"I assume you know why we're here."
Eric blinked up at the doctor, lab coat, medicated glasses perched on his nose, false warmth in his eyes that hinted at having seen too much.
Blond hair was tied back in a neat man bun, and he stood expectantly, waiting for answers.
But that was the problem, Eric thought, exhaling heavily. He had a mess of clues swirling in his head, yet none seemed significant enough to warrant the weapon-wielding enforcers surrounding him.
Was it the car? Old vehicles were banned worldwide—something about preserving the last scraps of the ozone layer.
Reason he drove at night, usually for shady clients who needed items hidden from daylight. The cash was good, and there was never a dull moment—until the work dried up.
Which was why he'd gone to the Bureau.
The bed beneath him felt too thin, as if it might collapse if he pressed too hard. But he knew it wasn't the bed making him uneasy—it was Drenvar, still glaring at him, making him shift uncomfortably.
Fuck.
His mind reeled from the system's reboot. Whatever that was, whatever had just happened, was a problem for future Eric.
Present Eric had a more immediate issue: the armed enforcers in his hospital room. If he added up all his minor crimes, his ass was about to be thrown into a dungeon.
"I assume you know why we're here," the doctor repeated. A polite way of saying, 'dont test me.'
Eric wet his lips. "The car wasn't mine."
Drenvar's expression didn't shift—just a slow blink, as if assessing how much of an idiot he was dealing with. After their last encounter, Eric wasn't sure he wanted him to find out.
Without a word, Drenvar slammed a stack of papers onto his lap. "Do not go that route."
Veyle was physically intimidating, slicked back black hair, broad-shouldered like enforcers tend to be, and with the added power clinging to him, he made the room harder to breathe in.
Eric shuffled through the photos: him sprawled bloody and unconscious on the floor, charred debris and collapsed structures in the background. But something was off about these pictures.
No ash. Not a smudge or smear on him. He flipped through them faster—the building, the stadium, all collapsed—but no ash.
His stomach twisted. Was the ash a hallucination too? Like the girl? Like the screen they clearly weren't seeing? Was he losing it?
"Was there a reason you drove to the South checkpoint alone? In the middle of the night?" Drenvar pressed. "Is there a reason you're not dead?"
But Eric noticed the questions he didn't ask. Veiny split in half? Ashspawns obliterated by the light? The ashfall? As much as he wanted to scream it all, that damn thing pulsed:
[Say nothing about the events leading to your fall. +5 points]
Sweat streaked down his forehead, his back, soaking into the hospital gown.
The images told one story—him, unconscious in a disaster zone—but his memory told another. The ash had been everywhere. He'd felt it clogging his throat, his lungs. He'd seen it swirling, remnants of whatever had burned. Yet here, in the clinical evidence in his hands, there was none.
So he wasn't even lying when he muttered, "I don't… I don't know what's going on, man."
"Something wrong?" Veyle asked, too casual.
Eric hesitated. He was in deep shit—that much was clear—but how deep depended on what Veyle really wanted. If this was about the car, the smuggling, or even his Bureau run-in, he could bullshit his way out like always.
But if it was about this—whatever this was—he was playing a game without knowing the rules.
He stared at his hands and murmured, "I was on my way home when my car exploded. In the process of hiding…" Veiny's memory flickered. "I fell."
A shadow fell over him. He knew it was Drenvar before he even looked up.
Drenvar held his gaze and Eric made the mistake of turning away.
The doctor cleared his throat and rose. "It's likely you don't remember much after the explosion and fall. We all thought you died. The heart monitor stopped beeping, and the nurse who's currently having a panic attack was here to pull the plug."
Eric smiled bitterly. "Maybe I'm just lucky."
His stats blared red.
"Hmm," the doctor said, a small smile on his own lips. "Yes, luck." He turned, walking toward a guard who already had a suitcase open. From it, he withdrew a syringe, raising it overhead so the pointed tip glinted in the light. "Unfortunately, luck has nothing to do with my area of expertise. Four days ago, your assessment came back pink. Coincidence is too costly a belief."
Eric didn't like how he said coincidence, like a curse. He didn't like how the guard reached for their guns, as if expecting him to bolt.
He really didn't like that syringe.
"You're an anomaly, Eric." The doctor turned, catching Eric's expression, and stifled a laugh. "No, you're not in trouble. But with your consent, I'd like to draw some blood for further testing."
Eric stared at the syringe, then at the doctor's too-polite smile.
His fingers curled against his legs. "And if I say no?"
Drenvar tilted his head,. "Why would you say no?"
The two enforcers at the door straightened slightly.
The doctor smirked. "Then we wait. You'll be under surveillance until we determine what happened to you, one way or another. Blood tests would simply expedite the process."
Expedite. Right. Because having enforcers breathing down his neck indefinitely sounded like a great alternative.
For a Bureau that had demanded he never show up for testing again, they were hell-bent on running him through that damn machine now.
Exhaling, Eric stretched out his wrist. "Fine. Do whatever you want."
The doctor smiled. "Thank you for your compliance."
The screen flickered.
[First Quest Completed]
[+5 Points Earned]
[Lying looks good on you]
A breath he hadn't realized he was holding slipped free.
Trapped. For the first time in his life, he felt truly trapped.