As the team dispersed, Chevie lingered by the Gate for a moment, his thoughts drifting back to the Whitehole.
The fight had felt… different, almost natural, as if the memories and skills from his clone were finally starting to click.
With a deep breath, he turned and headed back into the city, ready for whatever came next.
The warm glow of Avenridge's streetlights bathed the cobblestone roads as Chevie made his way back to his apartment.
The soft hum of Gatewalker transports buzzed overhead, blending with the distant chatter of vendors closing up shop.
The day's events lingered in his mind, a cocktail of adrenaline, relief, and frustration.
"Competency test, my ass," Chevie muttered, adjusting the strap of his gear bag.
The fight in the Gate had gone well enough, but something about the whole setup didn't sit right with him.
Back at his apartment, Chevie dropped his bag on the couch and sank into a chair, staring at the ceiling.
The DDA's decision to send him on a test mission after everything that had happened felt... calculated.
"They're keeping tabs on me," he muttered to himself.
"Party's dead, no one to vouch for me, and now they're using this as an excuse to see if I'm still useful—or dangerous."
It wasn't paranoia, not entirely. After all, the DDA didn't become one of the most powerful organizations on the Blue Planet by trusting everyone.
And with a second awakening on record, Chevie wasn't exactly flying under the radar.
Still, something about the way Commander Orlan had brushed him off nagged at him.
The guy's attitude screamed, "You're a wildcard, and I don't like it."
Chevie let out a heavy sigh. "Great. First, I lose my team, and now I'm a case study. Just what I needed."
Determined to shake off the day's tension, Chevie decided to go for a walk.
The streets were quieter now, with only a few stragglers wandering between glowing streetlamps.
He passed a small cafe where a group of Gatewalkers sat, their laughter spilling out onto the street. They were a mix of rookies and seasoned hunters, sharing stories over steaming cups of coffee.
Chevie paused, listening in as a burly man in worn armor waved his mug in the air. "I'm telling you, it was the size of a damn building! Took all five of us just to bring it down!"
A younger Gatewalker with wide eyes leaned forward. "What rank was the Gate?"
"Gold, of course," the man said with a grin, puffing out his chest.
Chevie smirked and shook his head. Gatewalker tales always get taller after a few drinks.
Continuing on, he found himself wandering toward the outskirts of the city. The air was cooler here, the noise of the city fading into a peaceful hum.
As Chevie turned a corner, he noticed two figures standing near a bulletin board plastered with Gatewalker mission ads and wanted posters.
They were whispering to each other, their movements quick and furtive.
Curiosity got the better of him. Slowing his steps, Chevie kept to the shadows, trying to catch snippets of their conversation.
"...shipment's delayed. Too risky to move it now…"
"...need to clear it before the DDA sniffs around…"
Chevie's eyes narrowed. Shipment? Risky? Sounds like someone's up to no good.
He wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline still coursing through his veins or the nagging suspicion about the DDA, but he decided to follow them.
Keeping his distance, he trailed the pair as they slipped into a narrow alley.
They stopped near a rusted door, one of them knocking in a distinct pattern. Moments later, the door creaked open, and they disappeared inside.
Chevie hesitated. He wasn't exactly dressed for stealth, and barging into what was probably a shady deal seemed like a quick way to get himself killed.
Still, his curiosity burned. If these people were connected to something illegal—maybe even tied to rogue Gate operations—it could explain some of the rumors he'd overheard lately.
Steeling himself, he crept closer to the door, careful not to make a sound.
Pressing his ear against the cool metal, he strained to catch fragments of their conversation.
"...move it through the lower districts... no one will notice…"
"...as long as we keep it quiet, the DDA won't suspect a thing…"
Chevie's pulse quickened. Whatever "it" was, it sounded like trouble.
Before he could decide what to do next, the door swung open.
"Well, well," a gravelly voice said. "Looks like we've got a little eavesdropper."
Chevie barely had time to react as a burly man stepped out, his fist swinging. Ducking just in time, Chevie rolled to the side and drew his sword.
"Easy there," he said, holding up his free hand. "I was just passing by. No need to get punchy."
The man's companion stepped out, a wiry figure with a nasty-looking dagger. "You're either brave or stupid, kid. Maybe both."
"Probably both," Chevie admitted.
The two men advanced, but Chevie wasn't in the mood for a fight—not here, not now. Activating Aetherstride, he dashed past them, reappearing several feet away.
"Catch you later, fellas," he called over his shoulder, taking off down the street.
Their shouts faded as he ducked into an alley, his heart pounding. Sliding to a stop, he leaned against a wall and let out a shaky breath.
"Smooth, Chevie. Real smooth," he muttered.
He wasn't sure what they were up to, but it was definitely worth keeping an eye on. For now, though, he decided it was best to lay low.
By the time Chevie returned to his apartment, the city was quiet. He locked the door behind him and sank onto the couch, his mind racing.
Between the competency test and the strange encounter in the alley, it felt like the pieces of a larger puzzle were starting to fall into place.
He glanced at the sword resting against the wall, its surface catching the faint glow of the streetlights outside.
"Looks like things are getting interesting again," he said to himself.