At the public track oval, families huddled beneath small, temporary tents provided by the rescue team. Some paced, frantically questioning rescuers. Others cried quietly, prayed, or clung to loved ones in silent fear and relief. A few wept as they reunited with families or friends.
Those with minor injuries were being treated, while those fatally wounded were taken elsewhere.
Mikel stayed outside his small tent, seated on the floor, silently observing everything.
From what he had learned so far, everyone — medics, police officers, firefighters, and the victims — believed a natural disaster had caused everything. Mikel wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
Would the truth benefit anyone?
Or was this lie kinder?
"Oh, God…" someone near his tent sobbed, hugging her children. Her trembling arms around them tried to stay strong after such a calamity.
Her husband wrapped his arms around her from behind, murmuring something Mikel couldn't hear. The top half of his skull was missing — a gory wound that the woman or anyone wouldn't see or notice, except Mikel. Whatever story he had, Mikel didn't care to know.
The public oval track they were placed in was already crowded with everyone from the affected area evacuating there. But in Mikel's eyes, it was twice as crowded because there were others — those others who couldn't be seen — adding to the number.
Hanging his head low, he rested his arms on his knees and stared at the screen that panned down with his subtle movement.
[Rewards and Next Objective calculating…]
Seeing how Doom was taking its time calculating everything, Mikel wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Doom hadn't seemed to have that difficulty at the beginning.
Now that he thought about it, he also remembered Doom glitching during the fight.
"Sup, Doom?" Mikel waited for Doom to respond, but the screen just showed [Calculating…].
While Mikel tried to get Doom to respond, two people arrived at the public track oval. Unlike the rescuers in their uniforms identifying which departments they worked for, these newcomers stood out with their spotless black coats.
Approaching one of the officers, another detective welcomed them.
"Oh, you're here?" the detective, who had requested people from Zone Zero, was torn between smiling and sighing at them. "I had to run here, so I didn't get to wait for you at the crime scene. Anyway, did you see the scene?"
The detective waved off a nearby officer, signaling for privacy.
One of the newcomers — a woman with straight, black bobbed hair — watched the officer leave before meeting the detective's eyes again. His face grew stern before she could answer.
"Do you think…" He took a step closer, his voice cautious and quiet. "...that this case has something to do with what happened here?"
The woman maintained a straight and sharp face, but instead of answering, she watched her partner — a man — walk away. She then shifted her eyes back to the detective.
"Yes," she said. "We've already reported it to the higher-ups."
Distress quickly dominated the detective's face upon hearing that. "Is it resolved now? Or should we expect another calamity?"
The detective nervously scanned the surroundings, as if expecting some invisible monster looming nearby. The woman watched his reaction coldly.
"It's been dealt with," she said sharply. "Now, if you'll excuse me."
Without waiting for a response, she walked away to where her partner had gone. The detective's smile faded slightly as he watched her leave.
"Tch," he clicked his tongue, clearly displeased by the arrogance of those from Zone Zero. Despite that, he knew they had reasons to be arrogant.
Another deep sigh escaped the detective as he glanced at the countless tents and evacuated people around him.
"I'm glad I called for their backup before all this started," he muttered. "Otherwise, I don't think the casualties would be this low."
Little did the detective know, it wasn't anyone from Zone Zero or any other organization who had dealt with the calamity that had befallen all these families. The person who had stopped what could have been a catastrophic genocide was just a seventeen-year-old who had returned home after months of hospitalization.
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Mikel didn't want to see what was around him, so he kept his head down, eyes fixed on the ground between his legs. But then he sensed someone's presence beside him. Catching the shadow beneath the figure, he slowly looked up and met a pair of brown eyes.
The man studying him quietly wore a thick black trench coat that reached his knees. His hair was slightly long, tied back in a neat, low bun. His brown eyes swirled with curiosity.
He reminded Mikel of Stefan — the guy he'd met the night a Nightbound haunted him. But unlike Stefan's cold silver eyes, this man had a very different presence. Not as cold or aloof, but not friendly either.
He sized Mikel up in silence before his low baritone reached Mikel's ears.
"Can you see them?"
Mikel didn't answer immediately, but when he did, all he said was, "Can you?"
"Of course we can," came a woman's voice from behind the man.
Mikel shifted his gaze to the approaching figure. Like the man, she wore a black coat. Her straight black hair was short and lacked volume. Her features were sharp, and she stared at Mikel without much emotion.
"Danika Sol. Zone Zero, SPECTR Division — Intelligence Crew," she introduced herself in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, as if her words were common knowledge.
SPECTR? That again?
"This is my partner, Amon Vask."
The man gave Mikel a short nod.
"Oh," Mikel responded dryly, studying the two of them.
"Mikel Graves. Seventeen. Second-year high school student before your accident," she continued, now fully capturing his attention. "Currently out of school. An orphan, living off a trust fund left by your grandmother. No friends. A troubled teen, and grades barely passing marks."
"Was that detail really necessary?"
"I'm telling you… We know you, and we understand you," she replied, almost mechanically. No emotion — just business. "We have some questions for you. Will you come with us?"
Mikel studied the two of them in silence, unsure if he should be surprised. Then again, he wasn't even sure what to feel anymore. Still, hearing — for the first time — that someone else knew what had happened and could see what he could was enough to tempt him.
[Do not go with them.]
For the first time since he got in here, Doom's message appeared. Mikel paused, his eyes lingering on the text. A part of him wanted to listen to Doom, but another part whispered, Why?
It was so easy to listen — just this once, to let the message guide him. But the thought made him uneasy.
What would happen if he gave in again?
It felt like the more he listened, the harder it would be to stop, and before he knew it, he'd be subservient. Controlled.
So, he ignored the warning and stood, facing the two adults. He was not going to let Doom define him or take charge.
"I've got some questions for you too," he said. "And I'm expecting answers if you're expecting them from me."
Danika arched a brow slightly, then nodded. "Follow me."
Mikel watched as the two walked away, glancing at the prompt once again. It still showed: [Do not go with them.]
You are the guide, I am the upholder of whatever protocol this is. Your warnings are my options, not an absolute decision.
He picked up the book beside him and stood up, his feet beginning to move as he followed the two SPECTR Agents to wherever they were planning to take him. Aside from the new reality he had to navigate, Mikel also realized something else:
No one was going to wait for him to make a decision, whether he accepts it or denies this new reality.
So tonight, a decision had been made.