That afternoon, you sit on a park bench. People pass by all around, their eyes hollow, like a herd of caged walking corpses. You're calculating how to get more money.
Suddenly, a razor-sharp, intensely dangerous feeling grips your heart in an instant.
Pretending it's nothing, you glance up. A middle-aged man is walking past about ten meters ahead. He doesn't turn his head. Just a flick of his peripheral gaze, sweeping over you with extreme subtlety.
That one glance is enough. Your mind blares like an air raid siren, instantly pinpointing the source of that gaze and the malice behind it.
Camouflage skill plus four. It hits you, and you nearly laugh out loud from the sheer thrill. This is anything but simple disguise. This is a passive counter-surveillance radar. The moment anyone sets their sights on you with ill intent, you sense it instantly.
You lean back on the bench, expressionless, while bloodlust boils beneath the surface. Who's watching you? The company, or the shadowy hands that used you as a lab rat?
Let them come. The you of now is no longer the prey to be slaughtered at will.
Meanwhile, in an underground surveillance room you can't see, a bald director, Director Park, frowns deeply, staring at your data on the screen, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Something's wrong with this kid. Why hasn't he said a word in days? The AI flagged the carpet as a hazard five times. Why hasn't he changed it?"
"Director." The blonde aide beside him, Agent Song, swallows hard. "The target's checkup data from six months ago shows nothing abnormal, but his signal has been dropping out constantly the past two days. And worse, he's joined a cleaning company that handles dirty work for politicians."
Director Park's scalp prickles. You are a surviving failure from their batch of gene serum experiments. If your mutation data leaks, or a political rival catches wind of it, their entire department faces severe consequences.
"His vitals are all red right now." Director Park grits his teeth. "We can't let him formally join. Arrange a traffic accident now. Stage a serious injury. Drag him into our hospital. Extract his energy core and run a full analysis."
A lethal trap targeting you has already begun to unfold.
The next day, in a private room at Anji Services, you haven't slept all night, your mind racing. The moment you walk in, right in front of Woo, you yank off your smart bracelet without hesitation and slam it onto the table.
"Woo." Your eyes burn red, locked on him. "Yesterday, you said the big shots don't get chips. So what do they evolve with? What lets them rule over us?"
"Simple." Woo smiles. "Gene serums, ancient martial arts, and forbidden arts. The serums are refined from monster essence. Ancient martial arts push the human body to its limit. Forbidden arts are bought with one's own life."
Woo leans in, watching you. "Jin Han, in that residence the Federation assigned you, you're watched twenty-four hours a day. Every move you make is recorded. Are you content being an outsider for the rest of your life?" Woo pauses, then drops the fatal bait. "Do you want to become a true gene warrior?"
Right now, you take a deep breath. Instantly, you put on the look of a nineteen-year-old slum kid, wild-eyed and greedy. You grab Woo's arm, your voice trembling. "Woo. You have a way."
Your act is too convincing. Woo thinks he's found your weak spot, thinks you've taken the bait, but he has no idea. The one standing before him is a monster who can endlessly harvest skills just by defeating prey. You don't need their wretched serums to evolve at all. You'll use his help to buy a place and escape surveillance. And you'll climb over all of them to tear out by the roots whatever organization is plotting against you from the shadows.
Right now, you have one crystal-clear goal. Escape surveillance, gain money and power.
You sit across from Director Yu, owner of Anji Services. No wasted words. Straight to the point.
"Boss, I'll sign the contract, but I'm moving out today. I need the company to provide housing. The conditions can be as bad as you like. Just one requirement. Total privacy."
A flicker of satisfaction crosses Director Yu's eyes. He likes this kind of lone wolf. Willing to work hard for freedom.
Director Yu slaps a formal contract and a points exchange sheet down in front of you. "Once you're official, the company can exchange points for gene serums, ancient martial arts, forbidden arts, all of it. But let's be clear up front. In this line of work, you could meet disaster anytime."
You glance down at the exchange sheet. D-rank gene serum, one million points. E-rank gene serum, one hundred thousand points.
You sneer inwardly. To hell with points. Once you've wiped out every mutant creature in this city, your own built-in skill panel will turn this junk serum to dust in seconds.
You snatch up the pen and sign your name.
Then, with total decisiveness, you terminate your lease in front of the community staff. Without a trace of regret, you remove the government-issued smart bracelet that has watched you twenty-four hours a day.
That afternoon, carrying a few worn clothes, you walk into the run-down suburban apartment the company assigned you. An old-fashioned mechanical door lock, a manual flush toilet, manual faucets, no network cameras, and certainly no nagging smart butler.
This. This is what a living person's space should feel like.
You look around the bare, shabby room and let out a long breath. A long-lost sense of safety finally lets every muscle in your body relax. You switch to the old-fashioned communicator you bought.
You lock the door tight. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, it's time to test your spoils.
You stare at your reflection and roar inwardly. Camouflage.
Suddenly, a strange tingling sweeps across your facial nerves. Right before your eyes, your double eyelids melt into single ones. Your once sharp eyes narrow into thin slits, and the muscles in your cheeks sag slightly. In just one minute, you transform from a sharp-eyed nineteen-year-old into a sleazy, greasy-looking middle-aged man.
You clench your fists, heart pounding wildly. This camouflage doesn't just change your face, it reshapes your muscle structure. It's a perfect get-out-of-death card, a top-tier disguise mask.
After holding it for twenty minutes, a wave of intense weakness hits. You revert to normal, drenched in sweat, but thrilled enough to howl at the sky.
Yet cruel reality won't give you a chance to catch your breath.
The next morning, acting like nothing's wrong, you stand at the bus stop waiting for a ride to work. Not many people are at the stop. Just then, an ordinary-looking young man steps into the shelter. He doesn't look at you, but the moment he steps in, every hair on your body stands on end. The passive camouflage radar in your mind screams a piercing danger alert.
Other people look for a seat when they enter. This man's peripheral gaze locks onto you like a snake's flicking tongue.
You stare straight ahead at the street, expressionless, while your mind races. Who is this guy? Is he here for me? Does he want a sample of my energy, or does he just want me dead?
A bus pulls in. Not the one that goes to your company. The doors open. The young man leans forward slightly, using the crowd as cover, his hand drifting toward you, ready to strike the instant you brush past each other.
Quick as lightning, you don't hesitate for even a second. The muscles in your legs explode with force. Your whole body lunges forward like a cheetah, one bound onto the step. You charge straight onto that completely wrong-direction bus.
The young man's calm facade shatters. Furious, he sprints toward a distant taxi stand.
Through the glass, you look down at him from above, your mouth curling in cold mockery. Want to kill me? Go eat my exhaust fumes.