The station house felt different. The usual background hum of paperwork and petty crime reports had been replaced by a tense, electric anxiety. Officer Terry Sau—though he'd already begun thinking of himself as Nanashi—noticed the clusters of officers speaking in hushed tones the moment he walked in.
His superior, Captain Ramirez, called everyone to attention. The man looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"Listen up," Ramirez began, his voice gravelly. "Effective 0800 hours today, the National Police Commission, in coordination with the FPA, has issued a new directive. All personnel will undergo a System screening. Those confirmed as Awakened will be consolidated into new, specialized Player Response Units. Those who are not..."
He paused, the weight of the next words hanging in the air.
"...will be honorably discharged with full pension benefits."
The room erupted.
"That's bullshit!" yelled one of the veterans. "They're just clearing house! They don't want to be responsible for us normals getting killed!"
"It's a coward's move," another muttered. "They want an army of supers and they're throwing the rest of us to the wolves."
Nanashi stayed silent, his mind racing. This was it. The writing had been on the wall for weeks. The government was streamlining, creating a clear divide between the protected, empowered class and the vulnerable masses. To stay was to be put under a microscope, his every stat and skill logged and monitored. His freedom, his ability to operate in the shadows, would vanish.
He watched as the first officers were called up one by one to place their hands on a small, crystalline device provided by an FPA liaison. A soft chime would sound, and a screen would display their status.
"Officer Dela Cruz: Awakened. Class: Urban Ranger. Proceed to staging area B."
"Officer Reyes: Non-Awakened. Please proceed to HR for processing."
The mix of pride and pity in the room was palpable.
Leviathan: (A worried whisper in his mind) "They're going to find out! What do we do? If they take you away, I'll be all alone!"
When his name was called, Nanashi stepped forward, his face a mask of neutral resignation. He made eye contact with Captain Ramirez, whose expression was one of genuine sorrow.
"Saulog," the Captain said quietly. "You're one of my best. I'm sorry it's come to this."
"Orders are orders, Captain," Nanashi replied, his voice even, his eyes are empty as dead fish eyes.
He placed his hand on the scanner. Internally, he activated False Data. He imagined his status not as the Player with the unique Pretender class and the terrifying Authority of Envy, but as a blank slate. A normal, mundane human. He fed the device an image of emptiness, of static.
The device chimed. The screen flickered.
Officer Terry Sau: Non-Awakened.
A few of his colleagues patted him on the back, their expressions a mix of sympathy and relief that they weren't the only ones deemed "ordinary." Captain Ramirez looked away, disappointed.
"Proceed to HR, Saulog," the FPA liaison said, not unkindly. "Thank you for your service."
An hour later, he was holding a small box of his personal effects and a severance package. He stood outside the precinct for the last time, the bright sunlight feeling alien. He was free.
Leviathan: (Giddy with relief) "You did it! You tricked the stinky glowy box! We're free!"
Month 2, Day 15
The garage behind his family's small house was now a functional, if basic, workshop. A second-hand forge, an anvil, and racks of tools bought with his pension. A simple, hand-painted sign was hung outside: "Nanashi's Workshop - Repairs & Custom Orders."
His parents were worried, of course. Their son, a decorated officer, now a blacksmith? In this dangerous new world?
"Are you sure about this, son?" his father had asked, his brow furrowed with concern. "It's not... safe."
"It's the safest thing I can do," Nanashi had replied, which was the truth, though not in the way his father understood. "I'm providing a service. People will always need good equipment."
His first customers were low-rank Players from the neighborhood—D and E-rankers who couldn't afford guild prices. He fixed dents in armor, sharpened blades, and replaced broken straps. With every item he touched, he used his Authority of Envy.
He didn't copy flashy combat skills. He copied Basic Blacksmithing from a grizzled old crafter, Appraisal from a merchant, and Mana Conduit Weaving from the failed project of a struggling enchanter. He absorbed the fundamentals, the tiny efficiencies, the hidden knowledge. He was building his foundation not with grand theft, but with a thousand tiny borrowings.
Leviathan: "Ooh! That feels tingly! We're learning so many new things!"
He worked tirelessly, the Pretender class allowing him to seamlessly blend these copied skills into a cohesive whole. To his customers, he was just a very skilled, very diligent craftsman. The pay wasn't grand, but it was honest work.
He was no longer Terry Sau, the policeman. He was Nanashi, the craftsman. And in the shadows, A patron caught a glimpse of the Blacksmith's Actions from the Police Headquarters and released a maniacal laughter, "Deceiving the FPA as an Non-Awakened? Now that's something Theatrically Comical!". The [Crawling Chaos] Nyarlathothep had begun to observe Nanashi.