Ethan's heart pounded as the café patrons—now eerily synchronized—took slow, deliberate steps toward him. The once-cozy atmosphere of the café had transformed into something suffocating.
Chairs scraped against the floor in unison, the sound grating against his nerves.
His instinct screamed at him to move.
He shoved his chair back, standing swiftly, his mind already cycling through escape options.
The radar in his vision was a sea of red. Every white dot—every seemingly normal person—had shifted to hostile.
Well, that escalated quickly.
Ethan took a cautious step backward, keeping his eyes on the advancing figures. They didn't rush him. They moved with an eerie calm, like they had already calculated the best way to corner him.
The door was still open.
Could he just…run for it?
Before he could test that theory, one of the café patrons—a woman in a pristine business suit—spoke.
"Synchronization anomaly detected."
Her voice was flat. Emotionless.
The moment she spoke, the others stopped in their tracks. Their heads all tilted in perfect unison.
Ethan clenched his fists.
Oh, great. Its a hive mind world.
"Uh, look," he said, trying for a casual tone, though his muscles were coiled, ready to bolt. "I can explain. That smile? Just reflex. Not an anomaly."
They didn't react.
Not a twitch of amusement.
Not even confusion.
The woman in the suit took a slow step forward. "Please submit for synchronization."
Ethan's mouth went dry.
Submit?
Yeah, no thanks.
Without waiting for whatever horrifying "synchronization" entailed, Ethan turned on his heel and sprinted for the exit.
The moment he moved, the entire café lurched.
The synchronized patrons moved all at once, like puppets yanked by invisible strings. Their feet slammed against the floor in perfect, calculated rhythm as they surged forward.
Ethan didn't look back.
He shot through the café doors, colliding with a pedestrian outside, knocking them over.
Out of instinct, Ethan shouted out an apology as he scrambled away.
The street was just as orderly as before, with people walking at measured paces, unaware of the chaos behind him.
Then, a sudden change occured, it was as if the world came to a standstill.
The people outside going on about their activities stopped.
All heads turning to him as he ran past them.
Ethan barely had time to curse before the red dots on his radar multiplied.
Then, they moved.
In unison, the once-casual pedestrians snapped toward him, their steps falling into a perfect, mechanical rhythm.
There was no hesitation, no confusion—just surety.
"Oh, come on! I just got here!" Ethan shouted as he kept running.
His legs pumped as fast as they could, but his lack of fitness hit him almost immediately. His breath came faster than it should, his muscles burned, and his chest felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible vice.
Behind him, the Syncs barely looked like they were trying.
A middle-aged businessman in a suit ran with flawless efficiency, his strides wasting no energy.
A teenager in a school uniform parkour-flipped over a street bench like it was nothing. Even a grandma—yes, a grandma—was matching his pace, running beside him, her silver hair flowing behind her as she sprinted like a seasoned Olympian.
Ethan risked a glance sideways and nearly tripped. "Oh, come on! This is terrifying and insulting, both at once!"
The radar in his vision flashed warnings as more red dots converged from intersecting streets.
He veered into an alley, hoping to lose them in the winding paths—but the Syncs adjusted immediately.
No wasted movements. No hesitation. Their bodies moved like perfectly programmed machines.
Ethan's lungs burned.
His legs felt like lead.
He could hear them gaining, their footsteps identical in rhythm.
His radar pinged a final warning.
Then, something hard slammed into his back.
The impact sent him sprawling, his body crashing into the ground.
The pavement scraped against his palms as he gasped for breath, rolling onto his back.
The first Sync—a man in a suit—stood over him, staring down with that same eerie, blank expression.
More of them surrounded him, their movement precise, effortless.
Ethan wheezed. "I… should've…done...more... cardio…"
Before he could even attempt to push himself up, hands clamped down on his arms.
Smooth, efficient, no wasted effort.
They weren't even rough about it.
It was like he had simply been picked up and processed like an item on a conveyor belt.
He was passed through the streets, his feet barely touching the ground as the people just handed him onwards in calculated silence.
Unlike before, the civilians didn't even glance at him.
It was as if he had already stopped existing.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably no more than ten minutes, Ethan found himself in a large, white room.
It was sterile. Too sterile.
The walls were a pale, lifeless white, and the air smelled faintly of disinfectant.
There were people.
Dressed randomly.
Full suits to just vests with shorts. The only thing common about the people was the gloominess and resignation.
Dozens of them sat in neat rows, silent. A few of them looked up at him but looked away just as quickly.
Some stared blankly at the walls, some others at the floor, some were even curled up, asleep.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved unnecessarily.
It was like being in a waiting room where no one was actually waiting for anything.
Ethan shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his wrists where he had been held. He scanned the room for anything useful—an exit, a vent, any kind of weakness.
Nothing.
Then his gaze fell on his Quest Tab.
He pulled it up, and his eyes landed on the Survival Timer.
[22:04:36]
The countdown was counting down in real-time.
That was how long he had to survive before he cleared the Initiation Quest.
Ethan exhaled slowly.
Alright. You're not dead yet. Time to think.
His hand hovered over his Inventory.
The guns were still there, untouched.
He could, in theory, pull them out. But then what?
He'd never killed before.
Could he even bring himself to pull the trigger?
Even if he could, what was the point? The moment he fired, the entire city would come down on him.
He'd be swarmed and subdued—or worse, eliminated entirely.
No. That wasn't the play.
Then, suddenly, Galen's voice echoed in his head.
"The greatest weapon that an Explorer has is the ability to adapt and improvise."
Ethan exhaled sharply.
His situation looked bad, sure.
He was captured, held by the enemy, outnumbered.
But that didn't mean he was helpless.
He just had to find the loophole.
His brain kicked into gear.
Ethan's fingers tapped against his knee as he stared at the others in the cell, his mind racing through scenarios.
There had to be a way out.
He just needed to see it.
Because if there was one thing he wasn't going to do, it was sit here and wait for whatever came next.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Well, all I really did get to do was sit and wait.
Now, Ethan found himself loaded onto a shuttle bus, being sent off to God knows where.
The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on him. For all the dystopian, robotic efficiency he had witnessed so far, this? This just felt like a glorified school field trip.
The bus had windows, seats, overhead compartments, even an emergency exit sign.
At a glance, it looked completely normal.
No ominous prison transport, no futuristic restraint pods.
Just a bus.
Ethan sat near the back, trying to make sense of it all. The other detainees were slumped in their seats, just as listless as before. Nobody resisted. Nobody even looked remotely concerned.
The bus hummed smoothly as it pulled away from the facility. Ethan glanced outside, watching as the city passed by.
The sight was oddly surreal it looked just as normal as before.
And that's what disturbed him most.
The streets weren't blocked off, there was no disruption in the flow of traffic. Pedestrians continued walking, cars continued driving.
More unsettlingly, the bus never stopped.
No red lights. No traffic congestion. No interruptions.
It was as if the city itself was clearing a path for them in real-time.
Eventually the cityscape gave way to the countryside and the world outside was just lush fields of flowers and possibly, what seemed like crops.
Everything was in full harvest, it was like a pristine and untouched scene from a movie.
But the peace and serenity gave Ethan the moment he had been waiting for.
He opened his Map and Radar.
The sea of red dots from before was gone.
Now, there were only a handful of red markers—right here, inside the bus.
He knew exactly where they were sitting.
His breath hitched.
This was it. He hesitated.
He had never killed anyone before.
His fingers hovered over his Inventory.
He could pull out a gun right now.
But could he actually do it? Could he shoot a person—even if they weren't possibly human anymore?
His grip tightened. It didn't matter.
If he hesitated, he was dead.
If he hesitated, he would be "synchronised".
Gritting his teeth, Ethan discreetly pulled out a shotgun and propped it against the seat in front of him.
One of the red-dotted individuals was sitting there, unassuming.
Before he could think any further, he pulled the trigger.
The confined space erupted with noise.
The blast ripped through the person's body, splattering blood and flesh across the seats and windows.
Before the feeling of repulsion could make its way into his throat, other red dots moved.
Fast.
Ethan was already switching to his Glock, standing up in the aisle as another Red-dot turned toward him.
He fired.
The enemy dropped.
But before he could turn to the next, a third Sync lunged at him—grabbing the gun.
Ethan reacted instinctively, recalling the Glock into his Inventory.
The person froze for half a second, just long enough for Ethan to recall the gun back into his hand.
Bang.
Another one down.
For a second, Ethan thought he had it under control—until the bus driver slammed on the brakes.
Ethan was flung forward, crashing into the aisle.
His head cracked against the metal edge of a seat, the impact sending a sharp wave of dizziness through him.
Before he could get up, two people pinned him down.
"Neutralizing threat," one of them said, voice devoid of emotion.
Ethan struggled, but their strength was overwhelming.
One of them raised a fist.
His heart pounded.
Damn it, is this it?
He clenched his eyes shut—
But the pain never came.
Instead, he heard a strangled choking noise.
Ethan's eyes shot open.
The guy who was about to neutralize him a second ago was locked in a chokehold.
A girl, one of the detainees, was behind him—her arms coiled like steel around his neck.
The second person moved to intervene, but before he could reach her, she twisted her body, using the person she was choking as leverage.
Her foot shot out—a perfectly placed kick to the incoming person's knee.
The leg buckled, sending him crashing down.
Letting the first body collapse to the floor, she pivoted, flipping the second hostile over her shoulder, slamming him onto the bus floor with a brutal force.
Ethan barely had time to process what he was seeing.
By the time she was done, the rest of the enemies were motionless.
He pushed himself up, shaking off the shock, and stumbled toward her.
"Thank you—" He caught his breath, still dazed. "You sav-."
The girl suddenly turned to him. For a brief moment, there was a flicker of annoyance.
Then—her fist shot forward.
The sucker punch hit Ethan square in the face.
What he was about to say, was stuck as a thought, as he blacked out.
-ed me back there.