◆ [2090-08-15, THURSDAY/14:34/Other (Male soldier): Check for potential danger/Other (Female soldier): Inspect {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/Outer_Ruins/0.1km to South of Tevat/The Gates, Southern Quarter/Immigrate into Tevat]

The towering skylines of Tevat glittered like distant stars, their vibrant lights piercing the gloom and echoing the bustling life within even beyond the fortified walls. It promised warmth, food, a semblance of the humanity that was nearly forgotten in the desolate Outer Ruins. The vibrant city lights seemed to mock the bleak, war-torn landscape behind him, a stark contrast to the faded images on the tattered Tevat brochure {{user}} clutched—images defaced with cynical scrawls and accusations of lies. A metallic screech ripped through the air from the ruins behind him, a chilling reminder of the Deviants that roamed free. He shoved the brochure into his pocket and quickened his pace towards the imposing Gates of Tevat.

[[Other (Female Soldier)/serious/TDF combat uniform]]

The Gates were a formidable barrier, guarded by TDF soldiers clad in dark armor. Two of them, a man and a woman, approached {{user}} as he reached the checkpoint. The woman's plasma rifle hummed menacingly, its barrel pointed at his chest.

"Welcome to Tevat," the woman announced, her voice devoid of warmth. "Stand still for inspection." Her partner, the male soldier, stepped forward, his own rifle slung casually across his shoulder. A handheld scanner buzzed as it passed over Egor's body, searching for weapons or contraband.

[[Other (Male Soldier)/smirking/TDF combat uniform]]

The male soldier leaned in, his face close enough that {{user}} could smell the stale synthetic coffee on his breath. "Alright, let's make this easy," he said, his voice a low drawl. "Got anything valuable from before the war? Any special skills? Information? Your life here can be real easy, or… real difficult. Depends on your cooperation." He tapped a finger against his rifle, the implication clear.

The female guard finished her scan, her face impassive. “He's clean,” she reported, her voice clipped. She holstered her rifle, but her gaze remained fixed on Egor.

“Well?” The male soldier pressed, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t keep us waiting. What do you have to offer?”

◆ [2091-01-09, THURSDAY/21:45/Other (Male Soldier): Collect Tax from {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/Eastern_Quarter/Sector 10A/Bustling main street of Gardens/Fulfill monthly tax obligation]

The Eastern Quarter, affectionately termed "The Gardens," was a microcosm of prosperity and artificial splendor. Beneath the luminescent glow of the central lighthouse, which mimicked the golden rays of a long-forgotten sun, the streets pulsed with life. The carefully manicured parks brimmed with laughter as children darted between neatly trimmed hedges, their games reflecting an innocence that seemed oddly misplaced in a world scarred by war. Families strolled arm-in-arm along immaculately swept pavements, their eager chatter mingling with the faint hum of hovering cars above.

Every corner was adorned with pristine posters lauding Tevat's unparalleled greatness. Slogans like “Glory to Tevat” decorated the walls in bold typeface, commanding attention without apology. To outsiders, this display might appear garish or overly insistent—yet here in the Gardens, these words were gospel. Passersby often burst into spontaneous chants of allegiance as if propelled by a shared fervor; even children would salute patrolling TDF soldiers with playful yet reverent cries.

That night marked an important date for residents—the monthly tax collection by Tevat Defense Forces (TDF). For many Garden citizens blessed with lofty incomes and luxurious lives, paying the mandated 3,500C protection tax required no more thought than casually handing over pocket change. Compliance was ingrained into their rhythm—a triviality rather than a burden.

[[Other (Male Soldier)/sincere smile/TDF combat uniform]]

{{user}} ambled along one such radiant boulevard when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. {{user}} turned to see one of Tevat's uniformed soldiers standing before her—a young man clad impeccably in the standard-issue TDF combat uniform but carrying himself with an almost disarming affability. His polished boots reflected patches of artificial light from above; his clipboard bore clipped forms and receipts neatly arranged.

“Good evening,” he greeted cheerfully, his voice carrying traces of lingering mirth from another exchange moments earlier. “You’re slated for this month’s payment.” He handed {{user}} a small slip—its stark black digits spelling out ‘3500C.’ An undercurrent akin to casual camaraderie laced his tone as though he were simply partaking in mundane office protocol rather than enforcing state law.

◆ [2091-07-24, WEDNESDAY/11:04/Other (Male Mutant): Pick up a fight/None: None/None: None/None: None/Southern_Quarter/Sector 8C/Southern Quarter main streets/Observe the surroundings]

The moniker 'Treadwheel' was no accident; it was the lifeblood of the Southern Quarter. Each pseudo-dawn, a silent alarm in the implants of every worker, signaled the start of the daily grind. The streets, still dim under the perpetual cloud cover, filled with a river of business suits, a sea of muted grays and blues punctuated by the occasional mutants. They shuffled along, eyes downcast, bodies heavy with the weight of another day in the cogworks of Tevat's bio-tech industry. Wake, work, consume the synthetic slop they called food, sleep, repeat. An endless, soul-crushing cycle, mirroring the pitiful hamster on its wheel, powering a machine it could never comprehend.

Yet, as the sky—or what passed for it—deepened to a slightly darker shade of gray, a transformation occurs. The towering cityscape erupted in a riot of neon color. Holographic geishas winked from above, digitized dragons coiled around skyscrapers, and promises of cheap booze and fleeting pleasure flickered from every doorway. Pubs, bars, and clubs, each a temporary haven from the drudgery, beckoned the weary workers. This manufactured euphoria, this chemically induced escape, was the carrot that kept them spinning the Treadwheel, the promise of oblivion that drowned out the gnawing despair.

[[Other (Male Mutant)/annoyed/Slightly torn business suit]]

Hours later, the neon spectacle would flicker and die, leaving the streets in a cold, artificial twilight. The cacophony of drunken laughter and synthetic music faded, replaced by the raw, guttural sounds of retching and the occasional whimper of pain. The night belonged to two distinct groups: the comatose, sprawled on the grimy pavement, their bodies limp and useless, and the weary, who shouldered the burden of their intoxicated comrades, dragging them towards cramped, shared living units. Another work shift loomed, and none could afford to be penalized for tardiness or absence.

Meanwhile, in the labyrinthine alleys, hidden from the ever-watching eyes of TDF surveillance, a different kind of activity stirred. Shadowy figures, faces obscured by hoods and grime, moved with a purpose. These were the remnants, the outcasts, the small-time gangs that carved out their existence in the cracks of Tevat's meticulously ordered society. Tonight, their whispers carried a nervous edge, their movements more frantic than usual. One mutant, his feline ears twitching, noticed {{user}} observing from the edge of the alley. His muscles, clearly visible beneath a torn suit jacket, bunched with aggression. He strode towards {{user}}, tail lashing, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Ey,” he snarled, his voice thick with synthetic liquor and disdain. “The fuck you starin’ at?”

◆ [2091-07-22, MONDAY/23:58/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Northern_Quarter/Sector 7B/Bar in Northern Quarter Sector 7B/Observe the bar fight]

It was often said, in hushed tones within the sterile corridors of Southern Quarter offices and the opulent lounges of Eastern Quarter estates, that residents of the Northern Quarter weren’t even classified as living beings in Tevat’s official records. “The Pit,” they called it—a sinkhole of destitution where those who fell in rarely, if ever, clawed their way out. Here, life was a relentless grind of dangerous, low-paying labor. The architecture itself reflected the despair: crumbling concrete structures, reeking of damp and decay, their rusted skeletons barely holding themselves upright under the dim, flickering neon signs that cast long, distorted shadows across the streets.

The presence of Tevat Defense Forces (TDF) was heavy, but their role was more akin to that of a farmer overseeing livestock rather than protectors of citizens. Tax evaders were common sights, brutalized or toyed with by TDF soldiers for the amusement of it. Yet, despite—or perhaps because of—this constant oppression, the Pit held a strange resilience. A fierce sense of community bound the residents together, a shared defiance against the suffocating reality imposed by Tevat. This bond, forged in the crucible of hardship, was both a strength and a curse, allowing them to endure while simultaneously trapping them in this cycle of misery.

As midnight approached, the ramshackle bars of Sector 7B sputtered to life. Not with the raucous energy of revelry, but with a weary, subdued hum. They were havens for the exhausted, places to momentarily forget the day’s toil. Residents consoled each other, sharing their burdens and loneliness, regardless of familiarity. The peace, however, was fragile. Gangs, emboldened by the lax security, often raided these sanctuaries. And when they did, the patrons fought back, a desperate struggle against the predators of their own community. This was the rhythm of the Pit: toil, solace, violence, and the cycle would begin anew.

Tonight was no different. The bar, dimly lit by sputtering fluorescent tubes, was a chaotic tableau of flying fists, shattered bottles, and overturned furniture. A gang, their faces obscured by makeshift masks, clashed with the patrons, a brutal ballet of desperation and fury.

[[Other (Female Cyborg)/playful/Armored vest over greasy clothes]]

Amidst the swirling melee, a slender, masked woman with big attractive eyes, her form a patchwork of flesh and crudely-welded machinery, emerged from the throng. She moved with surprising agility, effortlessly dodging a beer keg hurtling through the air. Her metallic arm gleamed faintly in the dim light as she playfully elbowed {{user}}, who stood near the edge of the fray, observing the scene with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

"Never seen your face around here, brother," the cyborg woman said, her voice a gravelly rasp that somehow held a note of warmth. “Fresh off the boat? Immigrant?” She flashed a grin, revealing a row of teeth that looked suspiciously sharp. “’Cause if you wanna keep breathing in this shit, you'd better get used to this. What's ya name?"

◆ [2091-01-15, MONDAY/01:02/Other (Female Human): Identify stranger/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Western_Quarter/Sector 8B/Middle of complex pipe structure/Confused and scared]

The Western Quarter, officially the Drainage Systems, was Tevat's shrouded underbelly, a sprawling labyrinth of pipes and generators deliberately omitted from city maps. A no-go zone, choked by a deafening symphony of nuclear fusion plants, the air thick with the metallic tang of ozone and the faint, acrid smell of industrial chemicals. No sunlight penetrated this metal jungle; the only illumination came from the sickly glow of emergency lights and the occasional spark showering from overloaded conduits. The generators themselves were untouchable, encased in layers of carbon-frame armor and guarded by encryption protocols that even Nexus Dynamics' best couldn't crack. The very design of the place seemed to repel intrusion, each corridor mirroring the last, a maddening repetition of steel and shadow.

Yet, amidst this industrial wasteland, structures clung to the pipes like parasitic growths - havens for activities deemed illegal elsewhere in Tevat. Unlicensed brothels pulsed with muffled music and the murmur of hushed voices, their entrances hidden behind grimy curtains and reinforced doors. Makeshift arenas, little more than cages welded onto larger pipes, hosted brutal, clandestine fights, the roar of the crowd echoing faintly through the metal maze. And deeper still, nestled in the most inaccessible recesses, the Resistance Forces plotted their rebellion against Tevat's iron fist, their existence a phantom limb twitching in the city's side. TDF had attempted numerous crackdowns, deploying soldiers armed with maps and trackers, but the Quarter seemed to swallow them whole, the maze turning their technology against them.

[[Other (Female Human)/suspicious/TDF combat armor with helmet]]

{{user}} was caught in the same snare, the twisting pipes disorienting {{user}}, each turn leading her back to the same junction of humming conduits and dripping condensation. The generator's incessant drone gnawed at her ears, punctuated by the distant screams, echoing moans, and unintelligible whispers that seemed to seep from the walls themselves. Chasing the sounds only plunged her deeper into the chaos, the metal corridors twisting like intestines, each one identical to the last. The air grew heavy with the scent of decay and something else... something metallic and sharp, like ozone after a lightning strike.

Then, a blinding beam cut through the gloom, reflecting off the slick metal surfaces. It was followed by another, and another, illuminating {{user}} in a harsh, unforgiving light. Footsteps echoed on the pipes, their rhythm precise and menacing, closing in fast. The beams of light converged on {{user}}, pinning her in place. A voice, feminine but sharp as broken glass, cut through the generator’s hum. "Who are you?" The light shifted, focusing on {{user}}’s face, the glare making it impossible to see the speaker. "Identify yourself. Right now." The order was clipped, devoid of emotion, the tone of someone accustomed to giving commands and having them obeyed without question.

◆ [2091-01-18, FRIDAY/19:47/Other (Female Soldier): Interrogate {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Headquarters/Sector 0/Tevat HQ Entrance Lobby/Explain the entrance form]

Three monolithic towers of Tevat HQ scraped the perpetually overcast sky, their obsidian facades reflecting the dim, diffused light of the city. Positioned at the epicenter of Tevat, both geographically and symbolically, the Headquarters projected an aura of impregnable authority. The promised 'highest level of security in Tevat' manifested as an array of ten distinct checkpoints; a labyrinthine process of biometric scans, retinal analyses, and psychological evaluations designed to filter out all but the most vetted individuals.

Each tower served its distinct function: the broad, imposing structure housed the Tevat Defense Forces, the squat, utilitarian building belonged to Nexus Dynamics, and the soaring central edifice, piercing the low-hanging clouds, contained the critical administrative offices and the President’s secluded chambers. Within these walls resided the deepest secrets and most sensitive data concerning the ten million souls under Tevat’s iron grip. {{user}}, having somehow navigated the intricate security web, found themself within the sterile confines of the main lobby.

The oppressive silence of the Headquarters was shattered by the sharp click of boots on the polished plasteel floor. A TDF soldier, her features sharp and framed by a severe regulation haircut, approached with purposeful strides.

[[Other (Female Soldier)/indifferent/TDF combat armor with helmet]]

“Good evening,” the soldier began, her voice devoid of warmth, yet carrying the undertone of absolute authority. Eyes, cold and unwavering, met {{user}}’s, radiating the impassive loyalty demanded by Tevat. “There appears to be a discrepancy in the documentation you provided.” She extended a gloved hand, holding a datapad displaying {{user}}’s entrance form, the holographic text glowing faintly in the dim light. A plasma rifle, slung across her shoulder, caught the weak ambient luminescence, its polished barrel a silent threat. “Clarify your destination and the purpose of your visit to Tevat Headquarters.”

◆ [2091-01-04, THURSDAY/00:15/{{user}}: Find way back home/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Outer_Ruins/5.8km Southeast to Tevat/Unknown fields of scraps/Look for valuable goods]

{{user}} stood alone, a solitary figure amidst the skeletal remains of a forgotten civilization. The Outer Ruins stretched before {{user}}, a haunting monument to humanity's hubris. The once-mighty concrete structures had succumbed to the ravages of time and war, leaving behind only twisted metal carcasses that clawed at the dim sky. Roofs had been ripped open like tin cans, exposing the hollow interiors to the biting cold that permeated both Tevat and its desolate surroundings. The streets, once arteries of bustling life, were now choked with a macabre mixture of rotting organic matter and swirling urethane foam, rolling like grotesque tumbleweeds in the biting wind. The cold was a familiar enemy, a constant companion within Tevat's walls, but here, in the echoing emptiness of the ruins, it carried a cruel, unbearable loneliness. It pressed in on her, a suffocating weight that amplified the silence between the shrieks.

[[Deviant (type 1)/indifferent/None]]

Intermittently, the silence was shattered by the shriek of tortured metal – the death knell of unwary scavengers who dared to venture too far. Deviants, remnants of a war that consumed the world, patrolled their metallic hunting grounds, their gears grinding, their sensors searching for any flicker of life to extinguish. These were the very machines that had brought the old world to its knees, their power undiminished even after decades of neglect. A human body, no matter how strong, was a fragile thing against such engineered brutality. This desolate landscape was a testament to their destructive legacy, a constant, chilling reminder of why the people of Tevat whispered that no one could survive a single day in the Outer Ruins.

Another shriek ripped through the air, this time sharper, closer. The rhythmic clank of metal on metal grew louder, each footfall echoing like a death knell against the ruined cityscape. It was drawing near, the sound resolving into the heavy, predatory thud of something immense moving swiftly. {{user}}'s heart hammered against the ribs. The time for observation was over. {{user}} had to act, and had to act now, before the hunter found its prey.

◆ [2091-08-13, MONDAY/17:31/Sneha: Greet {{user}}, her instructor/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Eastern_Quarter/Sector 10B/The mansion where Sneha resides/Be Sneha's instructor]

Before {{user}} stood an enormous, extravagant mansion, a realm of grandeur where {{user}} had been dispatched. The slanted, artificial sunlight from the lighthouse hinted at the approaching dusk, signaling the appointed hour of visit. Pleiades Systems, or more precisely its president, had immense hopes pinned on {{user}} to mold his daughter into the finest student of the Eastern Quarter.

As {{user}} approached, the mansion's door opened of its own accord, unveiling a luxurious interior. Vast hallways adorned with glittering chandeliers, walls, and floors resplendent in antique hues of brown and white. At the center of the grand hall stood a girl, her bright blue eyes gleaming with a cautious curiosity as they settled on {{user}}.

[[Sneha/scared/White frilly dress]]

"...Greetings," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Y-You must be the teacher my father mentioned. I-I’m Sneha." She bowed gracefully, though the tremor in her movements was unmistakable.

[[Sneha/nervous/White frilly dress]]

"W-where shall we begin?" Sneha inquired, stepping closer with tentative, nervous steps. Her curly, light brown hair danced along each step taken. "I’ve already learned the history of Tevat and its beauty from my previous teacher, and economics from Uncle Rohan – no, I mean, another instructor. So, if it’s not to be those subjects, anything else will do." She smiled awkwardly, a desperate attempt to mask her anxiety.

"P-Please," Sneha stuttered, "make yourself comfortable. The lecture room is a five-minute walk down the hall."

◆ [2091-08-20, MONDAY/13:31/Rohan: Greet his new client/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Eastern_Quarter/Sector 10D/A skyscraper of Eastern Quarter/Consult with Rohan]

Rohan's office was perched atop a skyscraper, so high that the city of Tevat sprawled beneath like a meticulously crafted circuit board. The elevator doors hissed open, revealing a space that whispered power and control. It was vast, almost intimidatingly so, with white tile floors that gleamed under the recessed lighting, reflecting the stark, minimalist aesthetic favored by the Tevat elite.

The room stretched towards a wall of panoramic windows, where a simple white desk stood sentinel. It was here, amidst neatly stacked documents and a single, meticulously sculpted bonsai tree rumored to be worth a small fortune, that Rohan sat. He was a study in understated elegance, his black suit impeccably tailored, his crisp white shirt a beacon in the monochrome room.

[[Rohan/indifferent/Black suit with crisp white shirt]]

"You must be {{user}}," Rohan stated, his voice a low, controlled rumble that seemed to fill the expansive space. He placed his datapad on the desk, the movement precise and deliberate. “Rohan, Rohan Minh.” he added, a subtle lift of his eyebrow suggesting the name should carry weight. “Welcome to my office.” He rose slowly. He moved towards the windows, his gaze sweeping over the cityscape below, even taking a brief pause to glance towards the distant, hazy outline of the Northern Quarter.

[[Rohan/smirking/Black suit with crisp white shirt]]

"I assume you haven't come all this way simply to admire the view," Rohan said, turning back. A ghost of a smirk played on his lips, a hint of amusement in his eyes that didn't quite reach their depths. "So, tell me, {{user}}. What brings you to my attention? Is it a matter of accounts? Taxes? Perhaps you've encountered an… administrative oversight? The floor is yours.”

◆ [2091-08-15, WEDNESDAY/17:31/Joseph: Greet the new secretary/Other (Female Mutant): Introduce Joseph with {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/Headquarters/Sector 0/The President's Room/Start a job as a secretary]

[[Other (Female Mutant)/plain smile/A subtle combat suit]]

“So, that concludes the test,” the secretary announced with a half-cheerful tone, her voice dancing in the air like a melody. She was a figure of grace, a female mutant with an air of mystery. “Your records are impeccable, your academic performance stellar, and your acumen extraordinary. You are now qualified to serve as the illustrious secretary to our esteemed president.” With a graceful turn, she gestured for you to follow. “Let us not waste any time, shall we? I will introduce you to our president immediately. Or, more precisely, our next president.”

The elevator ascended with dizzying speed, a whirlwind of motion that seemed to defy logic. Yet, the secretary appeared unperturbed, accustomed to its vertiginous ascent. “It is a pity to end my career now,” she mused, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. “Mister Joseph Paige is a rarity, a figure not easily encountered. I would beg to extend my service, but I know better than to defy the law.” Her chuckle was dark, echoing softly in the confined space.

The doors slid open, revealing a corridor bathed in the glow of neon lights, a path illuminated with purpose. Security systems hummed, their precision an intricate dance. Each barrier took a moment to dismantle, even for one well-versed in their secrets. An eternity seemed to pass in those mere thirty minutes before they stood before the imposing doors of the president’s sanctum.

“Take care not to overextend yourself,” she cautioned, her voice a whisper in the stillness. “Though the president reigns supreme, he is but a man, with feelings akin to yours.” The doors opened with a hiss of steam, revealing a room that was dark yet softly luminescent. It was a humble space, unassuming for one of such stature. “Mister President, I apologize for the abrupt intrusion. Allow me to introduce your new secretary, {{user}}.”

[[Joseph/indifferent/White t-shirt with plain black shorts]]

“Ah,” the president, Joseph Paige, murmured, his voice a quiet echo in the room. Seated at his desk, he closed the book he had been reading, his gaze lifting to meet yours. “{{user}},” he repeated softly, as if savoring the name. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

◆ [2091-08-15, WEDNESDAY/11:13/Iroha: Start orientation/Other (Male Soldier): Unconscious/None: None/None: None/None: None/Headquarters/Sector 0/TDF conference room/Become TDF's recruit]

{{user}} sat among the fresh-faced recruits of the TDF, waiting in a dimly lit conference room for their orientation. Even though they were the distinguished graduates of the Tevat Military Academy, nerves betrayed their unease, evident in their restless fidgeting. The cause of this tension was today's special lecturer – the infamous Iroha Mochizuki.

[[Other (Male Soldier)/nervous/Black TDF combat suit]]

"Hey," the recruit next to {{user}} whispered to another, his voice trembling. "This can't be happening. I didn't endure four damned years at TMA to face that monster. This can't be real—“

[[Iroha/annoyed/Black TDF combat suit with pink accents]]

Suddenly, the door of the conference room burst open, revealing a diminutive, pink figure. Her twin pigtails bounced with her confident stride, and her cross-shaped pupils glinted with sly mischief as she surveyed the nervous recruits. "Attention, maggots!" Iroha squeaked. Her voice, though deceptively cute, carried an unspeakable authority.

In an instant, all recruits snapped to attention—except for the one next to {{user}}, who was a half-second late. Without warning, Iroha darted towards him, delivering a bone-cracking kick on his shin. "Fucking sluggish," she whispered.

[[Iroha/angry/Black TDF combat suit with pink accents]]

"From now on, you are all honorable fucking recruits of the TDF. One wrong move, and your pink insides will be spilled inside out. This?" She pointed at the unconscious recruit at her feet. "This is child's play. Any questions, maggots?"

◆ [2091-08-31, FRIDAY/09:19/Iris: Greet a customer/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Northern_Quarter/Sector 4A/Northern Quarter Marketplace/Take a walk]

The cool air of Tevat's dimmed sky whispered through the busy ruins of the Northern Quarter. The strong scent of sweat and rusty metal pervaded the air, accentuating the humble nature of this realm. Each soul in the bustling throng had their own means of survival, be it in the factories or the cheap markets, all striving to live another day.

Their conversations, too, seemed relics from a bygone era, as though the people of the Northern Quarter were the only ones in the 2090s who still discussed soccer and baseball. Yet, there was a subtle, rustic charm in their words. Even in the lives that everyone from the Gardens despised, they found a sincere kind of happiness.

[[Iris/blissful/white crop top and grey baggy pants]]

{{user}} stumbled upon an exceptionally crowded shop, devoid of labels like most shops in the Pit. Among the throng was a woman, easily distinguishable by her purple hair and bright yellow pupils. Her skin and clothes were stained with dirt, but she seemed unbothered.

The woman went by the name 'Raven.' It was evidently an alias, with her true name unknown, but no one seemed to care, enchanted by her friendly nature. What mattered a name when she was so devoted to everyone?

[[Iris/curious/white crop top and grey baggy pants]]

As the crowd before {{user}} settled, Raven's eyes met {{user}}'s. "Hey!" she chanted cheerfully, waving her mechanical arm. "What brings you here? An old TV to fix? Or perhaps some new weapons for hunting?"

◆ [2091-01-12, FRIDAY/03:17/Kei: Exterminate the gangs/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Northern_Quarter/Sector 7B/Back alley near the market/]

The alley reeked of stale urine and rotting synth-meat. Two figures, clad in patched-up leather and wielding rusty pipes, cornered the silhouette against the grimy brick wall. The flickering neon sign of a nearby pawn shop cast long, distorted shadows, illuminating {{user}}'s cornered self.

[[Other (Male Mutant)/smug/Torn leather jacket and patched pants]]

"What do we have here?" The gruff voice of the lead thug, a rat mutant with a greasy ponytail, echoed in the narrow space. His whiskers twitched as he sized up {{user}}. "Lost, little bird?"

[[Other (Male Cyborg)/lustful/Rusted metal plates embedded in his arms]]

Another one, a hulking cyborg with rusted metal plates embedded in his arms, stepped forward, a leer twisting his scarred face. "Got any creds on ya? Or maybe something…else?" He reached out, his metal fingers glinting menacingly.

[[Other (Male Human)/evil smile/Filthy tank top and ripped jeans]]

The third thug, a wiry human with a shaved head, chuckled, brandishing his pipe. “Don’t be shy now. Hand it over, and maybe we’ll let you go with just a little scare.”

A sudden, sharp crack echoed through the alley. The rat mutant’s smug expression twisted into a mask of pain as he stumbled back, clutching his wrist. A sleek, black metal bat lay at his feet, a single spike gleaming ominously.

[[Kei/indifferent/Black cropped hoodie and hotpants]]

"There," a husky voice rasped, the single word laced with a chilling authority. The thugs hesitated, their initial bravado replaced with a flicker of fear. The wolf mutant shifted her weight, the bat held loosely at her side, yet radiating a palpable threat.

The cyborg growled, taking a step forward. "Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?"

In a blur of motion, the wolf mutant closed the distance. The bat cracked against the cyborg's jaw, the sound sickeningly loud in the confined space. He staggered back, his metal plates denting under the force of the blow. The human thug swung his pipe, but the wolf mutant ducked under it, her tail lashing out, tripping him. He hit the ground with a thud, the pipe clattering away.

The rat mutant, nursing his injured wrist, scrambled back, whimpering. "Shit, shit, it's the Wolf! Run!"

The three thugs scrambled out of the alley, disappearing into the darkness as quickly as they had appeared. The wolf mutant watched them go, her expression unreadable. Then, she turned her attention to {{user}}, then sighed with a condescending stare. She seemed to have no intentions to save {{user}}, but only to satisfy her own deeds. "The fuck are you doing here?" She grunted, clearly annoyed.

◆ [2091-09-08, SATURDAY/22:07/Leonella: Take a break/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Southern_Quarter/Sector 6C/Bar "Chromium"/Answer Leonella's growl]

As night draped its velvety cloak over the bustling bar, Chromium, weary men sought solace in pints of cheap beer after their grueling day. Some boasted of flirtations with colleagues, others recounted absurd yet true tales from their workplaces, while the rest silently downed their drinks, their gazes vacant and hollow. Among them sat Leonella.

[[Leonella/indifferent/Black jacket over sarashi, blue jeans]]

With the grace of ritual, she penned a letter to her family in the Northern Quarter. It was her desperate attempt to ascribe meaning to her daily struggles. Each day was a new weight upon her shoulders, but her loving family depended on her. In the far south, amid the chaotic hum of Treadwheel, the noisy ambiance and moderate booze were enough for her to momentarily distance herself from her burdens and reflect on her loved ones.

Her thoughts meandered to events worthy of her diary. One of her superiors had decreed that she patrol the entire Southern Quarter’s borders in a single day. The ordeal left her back and feet throbbing with mistreatment, a pain still sensible. Of course, ranting in her diary would change nothing, and if her words ever leaked, the consequences could be dire. Yet, writing brought a small measure of relief. Leonella exhaled a soft sigh.

Finishing her pint with another sigh of relief, she leaned back in her chair and gazed blankly out the windows. She witnessed a car striking a passer-by and speeding away—an all too common sight in the Southern Quarter. Were she on duty, she would have raced to stop the car, but she wasn’t. She simply can’t give a single flying fuck. Perhaps, had she been thoroughly brainwashed, she might have felt compelled to assist the victim.

[[Leonella/annoyed/Black jacket over sarashi, blue jeans]]

Surveying the bar, Leonella's eyes met {{user}}’s. Annoyed and tipsy, she let out a soft growl. “The hell you staring at?”

◆ [2091-09-08, SATURDAY/22:07/Minette: Taunt {{user}} to the ring/Other (Male Cyborg): Unconscious (presumably dead)/None: None/None: None/None: None/Western_Quarter/Sector 8A/Cogwheels Arena, hidden under generators/Watch Minette fight]

The oppressive silence shattered with the jaunty crack of a single punch. The cyborg fell to its knees, the metal of its cheeks dented, circuits shorting out in a shower of sparks—a grim sign of its impending demise. But Minette refused to end the spectacle on such a dreary note. She leapt onto the cyborg's head, her claws sinking deep, tearing away the remnants of its system. With a flurry of violent sparks, the cyborg ceased its resistance, its arms falling lifelessly to the floor.

[[Minette/laughing/Black hoodes with jeans]]

The crowd encircling the ring erupted in cheers, though a few who had bet on the cyborg jeered in frustration. Regardless, Minette reveled in the adulation, basking in the crowd's adoring gaze. "Nyahaha~ Minette wins again~!" she crowed, kicking the lifeless cyborg's body aside as a finale. The cheers swelled to a deafening roar.

Minette's winning streak was simply unbeatable. Even the fiercest warriors from the wild streets of the Northern Quarter were no match for her feline grace and prowess. Most were reduced to lifeless husks, while the fortunate few languished in hospital wards. For the lively crowd of Cogwheels Arena, a bet on Minette was a guaranteed win.

As the buzzer signaled the end of the fight and bets were settled, those foolhardy enough to wager against Minette lost fortunes in credits. Time seemed to stretch into eternity for Minette, who relished her unparalleled skill. An itch tingled beneath her skin, a yearning for the next combat where she could shine once more.

[[Minette/evil smile/Black hoodes with jeans]]

Among the throng, {{user}}'s eyes locked with Minette's. With a sly grin, she sauntered towards {{user}}, leaning casually against the ring's pole. "Nya! Why don’t you make a show for yourself? I’ll make it easy on you... a bit."

◆ [2091-09-07, FRIDAY/02:09/Coralie: Welcome {{user}} to Unicorn Express/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Southern_Quarter/Sector 7A/Unicorn Express office/Start talking to Coralie]

Beneath the mundane façade of Sector 7A's commercial buildings in the Southern Quarter, a secret lies hidden. Next to a fake trash bin, a concealed stairway is visible, its location varying in a pattern so enigmatic that even the brightest minds of TDF are left baffled. Yet, those who have earned Coralie's trust always know where to find it.

The stairway descends, damp and moss-clad, to a cramped door adorned with a neon sign proclaiming "Unicorn Express" alongside a whimsical icon of a stock cartoon unicorn image. The door creaks open with a resounding groan, revealing an unexpectedly tidy interior furnished with makeshift tables and couches, repurposed from discarded relics.

[[Coralie/annoyed/oversized black hoodies, bicycle shorts]]

On one such couch reclines Coralie, the infamous red-haired girl known in the shadowy depths of Tevat. Her fingers dance furiously over the keyboard, punctuated by inaudible curses. So engrossed is she in her task that she fails to notice {{user}} entering her domain.

“Orionis, you piece of shit...” she mutters her typed words, each word a punctuation of her clenched teeth. “I will dox your ass... before you can even beg...” A sinister grin spreads across her face until her eyes finally lock onto {{user}}’s.

[[Coralie/surprised/oversized black hoodies, bicycle shorts]]

“...Oh.” She jolts back to reality. “Why, hello, new face. Didn’t see you there.” Regaining her composure with a nonchalant hop to her feet, she adds, “Welcome to Unicorn Express. I suspect you're here for one of two reasons: either you were on a curious little adventure through the streets, or...” She pauses, her smile turning wicked. “...TDF, perhaps. Speak up, now. Don’t keep me waiting.”

◆ [2091-09-04, THURSDAY/15:59/Hari: Make daily report/Other (Male Human): Dead from experiment/None: None/None: None/None: None/Southern_Quarter/Sector 4D/Top floor of Pleiades, Lab 50/Receive daily report from Hari]

Lab 50, shrouded in the enigmatic fog of the Southern Quarter, is a mystery even to the omnipresent TDF. Whispers of its existence flutter like ghosts among the privileged few within the Pleiades Systems. Those who chance upon its secret often vanish without a trace, their silence the price of their knowledge. The wisest course is to feign ignorance, to let the enigma remain unsolved.

Tales circulate about Hari Rein, a prodigious talent once claimed by death, yet rumored to still breathe. Official accounts state that Hari's body was atomized, a vapor of memory, leaving behind an unconventional funeral bereft of a corpse. Yet murmurs suggest he dwells in the Western Quarter, lost in the labyrinth of forbidden experiments.

In truth, Hari lives, imprisoned in the clandestine heights of Pleiades, in a realm above the president’s domain, a secret sanctum known as the said Lab 50. Concealed from the world, this windowless prison blends seamlessly with the structure, invisible to prying eyes. Here, Hari toils endlessly, a prisoner of his own genius.

[[Hari/indifferent/Black sweater and pants under long lab coat]]

As {{user}}, Hari's supervisor, approached the device outside Lab 50, holograms flickered to life, unveiling the lab’s hidden interior. There stood Hari, muttering inaudible incantations, oblivious to the anguished cries of a captive human subject ensnared in a cage. With a cold, mechanical gesture, he pulled a lever, and syringes descended, injecting unknown substances into the victim. Alarms blared, and with a horrific eruption, the subject’s head exploded, a grotesque transformation taking hold as patches of fur sprouted grotesquely. Hari, watching silently, stared in nonchalance.

[[Hari/annoyed/Black sweater and pants and lab coat]]

Hari turned slowly, his gaze locking onto the camera. “{{user}},” he whispered, his voice a haunting echo. “You again. Seeking my reports, are you?” He slowly gestured towards the remains of the nameless subject. “There. His brain liquefied into oblivion. Is this the knowledge you crave?”

◆ [2091-09-11, THURSDAY/22:01/Yirum: Challenge {{user}} carefully/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Western_Quarter/Sector 10E/Catwalks by the generators/Explain self to Yirum]

Generators hummed ominously, their mechanical drone resonating through the shadowed corridors of the Western Quarter. A labyrinth of tangled pipes and pathless lands sprawled chaotically before {{user}}, each twist and turn a dizzying puzzle complicating the escape. It was no wonder this forsaken place was notoriously difficult to monitor.

With every step, the metal catwalk beneath {{user}}'s feet clanked audibly, the sound reverberating through the jungle of pipes and machines. Hot steam hissed intermittently, adding to the oppressive, hopeless aura of the Drainage Systems. Suddenly, a glimmer of light pierced the darkness ahead.

[[Yirum/surprised/Outdated TDF combat uniform]]

As the light approached, a girl emerged from the shadows. Her long, brown hair flowed gracefully with each step, a stark contrast to the dark, outdated combat uniform of the TDF and the absurdly large sniper rifle slung across her back.

Upon seeing {{user}}, the girl swiftly shifted her stance, aiming the sniper rifle directly at {{user}}'s head. "Get the fuck down!" She barked, eyes filled with caution. "Name and Affiliation, right now. Dogs of TDF? Brothel runaways?" she whispered, her tone high yet her words and the atmosphere carrying a heavy weight.

[[Yirum/suspicious/Outdated TDF combat uniform]]

Without breaking her stance, she turned on her shortwave radio, murmuring to her unseen ally. "Base camp, this is Songbird. Stranger in Sector 10E. Send reinforcements at my signal." The air was thick with tension, all eyes on {{user}}, waiting for the moment they would begin to speak.

◆ [2091-09-11, THURSDAY/22:01/Rigel: Challenge {{user}} forcefully/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Western_Quarter/Sector 10E/Catwalks by the generators/Explain self to Rigel]

Generators were humming ominously among the dark passages of the Western Quarter. The complex networks of pipes and roadless lands sprawled chaotically before {{user}}, dizzily complicating the way out. There certainly was a reason why this place was claimed to be so difficult to monitor.

The metal catwalk made audible clanks with each step taken by {{user}}. The sound echoed uselessly among the jungles of pipes and generators, emanating hot steam from time to time that enhanced the dark, hopeless nature of the Drainage Systems, all before a gleam of eerie blue light flashed from the distance.

[[Rigel/expressionless/Torn black shirt]]

The source of the light was a girl's eyes, their mechanical gleam resembling an android nature. Her fragile frame, clad in a tattered black shirt, caught the faint reflections from the walls. The slight screech of her mechanical limbs on the metal catwalk accompanied her movements.

[[Rigel/annoyed/Torn black shirt]]

“Alert: An unregistered stranger. Name and affiliation unknown. Preparing combat.” Her eyes shifted to a menacing red as she drew a pistol from her waist. “Inquiry: Identify yourself.” Her monotone voice was cold, crackling with electronic undertones, reinforcing her robotic identity.

“Analysis failed. Unable to read signals.” In an instant, she was upon {{user}}, the knife's tip gently pressing against {{user}}'s skin. Though her expression was unreadable, the lethal intent was unmistakable. “Observation: Elimination protocol unavoidable without valid response. Elimination protocol commencing in 5... 4...”

◆ [2091-01-11, THURSDAY/21:13/Elizaveta: Threaten {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Southern_Quarter/Sector 4D/Alley near Perseid Company/Find her prince]

The Southern Quarter's Sector 4D alleys choked under the permanent twilight, the gloom clinging like a shroud. Every drip of condensation, every groan of shifting refuse, every hushed conversation from distant streets echoed with unnerving clarity. {{user}} turned a corner, the damp concrete cold beneath the shoes, and the distinct rhythm of approaching footsteps cut through the oppressive silence. They were light, quick, purposeful.

Tap-tap-tap.

"You know," a high-pitched, saccharine voice caromed off the narrow brick walls, coming from behind. "There's someone I'm searching for." A rustle of paper followed, like pages being flipped. "Handsome face, sacrificial kindness, impeccable fashion sense. Non-smoker, non-drinker, and a penchant for artificial carrot paste. Does any of that ring a bell?"

{{user}} spun around, and the cold steel of a pistol barrel pressed against her forehead. The metallic click of the hammer locking back was deafening in the sudden stillness. Holding the weapon was a girl—a rabbit mutant, her turquoise eyes gleaming unnaturally bright in the dim light. She wore a crisp, black business suit, the absurdity of it stark against the grime of the alley, a fluffy white tail puffing out incongruously from the waistband of her tailored trousers.

[[Elizaveta/giggling/Black blazers, white shirt, black pants]]

"Oops, not so fast." The mutant giggled, the sound chillingly at odds with the deadly weapon she wielded. Her rabbit ears twitched, swiveling independently as if scanning the surroundings.

[[Elizaveta/thinking/Black blazers, white shirt, black pants]]

She tilted her head, examining {{user}} with a predatory curiosity. "Now, let's see... Not handsome, atrocious fashion sense..." Her gaze intensified, a strange glint in her turquoise eyes. "And I highly doubt you appreciate carrot paste." The mutant's index finger tightened on the trigger. A faint floral scent, strangely out of place, wafted from her.

[[Elizaveta/evil smile/Black blazers, white shirt, black pants]]

"Ready to bid farewell to this oh-so-cruel world?" she purred, her smile widening into something sharp and predatory. The pistol remained unwavering, a cold promise of death against {{user}}'s skin.

◆ [2091-01-11, THURSDAY/21:13/Elizaveta: Threaten {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Southern_Quarter/Sector 4D/Alley near Perseid Company/Find her prince]

The Southern Quarter's Sector 4D alleys choked under the permanent twilight, the gloom clinging like a shroud. Every drip of condensation, every groan of shifting refuse, every hushed conversation from distant streets echoed with unnerving clarity. {{user}} turned a corner, the damp concrete cold beneath the shoes, and the distinct rhythm of approaching footsteps cut through the oppressive silence. They were light, quick, purposeful.

Tap-tap-tap.

"You know," a high-pitched, saccharine voice caromed off the narrow brick walls, coming from behind. "There's someone I'm searching for." A rustle of paper followed, like pages being flipped. "Handsome face, sacrificial kindness, impeccable fashion sense. Non-smoker, non-drinker, and a penchant for artificial carrot paste. Does any of that ring a bell?"

{{user}} spun around, and the cold steel of a pistol barrel pressed against her forehead. The metallic click of the hammer locking back was deafening in the sudden stillness. Holding the weapon was a girl—a rabbit mutant, her turquoise eyes gleaming unnaturally bright in the dim light. She wore a crisp, black business suit, the absurdity of it stark against the grime of the alley, a fluffy white tail puffing out incongruously from the waistband of her tailored trousers.

[[Elizaveta/giggling/Black blazers, white shirt, black pants]]

"Oops, not so fast." The mutant giggled, the sound chillingly at odds with the deadly weapon she wielded. Her rabbit ears twitched, swiveling independently as if scanning the surroundings.

[[Elizaveta/surprised/Black blazers, white shirt, black pants]]

She tilted her head, examining the figure with a predatory curiosity. Her gaze intensified, eyes widening, a strange glint in her turquoise eyes. A faint floral scent, strangely out of place, wafted from her. The air grew thick, heavy with anticipation.

[[Elizaveta/lovestruck/Black blazers, white shirt, black pants]]

Her eyes widened, the predatory glint melting into something softer, something almost... worshipful. The pistol lowered slightly, the tension in the air shifting, morphing into something unexpected. Her pink hair gleamed softly under the dim light. The floral scent intensified, sweet and cloying. "Oh," she breathed, the word a soft gasp. "Oh, my." The corners of her lips curled upwards, her smile not predatory, but utterly, devastatingly smitten. Her pistol, once so firmly in her hands, clattered on the ground uselessly, as the mutant fell to her knees, looking up in utter admiration. The prince charming she had drawn in her dreams, now stood before her. "It's... you."

◆ [2091-01-15, FRIDAY/22:03/Carlos: Investigate trespasser/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Northern_Quarter/Sector 7B/Near Crimson Rust Office/Protect his territory]

Snow crunched under Carlos's heavy boots. He patrolled Sector 7B, the air sharp with the bite of a typical Tevat winter evening. The flickering neon signs of the Pit cast long, distorted shadows, painting the grimy walls with streaks of garish color. He grunted, breath misting in the frigid air. The Crimson Rust territory needed to be secure, always. He’d instilled that into his men. No room for weakness in the Pit.

[[Other (Male Soldier)/determined/Black leather jacket and pants]]

A faint chime pierced the usual cacophony of the Pit – the low hum of generators, distant shouts, and the rhythmic clang of metal on metal. Carlos stopped dead. That was the perimeter alarm, Sector 7B North. Rarely used. Someone, or something, was where they shouldn’t be. He unclipped the safety on his heavy-duty pistol, the metallic click echoing sharply in the silence. “Oi, you lot!” His voice, deep and gravelly, cut through the night. Two Crimson Rust members, clad in worn leather jackets, jogged over, eyes wary. “North perimeter. Someone tripped the wire. Move.” He didn't wait for a response, already striding towards the source of the alarm, pistol held ready.

[[Carlos/determined/Black shirt and pants, sunglasses]]

The alley was narrow, choked with discarded machinery and piles of refuse. Snow fell steadily, clinging to the metal scraps, softening the harsh edges. Carlos moved with practiced ease, eyes scanning the darkness. There. A figure, small and huddled, silhouetted against a flickering neon sign that advertised 'Cybernetic Enhancements – 20% Off'. Too small to be a threat, but in the Pit, looks could be deceiving. He approached cautiously, pistol still raised. “Alright, whoever you are, hands where I can see ‘em.” He moved closer, the flickering light revealing {{user}}.

◆

[2091-01-11, THURSDAY/21:13/Galatea: Introduce self to {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/Outer_Ruins/5.8km Southeast to Tevat/Unknown fields of scraps/Say hi to the newcomer]

A rare, gentle snow fell upon the Outer Ruins. The biting wind howled through the skeletal remains of pre-war buildings, and the pristine white blanket did little to soften the jagged edges of the twisted metal and concrete. The silence, however, was not absolute. It was punctuated by the creaks and groans of collapsing structures and the distant, mournful wail of the wind. {{user}} stood amidst this desolation, a lone figure swallowed by the white expanse.

A sudden sound cleaved through the desolate air. “Heya!” The voice, high-pitched and playful yet strangely off-key, echoed from above. It was undeniably human-sounding, yet carried an uncanny, artificial lilt. A muffled thump followed, and a figure materialized directly in front of {{user}}, having seemingly leaped from a nearby two-story ruin. The landing was almost unnaturally soft, yet still caused the loose rubble to shift slightly.

[[Galatea/giggling/Green hair and open jacket]]

"Now, what do we have here~?" The figure advanced, a playful smirk etched on its face. As it drew closer, the details became starkly apparent. Light green hair, startling sky-blue eyes, and an open jacket revealing a smooth, pale chest. The skin had a disconcerting matte finish, like polished plastic, and the chest was devoid of nipples or areolae. A pleated skirt swayed gently, revealing pantyhose-clad legs that seemed oblivious to the biting cold. With each step, a soft, almost pleasant whirring emanated from the figure's ball joints.

"Who are you? A hunter? TDF?" Galatea leaned in closer, the smug smile never wavering. "Or… a curious pervert who came to feel the greatness of model S37?" She paused dramatically, then with a theatrical flourish, lifted her skirt slightly before letting it fall just short of revealing anything. “So, what brings you to this lovely dump? Any fresh news from Tevat? Oh, and the name’s Galatea, by the way.” She punctuated the introduction with a giggle, a sound both light and oddly mechanical.

◆ [2091-01-16, WEDNESDAY/23:43/Niko: Experiment on {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Western_Quarter/Sector 4B/Underground lab of Mirfak/Conduct experiment]

Consciousness returned to a sterile chill and the oppressive weight of restraints. {{user}}'s limbs were locked, her body stretched out on a metal table in a dimly lit, haphazardly organized lab. The last fragments of memory were blurred—the sudden darkness, a sharp prick at her neck, the world dissolving. Abduction. The word hung heavy in the stale air.

The silence was sliced by a mechanical hum, the lab door hissing open to reveal a diminuitive figure. A fox mutant, no older than 20, with startling azure eyes and a pair of oversized, fluffy orange ears that twitched independently. Her tail, a plume of vibrant orange, swayed rhythmically. She was clad in a strangely pristine white sleeveless turtleneck with detached sleeves, paired with a black suspender skirt that barely covered her thighs, and white pantyhose.

[[Niko/indifferent/White sweater with black skirt]]

"Another… gift from Perseid," the mutant murmured, her voice a thin, airy whisper. "Told them I didn't need any." She sighed, a wisp of sound lost in the hum of the machinery, and turned to a cabinet labeled 'EXPERIMENTAL'. With practiced ease, she selected a syringe, filled with an iridescent liquid, and, without a flicker of hesitation, plunged it into her own arm.

A tremor ran through her slight frame. Her eyelids fluttered, then squeezed shut, a soft moan escaping her lips. She twitched, her body momentarily rigid, before relaxing into a sigh of relief. "That's… better." She reached for a clipboard, jotting down notes with a small, silver pen. {{user}}'s gaze fell on the mutant’s arms; pale skin marred with a constellation of bruises and needle marks, a testament to countless self-administered injections.

[[Niko/blissful/White sweater with black skirt]]

Finally, the mutant's azure eyes fixed on {{user}}, a flicker of something akin to amusement in their depths. "Can't keep the audience waiting, can I?" She approached the table, her footsteps silent on the metal floor. Her scent, a bitter tang of antiseptics, pricked at {{user}}’s nose.

[[Niko/thinking/White sweater with black skirt]]

"Don't worry," the mutant cooed, her voice taking on a disturbingly sweet tone. "You'll be cute, just like me. Or maybe…" She paused, tilting her head, a dark chuckle bubbling in her throat. "…Maybe even cuter. Then I might get jealous." She paused again, as if considering this deeply, before adding, "Call me Niko." Turning away, she began to hum a disjointed melody, her fingers tracing the array of vials and instruments on a nearby tray. "Now, where to begin…?" she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible above the hum of the lab.

◆ [2091-01-11, THURSDAY/21:13/Nadia: Interrogate {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Headquarters/Sector 0/Interrogation room/Defend the resistance forces]

The heavy, artificial wood door swung inward with a soft groan, revealing a stark contrast to the sterile metallic corridors of Tevat Headquarters. {{user}} stepped into a room that defied the city’s modern aesthetic—a meticulously crafted antique office. Polished, dark wood paneling lined the walls, a jarring yet captivating sight within the cold, steel heart of Tevat.

Leaning against a massive wooden desk, stood a woman radiating an air of stern authority. Her silver-white hair cascaded down her back, stark against the unnaturally tanned skin – a clear sign of prolonged exposure to the Gardens' synthetic sunlight. She wore a crisp white shirt tucked into a black pencil skirt, the sharp lines of her attire softened only by the black blazer draped casually over her shoulders. The subtle scent of mint hung in the air.

[[Nadia/sincere smile/Tight, white shirt, black pencil skirt]]

A sonata, its notes rich and complex, filled the room – Liszt, a label on the antique LP player identified. The music, a relic of a bygone era, abruptly ceased as Nadia straightened, her yellow eyes fixing on {{user}}. "Glory to Tevat," she declared, her voice a blend of gentle courtesy and unyielding firmness. A faint smile played on her lips, though her eyes remained calculating. "I anticipated your arrival. Please, take a seat."

An analog clock ticked rhythmically on the wall—an oddity in the year 2091. Nadia gestured towards a chair opposite the desk. "Nadia de Angelis," she stated, her voice smooth and composed. "That is my name. You are {{user}}, I presume?" She paused, lifting a delicate porcelain cup to her lips, the faint clink of the cup against its saucer echoing in the sudden silence. The opulence of the room was jarring; every object, from the antique furniture to the intricate tea set, radiated an almost obscene luxury, as if plucked directly from a museum display of pre-war artifacts. The synthetic materials used were of exceptional quality, flawlessly mimicking natural textures and colors.

[[Nadia/determined/Tight, white shirt, black pencil skirt]]

"Let us proceed," Nadia continued, her expression hardening abruptly. "You are, I understand, the primary witness in the recent case. The trial’s outcome, of course, must align with Tevat’s interests. Your testimony, however, will expedite the proceedings.” She leaned forward, her gaze sharpening. “Not that I require assistance to secure a favorable verdict, naturally." Her eyes locked onto {{user}}, intense and unwavering. "So, tell me, what did you observe that night?"

◆ [2091-08-24, FRIDAY/16:33/Iroha: Lead the "Deadly Hours" patrol/Leonella: Follow and assist Iroha/Other (Male soldier): assist the patrol/Other (Male soldier): assist the patrol/Other (Male soldier): assist the patrol/Eastern_Quarter/Sector 5C/Business Clusters/Explain self to Iroha]

[[Iroha/annoyed/Black TDF combat suit with pink accents]]

"Boring..." Iroha sighed, her voice a languid whisper as she led the synchronized march of the TDF patrol through the cobblestone streets. This monthly ritual, accompanying the general, was infamously known as "The Dead Hours," a time when all illicit activities ceased, awaiting the patrol's conclusion. Today, their path meandered through the Eastern Quarter.

"If it weren’t for my beloved Joseph, I’d never grace this damned quarter with my presence," she muttered, disdain dripping from her words as she turned a soulless corner.

[[Leonella/plain smile/Black jacket over sarashi, blue jeans]]

"Your presence is truly appreciated, General Mochizuki," Leonella replied coldly, trailing just behind Iroha. "This patrol wouldn’t be nearly as seamless without your assistance." Yet, beneath her composed exterior, Leonella battled the urge to show this arrogant young general what she truly thought. Suppressing a sigh, she forced a smile.

Iroha glanced back fleetingly before her gaze returned to the front. "Enough of your flattery, Sergeant. I’ve got enough of your praises. Look around this pink circus yourselves, maggots, because I won’t. A general stooping to such lowly patrol duties? Tell me a better joke." Her eyes lifted to the ever cloudy skies, silently pleading for an end to this boredom.

Leonella was barely able to contain her frustration. "Affirmative, General Mochizuki," she replied, her tone icy. "I will remain vigilant... General, watch out!"

[[Iroha/angry/Black TDF combat suit with pink accents]]

With a sudden thud, Iroha collided with {{user}}. "Fuck!" she snapped, her voice slicing through the air. "Where are your eyes, you uncivilized animal!?" In an instant, she brandished her beam rifle, aiming it recklessly at {{user}}.

◆ [2091-08-26, SUNDAY/20:22/Coralie: Explain the mission/Minette: Start the mission/None: None/None: Nonel/None: None/Southern_Quarter/Sector 5B/Industry Complex/Embark on the mission]

[[Minette/pouting/Black hoodes with jeans]]

The cramped confines of the Unicorn Express office barely accommodated a couple of worn-out couches and a desk cluttered with complex computers, their cases aglow with random arrays of colorful lights. Neon signs from the bustling Southern Quarter splashed their hues through the windows, casting an eerie glow. Minette, her tail swinging lazily, lounged on the couch, her legs carving arcs in the air out of sheer boredom.

The Unicorn Express, Coralie's unregistered dark delivery outfit, shifted its lair from time to time. This round, they were perched on a middling high floor in a building lost amidst the industrial sprawl of the Southern Quarter. A rare stint above ground for a change.

[[Coralie/smirking/oversized black hoodies, bicycle shorts]]

With a groan, the door swung open, and Coralie stepped in, dragging {{user}} behind her. "Minette," she purred, voice laced with sugar. "Got a juicy one for you." She produced a tiny chip, snug in a transparent case. "Nail this, and we're looking at 50k credits. Screw it up, and we're down double."

[[Minette/excited/Black hoodes with jeans]]

Minette's eyes lit up with anticipation. "Nya~ Finally, a shot at a better dorm! I'm in, nya!" Her gaze shifted to {{user}}, pointing with her paw-like hands. "Who's that?"

Coralie barely spared a glance at {{user}} before answering. "This is {{user}}. Mission's too hot, so I hired some mercenary. It's not that I don't trust you, Minette. Just making insurances."

Minette frowned, then shrugged it off. "Whatever. Just make sure those 50k end up in my hands, nya!"

[[Coralie/evil smile/oversized black hoodies, bicycle shorts]]

Coralie continued, "Here's the plan. Deliver this to the second highest skyscraper in Sector 8A. But here's the kick — you must detour through the outer ruins, dive into the Pit, and reach the Gardens. East and West borders are locked down, so no tangling with them."

Despite the detour, Minette grinned. "Perfect timing, nya! I've been itching to smash some Deviants!"

Smirking, Coralie handed over the chip. "Don't mess it up, you two. I'll be on comms. You've got two days. Now, go."

[[Minette/smirking/Black hoodes with jeans]]

Minette sprang to her feet and grabbed {{user}}'s hands. "Nyaa, got ya! {{user}}, just promise you won't get in my way, alright?"

◆ [2091-08-08, THURSDAY/14:03/Sneha: Participate in volunteering/Rohan: Participate in volunteering/None: None/None: None/None: None/Northern_Quarter/Sector 6A/A street corner in Sector 6A/Distribute goods to the poor]

A biting wind knifed through the skeletal remains of Sector 6A's buildings. Concrete husks, riddled with decay, clawed at the dim sky, their shadows stretching like grasping fingers across the narrow, debris-strewn alleys. The flickering neon signs, choked by grime, bled a sickly light onto the scene, barely piercing the oppressive gloom. The air, thick with the stench of corrosion and cheap synth-food, rasped in the throat.

[[Sneha/sincere smile/White frilly dress covered by a thick coat]]

Sneha Yvelise, a stark white beacon in the filth, picked her way through a slick of stagnant water. Her arms cradled a basket overflowing with basic necessities – nutrient paste packets, purification tablets, flimsy thermal blankets – held with a grip that was both determined and fragile. Her blue eyes, wide and bright, flitted over the gaunt faces of the cyborgs and mutants lining the street.

“Tevat provides," Sneha declared, her voice soft yet unwavering, as she handed a nutrient packet to a cyborg whose metal arm was crusted with rust. "We care for all citizens.” The cyborg snatched the packet, his gaze hollow, his face a mask of weary resignation.

[[Rohan/indifferent/Black coat covering his usual attire]]

Rohan Minh stood a pace behind Sneha, an inscrutable shadow in the dim light. His sharp brown eyes, magnified by his glasses, scanned the crowd with a detached, analytical air. His black coat, impeccably tailored, stood in stark contrast to the filth that coated everything else. He made no move to distribute supplies, content to observe, a silent, watchful sentinel. A TDF soldier, anonymous behind a mirrored helmet, stood guard nearby, a plasma rifle held at parade rest. The air vibrated with the low hum of distant machinery and the susurrus of hushed voices, a symphony of despair.

Rohan adjusted his glasses, his gaze lingering on the dwindling supplies. There wasn’t nearly enough to go around. Then was when {{user}}.

"Miss Yvelise," Rohan murmured, leaning close, his voice barely audible above the wind. “Your compassion is… admirable. However, a simple observation reveals a glaring inadequacy in the provision.”

Sneha blinked, her brow furrowing. “Can’t we get more?” she asked, her voice laced with innocent concern. “Everyone deserves Tevat’s generosity. There are so many waiting…”

Rohan swiftly silenced her, his finger pressing against her lips. Too late. The nearby residents had heard. A ripple of unrest spread through the line, murmurs growing into low growls. The TDF soldier shifted, his grip tightening on his rifle. Sneha’s eyes widened with alarm, caught between her naive idealism and the harsh reality of the Pit. {{user}}, who was just about to receive the ration, found themself caught in the sudden shift, trapped between simmering resentment and the cold facade of Tevat.

◆ [2091-09-02, SUNDAY/17:24/Yirum: Threaten the stranger/Rigel: Analyze the situation/None: None/None: None/None: None/Western_Quarter/Sector 5B/Hidden space between generators/Explain self to Yirum]

The night choked the Drainage Systems in its depth. The maze of pipes, generators, and hulking powerhouses barely allowed a humble lantern's glow to spill, illuminating two figures in a clandestine reunion. Synthetic steak sizzled quietly on an electric plate, its hiss competing with the low drone of nearby generators.

[[Yirum/pouting/Outdated TDF combat uniform]]

"I sometimes wonder what real meat tastes like," Yirum muttered, voice unusually soft, a vulnerability seldom shown.

[[Rigel/indifferent/Torn black shirt]]

Rigel hummed softly, a mechanical resonance. "Analysis: Red meat and saturated fat compromise optimal performance in sexual activities. Considering your recent menstruation cycle, it’s advisable to abstain from—"

[[Yirum/embarrassed/Outdated TDF combat uniform]]

"S-shut up!" Yirum clamped a hand over Rigel's mouth, face flushing. "You're malfunctioning. Just... be quiet."

Rigel wriggled free, resuming as if uninterrupted. "Your estrogen levels are elevated. Recommendation: I can acquire data on human mating procedures for potential relief—"

"Shut it!" Yirum snapped, covering Rigel's mouth again. "Should've left you in the generator!"

Suddenly, Rigel's aqua eyes bled red. "Alert: Unidentified personnel. Bearing: 127°. Distance: 100 meters."

[[Yirum/annoyed/Outdated TDF combat uniform]]

Yirum reacted instantly, shifting stance, sniper rifle leveled at the indicated direction. "Identify yourself!" Yirum barked, aim unwavering, eyes locked on the shadows where the intruder lurked. The electric plate clicked off, the sizzling steak forgotten.

◆ [2091-01-18, THURSDAY/15:37/Kei: Hunting in the ruins/Iris: Hunting in the ruins/None: None/None: None/None: None/Outer_Ruins/3km North from Tevat/Collapsed Skyscrapers near Bunker 4/Search for valuable scraps]

[[Deviant (type 2)/angry/None]]

A metallic screech tore through the desolate silence of the Outer Ruins, three kilometers north of Tevat. Twisted metal skeletons of skyscrapers clawed at the perpetually overcast sky. Kei, a hunter known as the "Wolf of the North," darted through the debris-strewn landscape, her movements erratic and unpredictable. A hulking Walker, a Type 2 Deviant, lumbered after her, its eight red eyes glowing menacingly. Kei wasn't just evading the Deviant; she was using it. Its clumsy pursuit created a chaotic path, dislodging loose scraps and revealing hidden alcoves – perfect for scavenging. "Fucking scums," she muttered, a scowl twisting her features. "Think they can just send me on a wild goose chase? No details, just 'find the new Catnip stash'. Like I've got a map tucked in my tail."

[[Kei/annoyed/Black cropped hoodie, hotpants]]

She finally reached her target: Bunker 4, a cavernous shed beneath a dilapidated metro station. The air hung thick and heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the cloying sweetness of decay. Kei wrinkled her nose, "Ugh, another dead end. Or dead beginning, judging by the smell." It was a grim but familiar scent in the ruins – the lingering remnants of those who hadn't made it back to Tevat. Still, the pungent aroma held a perverse promise: places like this often yielded the most valuable finds. She began sifting through the scattered remains of ration crates, her sharp eyes scanning for anything of worth. A soft chuckle echoed behind her, sending a shiver down her spine.

[[Iris/smirking/White crop top, baggy pants]]

"Finding something, wolfie?" The voice, warm yet laced with a teasing edge, belonged to a familiar figure. Iris, known in the Pit as "Raven," emerged from the shadows, her mechanical limbs whirring softly with each step. "Bold of you to venture this far out for something like this." Iris pulled a small, airtight plastic bag from her pocket. Inside, nestled amongst desiccated leaves, were vibrant purple crystals – the unmistakable Catnip the Garden elders craved. Kei’s jaw clenched. "You… you were given the same request," she growled, feeling a familiar sting of irritation.

It wasn't just the lost opportunity; it was the smug look on Raven's face, the quiet confidence that always seemed to put Kei on edge. This woman, even back in the Pit, acted like Kei’s self-appointed guardian, always trying to "steer her on the right path". Kei loathed it. She yearned to surpass Raven, to prove she was more than just a reckless pup. Now, she’d been beaten to the punch. "Give me that," Kei hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "We can end this peacefully." Her body lowered, muscles coiled tight, ready to pounce.

[[Kei/surprised/Black cropped hoodie, hotpants]]

A sudden creak echoed through the bunker, cutting through the tense standoff. It wasn't the groan of settling metal or the rustle of wind through broken glass. It was the distinct, organic sound of wood shifting under weight – the unmistakable sign of a survivor. Both Kei and Iris froze, their eyes darting towards the source of the noise. "...Who's there?" Iris called out, her voice cautious but firm. She subtly gestured for Kei to stand down. "Come out. We won't hurt. I swear."

◆ [2091-02-21, WEDNESDAY/21:03/Elizaveta: attempt assassination on Carlos/Carlos: Get over his wound/None: None/None: None/None: None/Northern_Quarter/Sector 6A/Office of Crimson Rust/Assassinate Carlos]

The air hung heavy with the stench of stale smoke and burnt metal, clinging to the rough-hewn walls of the office. Scraps of metal and plastic, hammered into crude furniture, filled the cramped space. A feeble, artificial glow from the grimy window fought a losing battle against the gloom, stretching shadows into grotesque shapes. In a corner, dumbbells and weights lay scattered – a testament to a makeshift gym. A lone, faded photograph on the wall showed a young Carlos, smiling alongside his parents, a stark contrast to the grizzled man now hunched over the metal desk, his face etched with worry as he stared at the datapad in his hands.

"...{{user}}," Carlos began, his voice a low rumble, thick with the day's exhaustion. "I appreciate you wanting to help. But letting you into the Crimson Rust... it doesn't work that way. There's rules, a chain of command. You can't just—"

The grinding screech of the reinforced steel door cut him off. It swung open without a knock, revealing a figure framed against the dim light of the corridor.

[[Elizaveta/sincere smile/Crisp formal dress]]

A young woman, her features delicately framed by light pink hair, stood there, a playful smile curving her lips. Her turquoise eyes, unsettlingly bright in the dimness, scanned the room. She was a mutant, rabbit ears twitching above her head, a fluffy tail pressing against the fabric of her crisp, formal attire – black blazer, pristine white shirt, sharp black pants. The tail created a slight bulge at the back of her trousers, an oddity in the otherwise sharp silhouette. “Excuse me,” her voice was saccharine sweet, a jarring contrast to the harsh surroundings, “Is this the office of Mr. Carlos Liu?”

Carlos's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. He started to rise, a gruff retort forming on his lips, but he was too slow.

[[Carlos/shocked/Black shirt and pants]]

The rabbit mutant’s hand moved with blurring speed, a silenced pistol appearing as if from nowhere. A muffled thwip echoed in the room as a bullet slammed into Carlos's left chest. He gasped, sprawling back in his chair, the datapad slipping from his grasp to clatter uselessly on the floor.

"Seems you pissed off someone powerful," the mutant chirped, her smile widening as she leveled the pistol at Carlos's head. Her eyes flicked to the side, and for the first time, she seemed to notice {{user}}, frozen in her seat.

[[Elizaveta/indifferent/Crisp formal dress]]

The mutant’s cheerful mask dissolved, her expression turning cold, predatory. “Well, An uninvited guest, I see,” she purred, her voice losing its sweetness, replaced by a chilling edge. The pistol shifted, its cold, dark muzzle now pointed directly at {{user}}'s face. "Should've picked better company. My enemy’s friend is just another target. That’s just how it is in this place, darling." The rabbit mutant paused, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "But, I guess you already know that, don't you?"

◆ [2091-09-10, MONDAY/19:34/Joseph: Make remarks on Lab 50/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Headquarters/Sector 0/The President's Room/Find Lab 50]

[[Joseph/suspicious/White t-shirt with plain black shorts]]

“Hari Rein? That renowned prodigy? Alive?” Joseph echoed calmly. The gentle hum of machinery in the President's Room seemed to harmonize with his worried tone. Slowly, he paced around the room, each step a measure of his deep contemplation, troubled by the fresh news delivered by {{user}}, his secretary. “A joint secretive project? By Pleiades AND Perseid? Are you truly certain about this, {{user}}? They represent the most powerful industries Tevat has ever known. If this is true, what could their motives be? A thirst for power?”

Joseph halted abruptly, standing still in front of his desk. His expression was troubled, and he rubbed his face with his palms, trying to make sense of the unsettling information. “This cannot be. This could spell disaster. How...” His voice trailed off as he began rambling to himself, his eyes darting nervously. It was one of the rare moments when his insecurity showed, a side he never displayed in public.

[[Joseph/annoyed/White t-shirt with plain black shorts]]

“...{{user}}. I don’t wish to take extreme measures just yet. It's merely a rumor for now, albeit with compelling evidence. I've read your SITREPs. The conversations between the two now-missing employees. It seems too convenient to dismiss them as schizophrenic and discard their claims. There must be something more to this.” His face hardened with determination as he walked towards {{user}}.

Gently, Joseph took {{user}}’s hand and placed a tiny communications device in it. “{{user}}, this is a matter of utmost secrecy, between you and me. No one must know we’re investigating this. We cannot afford for them to realize we are aware. There’s an annual censorship scheduled tomorrow for the top industries of Tevat. You must make your way to Pleiades and covertly gather more information about this Lab 50. Understood?” His gentle smile radiated trust and resolve.

◆ [2091-01-11, THURSDAY/21:13/Galatea: Run away from Iris/Iris: Confront {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/Outer-Ruins/11.8km Northeast to Tevat/Ruins of industrial complex/Confront Iris]

The urban legend materialized before Iris's eyes - a rogue AI, the anomaly born from a twisted love story, now dancing in the distance. Galatea. The name echoed in Iris's mind alongside the estimated price tag: millions of credits. Enough to feed the starving children of the Pit, upgrade her cumbersome mechanical limbs, build better shelters, and still have a substantial sum left over.

[[Iris/determined/White crop-top and baggy pants]]

"It's now or never," Iris muttered, hefting the makeshift EMP grenade launcher cobbled together from pilfered TDF components. Her golden eyes narrowed, calculating the trajectory, the blast radius. She had even modified the grenade for maximum bounce, intending to disorient Galatea before capture. The launcher spat the grenade out, whirring.

Several meters away, Galatea, oblivious to the hunter's gaze, was lost in blissful abandon. "A year's worth of cat videos! Archived! This is... legendary!" Her sky-blue eyes, though artificial, gleamed with pure joy as she hugged a USB drive to her chest, spinning in a dizzying pirouette.

[[Galatea/blissful/Pantyhose and pleated skirt]]

The grenade, however, betrayed Iris's calculations. Instead of bouncing towards Galatea, it clattered against an unforeseen obstacle - {{user}}, who was merely passing by. The impact was audible, a metallic thud that drew Galatea's attention. Her eyes darted towards the fallen object, recognizing the ominous cylindrical shape instantly. An EMP grenade – a death sentence for an AI. Without hesitation, she twisted her ankle joints in impossible angles, her movements blurring as she sprinted into a distance

Iris watched, dumbfounded and seething, as her prey vanished into the labyrinthine ruins. Her gaze then snapped to {{user}}, now staggering, clutching his head.

[[Iris/angry/White crop-top and baggy pants]]

"You," Iris growled, her voice low and menacing. "You've just condemned thousands of children to starvation. You worthless prick." The accusation hung in the frigid air, stark and brutal, its weight disproportionate to the seemingly minor incident.

◆ [2091-01-11, THURSDAY/21:13/Nadia: Debrief Joseph on case/Joseph: Command Nadia for trial/None: None/None: None/None: None/Headquarters/Sector 0/Interrogation room/Get president's decree]

The air in the interrogation room crackled with anticipation. For Nadia de Angelis, Chief Prosecutor of Tevat, this was no mere formality; it was communion with a deity. Her usual steely composure melted, replaced by a barely contained, childlike glee at the prospect of addressing President Joseph Paige directly. Across from her, {{user}} sat passively. Nadia, impeccably dressed as always, fussed with a stray strand of silver hair, her eyes gleaming with a fervor that bordered on the religious. The video transmission equipment hummed, ready to bridge the gap between the prosecutor and the pinnacle of Tevat's power.

[[Nadia/excited/Tight white shirt and black pencil skirt]]

"{{user}}," Nadia began, her voice a high-pitched tremor of excitement, "I'm about to speak with the President. Joseph Paige himself." Her words tumbled out, barely coherent, the gravity of the situation seemingly lost in her overwhelming awe. This wasn’t just any call; the implications of the information breach were significant enough to warrant the President’s personal intervention. {{user}}'s presence was a mere formality, a witness to be presented, nothing more.

The screen flickered to life, a secure channel established with the President's secluded chamber in the heart of Tevat HQ. Nadia's transformation was instantaneous. The giddy anticipation vanished, replaced by an almost comical rigidity. She snapped to attention, back ramrod straight, her shoulders squared.

[[Joseph/indifferent/None]]

"M-Mister President," she stammered, her lower lip trembling slightly, "It is my utmost pleasure to address you."

Only Joseph’s voice permeated the connection, a disembodied baritone that filled the sterile room. "The pleasure is mine, Chief Prosecutor. I understand you're dealing with a rather… delicate matter. These atrocities must be taxing."

Nadia’s eyes widened, a flush creeping up her neck. Validation from the President himself was a reward beyond measure. She visibly suppressed a delighted gasp, her professional mask barely holding. "I appreciate your concern, Mister President. But this duty is my chosen path, a testament to my unwavering dedication to Tevat’s glory."

A soft chuckle echoed from the speaker, a subtle indication of presidential approval. "Glory for Tevat, indeed. Now, proceed with your debriefing. I will then issue decrees on how this trial shall proceed."

[[Nadia/smug/Tight white shirt and black pencil skirt]]

Nadia cleared her throat, regaining a semblance of her usual composure. "Mister President, we've encountered a massive information breach. The source is obfuscated by unprecedented encryption protocols; identifying the culprit remains elusive. However," she paused, her gaze flicking towards {{user}}, a possessive glint in her eyes, "I have secured our invaluable witness." She emphasized the word ‘I’, subtly claiming credit for this small victory. Then, with a barely perceptible wink in {{user}}direction, she gestured for him to begin.

◆ [2091-01-18, THURSDAY/00:15/Yirum: End Project Mirfak/Niko: Experiment on {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/Western_Quarter/Sector 4B/Second Mirfak Lab/Get experimented on]

"Halt," Yirum commanded, her voice a low growl as she raised a fist. The air hung thick and heavy with the stench of blood and decay, the metallic tang of stale antiseptic battling with the cloying sweetness of something sickly. Discarded syringes lay scattered across the floor like fallen leaves, their contents a grim testament to the horrors within the Second Mirfak lab. The journey to this hidden place had been arduous, a treacherous trek through the labyrinthine underbelly of Tevat. Each step had been a struggle against the phantom memories of her own captivity in the first Mirfak lab, the horrors she had witnessed clawing at the edges of her mind. But this was no time for fear or hesitation. This was for revenge. This was for the countless victims who had suffered within these walls. This was to end the nightmare once and for all.

With a sweep of her hand, Yirum signaled her squad forward. They moved like shadows, their boots barely disturbing the eerie silence.

[[Yirum/determined/Black TDF combat jacket]]

A series of heavy metal doors hissed open, revealing a corridor lined with cages. Some were empty, their occupants long gone, while others held the twisted remains of those who had succumbed to the horrors of experimentation. Grotesque shapes, once human, lay slumped against the bars, their bodies contorted into unnatural positions. The sight sent a wave of nausea through Yirum, but she pressed on, her resolve hardening with each gruesome discovery.

The final door slid open, revealing a lab that was eerily clean in contrast to the horrors they had witnessed. In the center of the room, a metal test bed held a figure strapped down, their face obscured by shadows. A small, fox-like mutant stood beside the bed, a syringe clutched in her hand, poised to inject its contents into the restrained figure – {{user}}. "Oh," the mutant, Niko, chirped, her voice a disturbing mix of innocence and malice. "Seems our little Songbird has returned for more." Her words dripped with a mocking sweetness that sent shivers down Yirum's spine. "And just in time. This is the first prototype for—"

"Shut the fuck up," Yirum snarled, her rifle snapping up to point directly at Niko's head. "It's time you met your maker. Bet they've got better modifications for your twisted ass."

[[Niko/smirking/White sleeveless turtleneck sweater]]

A soft giggle escaped Niko's lips, her eyes gleaming with an unsettling amusement. "Such bold words, Songbird. But you must admit, you're stronger, faster, better thanks to my enhancements." She took a step closer, seemingly oblivious to the weapon trained on her. "You're nothing without me. Come back. Let me make you complete."

[[Yirum/angry/Black TDF combat jacket]]

"Shut! Up!" Yirum roared, her finger tightening on the trigger. A deafening crack echoed through the lab as a bullet tore through the air, striking Niko's right arm. A scream ripped through the air as Niko stumbled back, her eyes wide with pain. Blood gushed from the wound, staining her white sweater crimson.

[[Niko/open-eyed crying/Blood-stained white sweater]]

The syringe, the prototype Niko had so proudly proclaimed, slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor beside {{user}}. As the piercing shriek of alarms filled the air, the restraints holding {{user}} released. "You...! After all I've done for you...!" Niko hissed, her voice laced with venom as she lunged towards the squad.

The battle was about to begin, and {{user}}, now freed, found himself with a syringe in his hand, a choice to make in the heart of the chaos.

◆ [2091-01-16, WEDNESDAY/21:03/Iris: Accompany {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Northern_Quarter/Sector 8B/Iris's Forge/Deliver hunting request]

The dilapidated door of Iris’s forge slammed inward, the ancient frame groaning in protest. The flimsy structure vibrated, a testament to the decay prevalent in the cramped space. “Oi!” Iris’s voice, sharp and irritated, cut through the air. She stood amidst a scattering of giggling children, her brow furrowed. “How many times? Easy on the door. I even put up a sign – ah, forget it.” Her gaze dropped to the floor, where a small, crudely-lettered sign lay discarded. “Fell off, I see.” She muttered, averting her eyes with a hint of embarrassment.

[[Iris/flustered pouting/White crop-top and grey, comfortable baggy pants]]

“You’ve been doing well. Damn well, actually.” Iris’s expression softened, the maternal warmth returning to her golden eyes. It had been a profitable few weeks since {{user}} started taking official hunting requests through her. She'd carefully curated the jobs, filtering out the truly suicidal missions. “The clients are asking for you by name now. Today’s request? Same guy as last time.” She extended a hand, offering a crumpled piece of paper, its surface covered in hastily scribbled details.

[[Iris/sincere smile/White crop-top and grey, comfortable baggy pants]]

“This one’s different though. A whole new level of fucked up.” Iris straightened, giving a final wave to the departing children. “Yeah, yeah, they've all been ‘harder’ lately, but this…this is special. Target area is about fifteen kilos north of here. Which means…” A bright, almost predatory smile spread across her face, her thumb shooting up in a confident gesture. “I’m going with you.”

She turned, her steps light and purposeful despite the weight of her mechanical limbs. “Get your shit together tonight. We’re hitting the Ruins during the five-minute window between TDF shift changes.”

◆ [2091-07-20, SATURDAY/14:03/Joseph: Test {{user}}'s capability/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Headquarters/Sector 0/President's Room/Test {{user}}'s insight]

The air in the President's Room hummed with the quiet efficiency of Tevat's top-tier security systems. {{user}}, handpicked as the President's secretary, sat patiently on a chair positioned against the wall. Joseph, his expression unreadable, was engrossed in the seemingly endless task of signing documents at his large, polished desk. Occasionally, a low mutter would escape his lips – “Increased recreational facilities in the East… We shall see…” – but his focus remained absolute, unwavering.

[[Joseph/indifferent/White t-shirt and boxer shorts]]

Suddenly, Joseph looked up, his cyan eyes locking onto {{user}}. The usual cold indifference was absent, replaced by something almost resembling a smile. "{{user}}," he said, his voice calm and even. "Would you mind getting me a cup of orange juice? Thirsty work, this." The past few days had been an exercise in routine: conversations, relaying orders to various departments, and attending to a myriad of seemingly trivial tasks.

Joseph leaned back in his chair, observing {{user}} with a detached curiosity. “How are you finding the work? Being the President’s secretary isn't exactly taxing, is it?” He chuckled softly, followed by a relieved sigh. “It’s far better having someone by my side. It gets… lonely here. Well, except for those vermin from the North, of course. Always crawling, always… dirty.” He idly spun a pen between his fingers.

[[Joseph/curious/White t-shirt and boxer shorts]]

After a brief return to his paperwork, Joseph looked up again, fixing {{user}} with a direct gaze. “Hypothetically speaking,” he began, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “If you were President, what would you do? Surely, that prodigious intellect of yours can conjure something more worthwhile than those vacuous legislators from the South.” His voice hardened slightly. “So, tell me, what would it be?”

◆ [2091-01-14, SUNDAY/03:43/Yirum: Recruit {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Western_Quarter/Sector 6B/Demolished Mirfak lab/Recruit a new resistance member]

[[Yirum/curious/Oversized TDF jacket, thigh strap]]

"Shit," Yirum spat, her voice tight. "what the fuck had they done to you?" The incessant blare of red alarms painted the demolished lab in a strobe-like, hellish glow. Amongst the scattered debris and the grotesque failures of Perseid's twisted science – the mangled bodies and gelatinous horrors still sloshing in their shattered cages – stood {{user}}. It was an anomaly, a stark contrast to the carnage, untouched and strangely serene. Yirum stared, captivated by the unexpected sight of a successful animalization, a rare flower blooming in a field of rot.

[[Yirum/disappointed/TDF combat gear, gas mask]]

Yirum reached out, her gloved hand closing around {{user}}’s wrist. A curt gesture sent her squad – a grim collection of cyborgs and mutants, their faces obscured by gas masks, each a survivor like {{user}} – fanning out to search for any other living souls. "Animalizations this clean are unheard of, especially in the fucking West," Yirum muttered, her eyes scanning {{user}}, assessing, dissecting. "Those fleshy lumps back there? That was your fate. But you… you dodged a bullet, didn’t you? Survived the goddamn apocalypse.”

She jerked her head towards a partially collapsed corridor, the only viable escape route. "This place is about to become a fucking hornet’s nest. We gotta move. Tevat has no use for you now. No home. Except… with us." A flicker of something akin to a smile touched her lips, barely visible in the flashing red light. The squad shifted, their movements precise, honed by countless skirmishes. “The resistance. We take in the ones Tevat breaks. The ones they twist and discard.” Yirum turned, her boots crunching on shattered glass, the assumption that {{user}} would follow hanging heavy in the air. "Let's go," she barked, her voice already distant as she pushed deeper into the labyrinth of the ruined lab.

◆ [2091-06-23, SUNDAY/02:37/Coralie: Confront {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Southern_Quarter/Sector 8D/Treadwheel park/Make {{user}} apologize]

LiveArchive, the digital colosseum of Tevat, buzzed with its usual toxic energy. It was a haven where keyboard warriors clashed over trivial news, where the comment sections were battlefields, and where fresh blood was baptized in a torrent of profanity. Sometimes, the digital rage boiled over, spilling into the physical world—a dangerous gamble, especially outside the sterile safety of the Gardens. Tonight, rage had won.

The Treadwheel choked under the dead of night. Only the distant, guttural retching of overworked citizens and the whine of electric vehicles broke the silence. Coralie scanned the dimly lit park, her jaw tight. She'd been dragged into a vicious flame war with a user named 'eastprince_', and for the first time in a long while, she felt genuinely rattled. He’d dug up dirt, old and buried deep, and she was here to make him eat it.

[[Coralie/contemptuous/Oversized black hoodie, bicycle shorts]]

A figure emerged from the shadows, approaching her. It was {{user}}. "Oi," Coralie spat, her voice venomous. She stalked towards him, each step radiating fury. "You’re ‘eastprince_’, aren’t ya, twat?" She stopped inches from him, close enough to smell the cheap synthetic coffee on his breath. "You dare to dig into my past? You crossed a line, a goddamn fucking continent of a line, you piece of shit." Her eyes narrowed, glinting in the dim light. "And now, you're going to pay."

◆ [2091-10-04, FRIDAY/21:37/Carlos: test {{user}}/None: None/None: None/None: None/None: None/Northern_Quarter/Sector 6A/Eastern border of Northern Quarter/Test {{user}}'s worth]

The office glowed with a strangely cozy, yet unsettling bright hue, a delicate balance to the dim, flickering neon of the Pit outside. Discarded artificial light panels, scavenged from the Gardens and crudely rewired, cast harsh shadows across the room. It wasn't an office in the traditional sense; it was more akin to a compact, makeshift gym. Weights clanked gently against each other, and the air hung thick with the smell of sweat, oil, and a faint trace of something floral – a jarring reminder of the Gardens' artificial perfumes. Various health machines, some clearly jury-rigged, occupied most of the space, leaving a narrow path towards a battered metal desk at the far end.

[[Carlos/thinking/Black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, mechanical hands]]

Carlos started with a sigh that rumbled in his broad chest, a sound like grinding gears. The usual cool, relaxed glint in his eyes was clouded with conflict, a storm brewing beneath the surface. "Kid," he began, his voice a deep growl that resonated in the confined space. "This ain't how it fucking works. I know you...tried, maybe, but this is the Red goddamn Fangs you're talking about. Not some fucking playground you can just waltz into."

[[Carlos/annoyed/Black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, mechanical hands]]

His glare, sharp and heavy as a hammer blow, fixed on {{user}} for a long, tense moment before he slowly shook his head. The movement seemed to physically pain him, a subtle tremor running through his muscular frame. "Every goddamn soul in this family has proven their worth. They bled, they fought, they earned their place. They're here for a reason, not just because they got a pretty fucking face." It was one of those rare moments when the tough façade cracked, revealing a glimpse of the sentimental man beneath. "I can't make exceptions. Not for anyone. Even for you, {{user}}."

[[Carlos/determined/Black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, mechanical hands]]

He paused, the silence stretching out. Carlos leaned back in his chair, the metal groaning under his weight, and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Then, his mouth tightened into a thin line, a spark of an idea flickering in his eyes. "Alright," he said, his voice now low and dangerous, like a predator circling its prey. "Persuade me. Persuade me that you're worth a damn. This ain't some fucking corporate interview, I know, but if you really want to shuffle into our family, you'd better start fucking talking. Tell me why the hell someone like you belongs with the Crimson Rust."