The city pulsed like a living organism—veins of traffic weaving between steel bones, neon arteries flickering under the thick weight of smog and ambition. Skyscrapers clawed at the sky, their mirrored surfaces reflecting a thousand lights from screens, signs, and synthetic suns above crosswalks. The air buzzed with the hum of hovercars, sirens in the distance, and the endless murmur of people moving like tides across concrete.
In the heart of it all stood a towering structure that seemed to defy gravity itself. Sleek, monolithic, and impossibly tall, it loomed above the skyline like a sovereign god among men. Its windows were tinted black, hiding whatever dealings or dreams took place within. Along the upper third of the structure, three massive letters were mounted in bold, illuminated alloy: M.A.K.
They gleamed like a brand seared into the city's skin—cold, sharp, unignorable.
Pedestrians below cast glances upward, some in awe, others in quiet fear. Drones zipped past the spire, scanning, blinking, patrolling. The building wasn't just architecture—it was declaration. Power lived here. Authority. Secrecy.
Below it, the sidewalks flowed with people in suits and rags alike. Food stalls fought for attention with slick holographic ads. A beggar huddled against the wall beneath a glowing billboard that promised salvation through biotech upgrades. A corporate executive brushed past a courier in streetwear with a wrist-link flashing coordinates in real time.
And through it all, the M.A.K. building loomed silently, untouchable—watching.
Vakh walked with the easy stride of someone who had long since stopped asking permission to exist.
The crowd around him moved fast, shoulder to shoulder, drowning in noise and neon. But Vakh stood out—not because he tried, but because he didn't. Black sunglasses covered his emerald eyes, a simple black tank top hugged his frame beneath a dark outer coat that fluttered behind him. Worn jeans clung to legs built like steel cords, and his boots tapped a lazy rhythm on the pavement as he moved forward, undisturbed.
Above, the city's largest digital billboard crackled mid-commercial. A perfume ad flickered out, replaced by a flash of red BREAKING NEWS.
A stern anchor's voice cut through the static."A high-ranking political figure has been found dead in a low-end apartment on the city's outskirts. Authorities say he was tied up, tortured, and executed. Leaked photos of his crimes were discovered at the scene—showing evidence of child exploitation, cover-ups, and military protection."
The footage switched to a blurred photo of the body. Then the photos. Then the coin.
The crowd below the screen slowed. People paused. Some stared.
"Serve him right," someone muttered beside Vakh.
"My god, what a piece of trash," said another.
"He deserved to die," a woman whispered, her face unreadable.
Vakh smirked faintly, never breaking his stride.
He didn't look at the screen. He didn't need to.
The wind brushed his coat aside as he reached the steps of the M.A.K. Tower—its massive, polished walls reflecting the chaos of the city and none of the truth.
He passed the guards. No one stopped him.
The automatic doors slid open with a whisper.
And Vakh stepped into the beast.
The moment Vakh stepped through the threshold of M.A.K. Tower, two men in black suits and earpieces appeared at his sides—clean-cut, silent, precise. Not a word was exchanged. Their presence alone spoke volumes.
Vakh didn't resist. Didn't flinch. He merely slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses.
They guided him through the sleek lobby, past marble floors and a sculpture that pulsed with dim blue light, and into a private elevator tucked behind a mirrored wall. The door sealed shut with a hiss of pressurized air.
Inside, the elevator had no buttons.
Not until both men leaned forward, one after the other, and scanned their retinas against two glowing ports on either side of the panel. With a soft ping, the interface came to life—only one button revealing itself from the matrix of dormant floor numbers.
The button read: TOP.
They pressed it.
The elevator jolted slightly before it began its silent ascent, faster than it had any right to be. The city lights shrank into a smear of color through the glass walls. The air itself seemed to thin as they climbed higher than any public floor ever reached.
Then—ding.
The doors slid open, and without ceremony, the two escorts shoved Vakh forward.
He stumbled a half-step before regaining his composure, raising his hands slightly. "Easy with the hospitality, guys."
The doors shut behind him with a thunk, leaving him alone.
The space ahead was cavernous, dimly lit, and colder than it looked.
Directly before him stretched an enormous aquarium wall—floor to ceiling, the glass thick and almost black under the soft light. From the darkness, a massive red arowana glided into view. Its iridescent scales shimmered with a metallic crimson sheen, like moving armor. It paused, flicked its tail, then lunged forward to snatch a live frog from a submerged rock.
The frog thrashed for half a second before disappearing into the predator's maw. A faint plume of blood swirled in the water like smoke.
Vakh whistled under his breath.
"Fancy," he muttered, lips curling into a crooked smile. "Real subtle power move."
"Glad you could make it," came a voice—smooth, gravelly, and unmistakably familiar.
Vakh turned his head toward the aquarium, stepping closer until the warped glass reflected a figure seated just beyond it. Behind a long mahogany desk sat the same middle-aged man from the interview—the one with the scar and sunglasses. Now he looked even more imposing, muscles straining slightly beneath the fine threads of his suit, as if he had wrestled power into submission rather than negotiated for it.
Vakh stuffed his hands in his pockets and wandered over. "Where's the hot girl?"
Don didn't look up from the tablet he was skimming. "She's on a different mission."
"Damn it." Vakh clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "She had that G-cup energy going."
Don finally looked up.
"My name is Don," he said evenly.
"–atello?" Vakh added with a deadpan tone.
Don blinked once behind the dark lenses. "What?"
"Never mind." Vakh grinned. "I was hoping for pizza."
Don didn't bite. He set the tablet down, leaned forward, fingers steepled on the desk.
"Tell me, Vakh," he said, voice low. "How good are you at killing... other beings?"
Vakh's smirk faded. "What do you mean?"
His brow furrowed, one hand slipping slightly closer to his waistband—just in case.
Don didn't answer immediately. He pressed a small button beneath the desk. A panel in the wall behind him slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a screen—grainy, flickering footage from what looked like a surveillance drone.
On it: a shape.
Twisted. Fast. Something that moved wrong. Too many joints. A man's face—but peeling, melting—attached to something no longer human.
It leapt onto a car and tore the roof off like it was paper.
Vakh's eyes narrowed.
Don leaned back in his chair. "Welcome to the real job, Vakh."
"What the Vakh?" Vakh blurted, blinking at the screen. "What the hell is that?"
Don's face was unreadable beneath the tint of his glasses. "The public isn't aware of this yet… but soon, the world will have no choice."
The footage played on in the background—chaos in grainy monochrome. Whatever the creature was, it moved with impossible grace and violence, leaping over buildings, tearing through reinforced barriers like foam.
"They're powerful," Don continued. "Agile. And, thankfully—killable."
Vakh scoffed. "Killable. That's reassuring."
Don pressed another button, and more stills flashed across the screen: corpses torn open, claw marks across armored tanks, blood-soaked farmlands.
"Some of them look human," Don said. "Others… not so much. More body. More shape. Like a bull, or a horse. Sometimes with a horn."
Vakh's eyebrow rose. "That shit's called a unicorn, Don. And that's a fairytale."
Don slowly turned his head toward him. "Do you believe in fairytales, Vakh?"
"What? Of course not."
"Well, you better start," Don said, his lips curling into a grin, arms folding across his chest. "Because you're in one."
There was a beat of silence.
Vakh squinted. "How long have you been waiting to say that line?"
Don looked off to the side. "I'd rather not say."
"I think a demonstration is better," Don said, standing from his desk with the fluidity of a man who'd fought wars and now brokered them.
Vakh followed, his hands still in his pockets, his walk casual—but his eyes were sharp now, watching.
They returned to the elevator. Don stepped in first and said, "Don. Basement."
A pleasant chime followed his voice command. The floor indicator blinked, and the word TOP faded into BS.
"This is bullshit," muttered Vakh.
"Wait until you see it," Don replied with a knowing smile as the elevator descended, faster than before.
The doors opened with a gentle ding... into an impossibly vast, sterile-white chamber. The air was cold and still. Every surface gleamed like polished bone, and the ceiling seemed to stretch far above into a blank void.
"Simulation on: Level Rookie," Don commanded.
"Affirmative," replied the room in a smooth, feminine voice.
Vakh squinted. "Wait—what?"
Then something shimmered in the air. Light bent, refracted—and from it, a thing began to form.
Small, hunched, green.
It let out a snorting grunt and raised a crude wooden club, dragging it behind its crooked legs.
Vakh blinked. "Is that… a goblin?"
"Indeed," Don said, arms crossed. "Not intelligent. But fast. Vicious. It favors blunt trauma. Wears no armor. This type was first discovered in the mining zones outside Neo-Borneo."
Vakh gave him a sideways glance. "This is a joke, right? You brought me all the way down here to LARP?"
Don didn't answer him. He looked at the ceiling. "Commence the simulation."
"Simulation commencing."
Don turned to Vakh with a grin. "Don't disappoint me."
Vakh sighed, his hand already sliding into his jacket. "Fine."
BANG!
The sound cracked through the room like a whip. A puff of smoke drifted from the barrel of Vakh's Glock, held loosely in one hand.
Across the room, the goblin's head snapped back, blown wide open—green gore splattering the white floor as the creature dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
The room fell silent again. The simulation faded.
Vakh exhaled and twirled the gun on his finger once before holstering it.
"Rookie, huh?" he said. "Can I get something with two brain cells next time?"
Don's grin widened. "Oh, you'll get your wish."
"Level: Novice," Don said calmly.
"Understood. Presenting Novice Threat."
The lights in the chamber dimmed. A low rumble echoed through the sterile floor, followed by a heavy thud... thud... thud.
Then a shadow fell over them.
Vakh instinctively stepped back, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. His casual posture stiffened, one hand hovering near his holster.
From the far end of the chamber, a towering figure emerged—three meters of brute muscle, its emerald skin stretched taut over bulging arms and a barrel-sized chest. Each step cracked the reinforced floor beneath its feet. A deep growl vibrated in the air.
Its face was a monstrous mockery of man—flat-nosed, mouth wide with jagged yellow teeth, and a pair of tusks curling upward from its jaw like grim ornaments. Its eyes were pitch black with rings of sickly yellow around the irises, watching.
And it was bald. Completely smooth. No hair, no armor. Just raw flesh and rage.
Vakh let out a slow breath. "What the hell is that?"
"Ogre," Don said, grinning. "Stronger. Dumber. Harder to kill. A Novice threat."
The creature pounded its fists together, the sound like stone smashing against steel.
Don crossed his arms. "Deal with it, Vakh."
The ogre roared, shaking the very walls.
"For fuck sake, I'm an assassin!" Vakh said and aimed at the Ogre. His eyes were serious (This is the first job in a while? Might as well isekai-ed me with hordes of sexy mature women harem!!)
BANG!