The more Asher dug deeper into the maze of alleys, the more confused he became.
Just where were all these Sweepers coming from?
Sometimes when he rounded the corner, he would be forced to duck from a swing that materialized from thin air.
Or when he ran past a dumping zone, and swarms of Sweepers clawed out of the noxious piles of trash.
Their hooks tore through the surrounding waste and food scraps; it was almost as if they had been placed there mere seconds before he arrived.
"-!" They've even begun to drop from the rooftops, too. Asher flinched as a Sweeper's hooks flashed past where his face was an instant earlier.
He had dodged by a hair's breath, through instinct alone.
Were they... getting faster?
Asher narrowed his eye, leaning backwards as the Sweeper's hook tore through the air where his neck was previously.
A vicious scar was raked onto the brick wall.
His pistol flicked up.
*BOOM*
The Sweeper staggered back as its gas mask's left visor fractured into shards of glass.
But it wasn't dead.
It stepped back once before stabilizing to its slouched posture. A fine, glowing mist seeped from its broken mask visor.
Asher was sure of it now. They were getting stronger.
He charged forward, sidestepping the approaching hook and digging his scythe blade into the creature's eye socket. It felt like he was hitting a steel plate.
It stared at him, unflinching.
Then, its arm raised up once more.
"DIE!!" Asher roared, pivoting his foot and slamming the Sweeper into the wall. Finally, his weapon cracked through the thing's skull, piercing its brain.
Asher panted, watching with some unease as the creature's visor finally dimmed.
Little Red clicked her tongue, interrupting his small moment of triumph.
"Asher, look at its chest."
Engraved on the corpse's armor were a few small markings.
"Mark II... Red, do you have any clue what this means?"
"I have an idea. Maybe there will be more 'Marks' that show up later. Mark three, Mark four..."
Asher scratched his mask in thought.
"If what you're saying is true, then soon they'll be even stronger... We'd be screwed by then."
Little Red growled with reluctant agreement. The creatures did not respond to pain, which made them dozens of times more dangerous than an opponent of similar raw strength.
"We need to find shelter. You should have waited until morning to leave."
"Ehh, fighting in the night sounds a lot cooler, doesn't it?" Still, Asher did not outright disagree with her. He made a rash decision this time.
But not a decision that wouldn't reap benefits. By noon tomorrow, Asher expected every resident of that street to know his appearance by word of mouth.
And if he was really lucky, one of the cameras that had captured his fight would post a video online, further cementing his new identity.
However, now wasn't the time for those thoughts.
It was time to leave.
Asher's eyes widened. A group Sweepers had snuck behind him without him noticing. He could make out a 'Mark III' leading the group.
Even from a distance, he could feel the danger exuding from it.
The Mark III Sweeper was a full head taller than its lower marked comrades, and a single, slit-like visor replaced the gas mask's standard eyeholes.
Behind the leader were more than three Mark II's.
'Time to run-!'
Asher shot the Mark III once, before turning around to flee.
The Sweeper ignored the bullet that drilled into its throat.
But by the time it took its first step, Asher was gone.
Perhaps Asher would have taken the chance if it was only against the single Mark III, but that wasn't the case.
...
Asher began to doubt himself.
Through the confusing maze of hidden streets and narrow alleyways, the sheer number of Sweepers he had encountered was far more than coincidence could explain.
He rolled to the side as a glowing hook pierced through the wall beside him, aimed to shatter his jaw.
"From the walls, too? Sheesh..."
After so many hours of running, Asher's sense of direction was in complete disarray. He wasn't too out of breath, but his confusion was quickly overpowering his determination.
As he muttered under his breath, Little Red's voice brought him back to reality.
"Lights ahead!"
The yellow shine of a streetlight leaked from an alleyway a few meters to his left.
After so many hours of running in the dark, he unconsciously drifted toward the light.
Turning the corner, his mouth curled into a strange grin.
(6th Street)
An eloquently painted sign hung above a doorway, illuminated by a single streetlamp.
(A haven in the City's night. Home to the 6th Street Mercenaries.)
He originally intended to go here next, but the deluge of Sweepers prevented him from using his phone.
Well, everything worked out in the end.
"And a 'haven', too..." Asher mused to himself as he slipped through the open doorway.
...
Immediately, his skin was basked in comforting yellow light. The inside of the building was homely, built with wooden boards and paper walls.
But there was a tiny issue, one that ruined the homely aesthetic.
Laid on the floorboards were dozens of sickly men, women, and children, huddling in dense crowds to preserve their body heat. Their hollow eyes and gaunt complexion betrayed the hardships in their lives.
All their gazes shifted toward Asher as he stepped forward, sparing no attention to them.
The braver ones stepped forward, their palms outstretched in a pleading gesture.
"Y-You, do you have some money to spare? Just two hundred would be enough-"
The woman froze as Asher swung his gaze to her. His wolf's teeth mask seemed to snarl with contempt.
"Red, what the hell's going on here...?" However, Asher's voice betrayed his bewilderment.
He took a better glance around him.
The interior had a design reminiscent of a reception room, yet there was no one behind the front desk. There were only two doors in the building, with one directly opposite of the door he just entered from.
Little Red mused out loud.
"Perhaps they are hiding the night here. This is a 'haven', after all; I would guess Sweepers can't get in this place."
The people huddled on the floor glanced at each other, confusion entering their expressions. Not at the woman's words, but at the conversation she was having with herself. Was this woman insane?
Little did they know, that was exactly Asher's intention. Red had figured it out too, talking aloud without a care in the world.
Asher approached the blackboard attached to the front desk. Beside the blackboard was a machine around his height and width.
He read the blackboard first. Behind him, the huddled crowd began to show signs of agitation.
"(To gain entry to the other side, place valid ID in the designated slot.)"
The other side, Asher assumed, would be past the only other door in the building, right beside the empty receptionist's desk.
On the machine was a card insertion slot that was labeled 'Place ID Here'.
Hmm. He skimmed through the rest of the board's contents, speaking the words aloud yet again.
"(Otherwise, insert 300 Ahn into the designated slot. No change given.)"
Below the ID slot was a slot for cash. Maybe that was why those people behind him asked for money?
Asher sighed, rummaging through his cloak for some bills.
Whispers hissed through the room, nearly inaudible to the average human.
"She has money?"
"She looks dangerous..."
"I'm not risking it..."
Most of the people huddled on the floor averted their eyes from the crimson figure, cowed by its fearsome aura.
Yet as the woman took a wad of bills from inside her cloak, a few could not resist. They leapt to their feet-
Without looking, the woman slammed her hand on the desk, and the resounding bang forced the aggressors back. She pulled her hand away.
Lodged in the wooden desk was a glinting pistol.
"This is a gun." The faintly smoking weapon forced the few braver souls back to the ground. Among civilians, guns were the deadliest weapons they could imagine. It would have been strange if they did not react.
Soon, Asher was done inserting his bills in the machine. A holographic screen opened, listing a series of options.
(Choose your mask:)
(Wolf (112). Crane (94). Demon (64). Dragon (86). Pig (51). Tiger (155)...)
"Huh?" Asher kept scrolling. He didn't want a mask. And what were those numbers, were they the amount of people who chose that option?
Finally, the choice he wanted displayed itself.
(None (7).)
Tap.
With a mechanical whir, a small trinket was dispensed from the bottom of the machine. Upon closer inspection, it was a thin gold necklace, with a simple crimson onyx as its centerpiece.
(This provides a one time access through the portal in front of you. Wear it, and the door shall open as you approach.)
(Welcome to 6th Street.)
'System, can you analyze this necklace? Does it have any strange stuff in it?'
[It is safe to wear.]
With the System's reassurance, Asher did not hesitate to pull the piece of jewelry over his head. He could practically feel the glares of greed behind him as the necklace rested on his collarbones.
The greed was not toward the jewelery itself, but instead to what it represented. Entrance to the other side.
As the machine said, the door immediately swung open as he approached.
"-!" A clamor arose in the crowd as the door opened automatically. Past the door was an ominous purple void, a whirlpool of purple sludge.
But, as they soon found out, none of them could move other than the crimson-cloaked figure. A mysterious force bound them to the ground, forcing the ones sitting upright to collapse onto the floorboards.
Asher glanced behind him one last time, before disappearing into the churning mass.
And after the door shut itself, the people left behind could finally breathe again.
...
"Asher..."
A hint of astonishment arose in Little Red's voice.
Asher shivered as coarse, cobbled stones dug into his shoes' soles. Since the roads of the City were paved, this was a texture he had never felt before.
When he thought '6th Street', he never expected this.
"An actual street, huh."
He had arrived at Sixth Street. A haven in the City's night.