Jared's boots were wet, with a couple of green blades of grass sticking to them. He carefully stepped through the woods, crossing over wild branches and into unknown areas he had never ventured into before. His gas mask was strapped tightly to his face, the sound of his constant breathing echoing in his ears.
Look at how the nuclear war changed the world.
It was a broken land now. No one could walk the ground safely—the air was toxic.
Behind the goggles, Jared's hazel eyes scanned his surroundings carefully. Any sight of movement, any shadow—he had to be aware of it.
They said The Mentor ran this way. They said he was somewhere in these woods. It had been quite some time since he left—he must be running low on oxygen. If he didn't replace his oxygen supply soon, he would run out of air. Jared might never see him again.
Aside from that, Jared also had to be aware of the mutants hiding beneath the shadows of the woods or perched within the branches above. There could be a human-spider hybrid mutant lurking, watching, waiting for the perfect time to strike and devour him.
Something moved at the edge of his vision.
Jared quickly aimed his rifle toward the spot, finger on the trigger, ready to fire if danger appeared.
His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he saw the black shadow watching him. It was a humanoid figure, entirely black—dark, consisting of smoke. It stood at the right distance—far enough to be unreachable but close enough for Jared to feel threatened.
"Go ahead and shoot," a voice whispered viciously. "You'll only draw the mutants to you."
Jared accepted the challenge. The rifle was recently modified to reduce noise, and he had already attached a silencer. He aimed at the shadow, but before he could pull the trigger, the shadow turned and walked away—disappearing into thin air.
Who the hell was that? Jared remembered this figure—the same one who pulled the lever too soon when he was cleaning the drainage, and the one who had swung a sledgehammer at The Mentor's head.
Even worse, the sky was getting darker, but still no sign of The Mentor.
Jared was starting to fear that he might be lost forever.
But he wouldn't go home before he found The Mentor.
The beach where the yacht named "VOLARE" was docked was the first place he checked—and The Mentor wasn't there.
Where else could he be?
The fog was getting thicker, and his breath felt heavier.
"Go home! He's gone!" a mysterious voice warned him.
But Jared refused to listen.
He disappeared because I didn't appreciate him. That's why… I'm here now—to find him. Either I find him, or I'll die seeking!
Jacques felt his soul return to his body. His fingertips, his breath, his lungs, his heart beating—he could feel everything returning to the weight of his flesh and bones.
But he didn't want to wake up. No, he wouldn't.
He wanted to stay in the dream until he found The Mentor again. Even when he was completely awake, he would want to go back to sleep and continue the search.
I'm sorry.
Please come back!
I was stupid, chasing something meaningless and abandoning you.
I'm sorry.
Did I lose you forever?
Even though Jacques couldn't tell yet who The Mentor was, or why he felt such deep emotion when he woke up, he still couldn't understand why it felt like he had lost something he never truly had.
Did he never have it?
Or had he simply forgotten that he once did?
Jacques looked around. It was a sterile room—all white. He tried to sit up from the bed, which was made of a very comfortable foam. Then he looked around again.
It was nothing but white. Only a bed in the room—and a toilet.
"What is this? A prison?" Jacques figured.
Then a screen of holographic light slid open on the empty wall, showing the face of a bald man with thick eyeglasses—the same man Jacques had seen before they put him to sleep. He smiled without his eyes, giving the impression of someone who had mastered the art of wearing a false mask in front of most people.
Jacques didn't trust this person. He looked fake.
"Hello, Jacques Durant. Finally, you're awake. How are you?" the man greeted.
"You better give me a good explanation about all this," Jacques growled. His stomach rumbled, and then he remembered Ethan was supposed to meet him at the police station with carnivore rica. Ethan was probably really disappointed to find out Jacques was no longer there.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I have plenty of answers. Ask me anything, and I'll give you the most clarifying answer you've ever had."
Jacques scratched his head. "Where am I, and who are you?"
"My name is Sigma, and I'm the representative of ENZO Corp. It's a corporation secretly funded by the government—specifically for security operations. For centuries, we've been providing Earthlings across the galaxies with security measures ranging from weapons to defense mechanisms."
"Are you a military?" Jacques guessed.
"Not exactly. We provide weapons and tactical devices to the military, including spy gadgets, soldier equipment, and even MREs. But mostly, we specialize in weapons."
Jacques stood up from the bed and inspected the room closely. He couldn't tell where the door was. "Why would you arrest a 15-year-old boy in a high-security prison?"
Sigma corrected him. "No, we're not arresting you, and you're not our prisoner. However, I understand why you feel that way, since you can't figure out where the door is. But worry not—we put you here because of your strength. And because you just injured your friend very badly. So yeah, basically… we're scared of your power."
Sigma let out a comical giggle after he finished talking.
"Mourice isn't my friend," Jacques snapped, glaring angrily.
"Okay, then, your colleague," Sigma corrected himself.
"I know I messed up. I admit it. But can you put me back in regular jail? This place is creepy." Jacques was still trying to figure out where the exit was.
"I'm sorry—we can't do that," Sigma continued. "You are something special, boy. Letting you rot in a regular jail would be a waste for someone as special as you."
"What do you mean, special?" Jacques's suspicion sharpened.
"I mean, look at this…" Sigma displayed an image of the broken riot shield Jacques had punched through. Jacques didn't look proud. He imagined what that fist could have done to Mourice's skull. He just hoped he hadn't killed that jerk.
"This is not what a 15-year-old can do."
Jacques sits on his bed and wipes his hair in frustration, "okay, this is starting to sound like the beginning of one of those spy-kid movies..."
Sigma kept talking, ignoring the sarcasm. "Even better—this is not something an Earthling can do."
"You mean I'm not human?" Jacques narrowed his eyes. It sounded ridiculous—like some exaggerated plot from a fantasy spy movie for children.
"You are human. But we don't think you're an Earthling," Sigma clarified.
"This is ridiculous! Send me back to normal jail—you guys give me the creeps!" Jacques protested.
"Oh, look, boy—the results are in! Good timing," Sigma said, completely ignoring Jacques's outburst. He projected something on the hologram—charts and graphics filling the screen. "Let's see... based on careful calculations and estimations from the DNA cells, structures, and chromosomes, it's been determined by the Alayan official laboratory that you are—not an Earthling!"
"You think I'd believe that?!"
"Based on the chromosome structures and unique identity, science has determined that you are a human from Argonaut. Ever heard of that?" Sigma raised his eyebrows.
"Hell no!"
"It was a tribe on a planet called Martian, from the Vega galaxy. Humans there are unique—they can breach the realms and connect with spirits, forming contracts with their guardian spirits to achieve superhuman powers. We're talking about crushing through concrete walls, breathing fire, even flying!" Sigma's facial expression was so lively, it was hard for Jacques to take him seriously.
"Dude, that sounds like an April Fool's prank. Seriously."
Jacques didn't look excited. He even suspected that this adult was trying to trick him—making up stories to make him feel special. He remembered he once read in the manual book about how the military often used psychological manipulation to gaslight prisoners into believing delusions so they wouldn't attempt to escape. This might just be part of their tactic.
Sigma thought that if this kid saw some pictures, he might believe it.
"Look—these are your people. Taken from real footage approximately 200 years ago."
Sigma played a video showing an Argonaut tribe channeling guardian spirits during a war. They were dressed as normal military personnel, but they had tattoos covering their bodies. When the tattoos glowed, they were able to burst flames from their palms—like human flamethrowers.
The next clip showed an Argonarian summoning a monster from an open sky. The summoned creature tore through a horde of giant bug monsters that had been overpowering Earthlings' artillery.
Jacques's brain struggled to decide whether it was real footage or fake—but he couldn't deny that the footage looked very real.
"Are those real?" Jacques muttered to himself.
"These are real, boy," Sigma's face reappeared on the screen, replacing the footage of the Argonarians at war.
"Why have I never heard of them?"
"Because their planet was destroyed. One hundred years ago. By The Gemmas."
Sigma showed real footage of the Gemma Empire—humanoid alien-like creatures with skin as thick as rock, golden eyes with prism irises, and faces resembling Komodo dragons. The footage showed the intimidating fleets of The Gemma and the brutal destruction of Martian.
"You are the last of your kind, boy. And we all need you—and your power—to stop the Gemma."
Now it really sounds like the beginning of one of those superhero movies, doesn't it?