Zenith City pulsed with nocturnal life, a contradictory blend of neon dazzle and urban decay. Alaric weaved through the crowded streets, avoiding the lingering eyes of suspicious vendors and lurking enforcers. Fresh bruises blossomed under his hoodie, each throb a reminder of the night's brutal encounter. Despite the pain, determination fueled every step.
The system's recent quest had hinted at the next step: gather information. And there was only one man in the Grey Quarter who trafficked in the type of knowledge Alaric sought—Tavros.
Tavros operated out of an old tea house, a decaying structure wedged between derelict factories. Its cracked sign swung precariously in the breeze, the interior dimly lit and suffused with the scent of stale herbs. Alaric pushed through the heavy door, immediately aware of dozens of eyes sizing him up.
At a corner booth sat Tavros himself, nursing a cup of something steaming. His reputation preceded him—a dealer in secrets, loyalty for hire, and betrayal at the right price.
Tavros's sharp gaze met Alaric's as he approached. A smirk tugged at the older man's lips.
"Well, if it isn't the ghost of the slums himself," Tavros drawled, voice smooth as silk. "You've been making waves, kid."
Alaric remained standing, wary. "I need information."
"Everyone does," Tavros replied lazily, waving for Alaric to sit. "But information costs."
"Name it."
"There's a Syndicate safehouse a few blocks from here," Tavros said, his eyes glinting. "Retrieve a particular data chip for me, and I'll tell you everything you want to know about your parents."
The mention of his parents hit Alaric like a hammer blow, but he masked his reaction. "Deal."
Tavros leaned forward, voice dropping. "Be careful, Vale. Those who dig into the Syndicate's past rarely live long."
Alaric nodded silently, feeling the gravity of Tavros's warning settle in his gut.
Armed with only his instincts and the system's fledgling enhancements, Alaric slinked through the back alleys until he found the designated building. The safehouse appeared unremarkable—an old warehouse with boarded windows and rusted gates. Two men loitered near the entrance, smoking and talking in low tones.
Alaric observed for a full hour, memorizing guard rotations, entry points, and blind spots. His mind operated like a well-oiled machine, piecing together strategies. He reviewed everything—guard positioning, how often they switched places, even the timing of their conversations. Every detail mattered.
When he finally moved, he did so like a wraith. Basic Stealth activated instinctively; his footsteps became whispers, his breathing nearly silent. Guards stood oblivious as Alaric slipped past them, scaling a wall to reach a broken second-story window.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and mildew. Faint beams of moonlight penetrated broken glass panes, offering just enough illumination to navigate. The interior was a confusing maze of crates and rusted filing cabinets.
His heart thudded against his ribs, every creak of the floorboards making him flinch. He crept forward, sticking close to shadows, avoiding the sparse patches of light. Eventually, he found the manager's office tucked at the far end.
Alaric's fingers worked quickly, opening drawers with methodical precision until he discovered a false bottom beneath an ancient filing cabinet. Beneath it sat the target—a simple data chip. His hand closed around it, but before he could retreat, a voice called out sharply:
"Who's there?"
Cursing inwardly, Alaric ducked behind a filing cabinet. Heavy boots thudded toward him. Tension coiled in his muscles, ready to spring. As a guard rounded the corner, Alaric struck, using his momentum to drive an elbow into the man's throat. The guard collapsed silently.
[Skill Progression: Basic Stealth 4% → 7%]
Dragging the unconscious body deeper into the shadows, Alaric took a breath to calm himself. His heart pounded wildly, but there was no time for hesitation.
Navigating back proved even riskier. The patrols had shifted, likely because someone noticed the missing guard. Alaric had to rely on split-second decisions, ducking through blind spots and slipping through creaking doors that screamed betrayal.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Alaric emerged into the cold night air, data chip secure in his pocket.
Back at the tea house, Tavros awaited him, tapping a finger against the table rhythmically.
Alaric tossed the data chip onto the table. "Your end of the deal."
Tavros chuckled, pocketing the chip. "Impressive. Most wouldn't have come back."
"My parents," Alaric pressed, heart hammering.
Tavros's grin faded. He leaned forward, shadows deepening across his weathered face. "They were once key players within Astra Biocorp, before the Syndicate made its move. They didn't disappear willingly, Alaric. They were erased."
The revelation twisted Alaric's gut into knots. A lifetime of unanswered questions now burned hotter, demanding action.
"You've set foot on a path that will get bloodier the deeper you go," Tavros warned quietly. "Choose carefully, Vale. In Zenith, even shadows have masters."
Alaric stood, slipping the small envelope Tavros passed him into his jacket. "I don't fear blood anymore," he said quietly, a dangerous edge sharpening his voice.
Outside, rain slicked the cracked pavement. Alaric pulled up his hood, moving briskly through the misty streets. Lightning flashed distantly, briefly illuminating the towering skyline.
He had crossed a threshold tonight—there was no going back. Every step now carried weight, every decision a potential death sentence.
Still, deep inside, Alaric's resolve only hardened. For Lia, for the truth, for vengeance—he would walk the path of shadows, no matter how dark it became.