reach them?"
Raymond stood outside Marcus Chen's corporate tower, watching foot traffic thin as the clock edged past midnight. The building's façade gleamed with embedded light strips—chrome and glass rising forty-three floors into Cyber City's polluted sky.
Table's leader of Intelligence. Office on twenty-one according to Sayeed.
He activated [ Basic Sneak ].
The veil settled over him—a compression of presence. Cameras would register nothing. Guards would glance past him.
Raymond walked through the main entrance. The security desk sat empty except for a single drowsy guard monitoring terminals. Raymond moved left, slipping past the checkpoint toward the emergency stairwell.
Twenty-one floors.
He climbed steadily, boots silent on concrete steps. His Endurance carried him without fatigue. At the twenty-first floor access door, Raymond paused, listening.
Silence.
He eased the door open. A corridor stretched before him—executive suites, frosted glass doors with nameplate.
Marcus Chen - CEO.
Raymond approached the door.
Marcus sat at his desk inside, holding a stylus as he moved it across his holographic display. Financial reports, surveillance footage, and personnel files floated in mid-air. The man's face showed concentration, and he remained unaware of Raymond's presence.
How do I open the door without alerting him?
Raymond watched from shadows as Marcus reached for his coffee mug, peered inside, then frowned. The chair rolled back quietly as Marcus stood. He walked out holding the empty mug, heading left toward what must be the break room.
Raymond immediately slipped inside. He found a relatively dark corner beside the window and stood there waiting for Marcus to return.
It took about 4 minutes or so before Marcus came back, holding a fresh steaming coffee. He walked back to his chair, sat, and resumed his work, occasionally sipping the coffee.
Raymond observed him for almost half an hour before deactivating stealth and stepping into the light.
"Hello, Marcus."
Marcus Chen froze mid-sip, ceramic mug hovering an inch from his lips. His pupils dilated—pure autonomic response—before his head snapped toward the voice.
Raymond watched the recognition click behind Marcus's eyes. John Reese. The bounty identity. The man's gaze flicked to Raymond's empty hands, to the unbroken window, to the undisturbed door.
Three-point assessment.
Marcus didn't reach for the pistol in his desk drawer. Didn't tap the panic button beneath his knee.
The mug touched down silently on the desk.
"You're either very confident," Marcus said, "or very stupid." His voice stayed level, but Raymond caught the minute tremor in his left hand—adrenaline being suppressed.
Raymond tilted his head toward the security feed glowing on Marcus's display. "I watched you for half an hour. If I wanted you dead, you'd be cooling on that expensive carpet."
Marcus's nostrils flared once; he acknowledged the threat. His shoulders relaxed a fraction, and he asked, "Then you want to talk?"
Raymond smiled.
"That's impressive stealth tech by the way," Marcus said. "Military-grade—or something cleaner? I didn't see a flicker."
Marcus leaned back and steepled his fingers, calculating the situation. "What can you possibly offer me? You know full well what awaits you once you show up in front of us?"