Phoenix City.
A bustling mid-sized metropolis on the West Coast. Thanks to the economic boom, it boasted a high standard of living. Compared to massive hubs like New York or LA, the only things Phoenix City lacked were overcrowding and perhaps a few years of history.
Zooming in, we find the Safe Haven Apartments, a weathered three-story red-brick walk-up on the edge of Old Town.
With rusting fire escapes climbing the walls and a 24-hour Laundromat and Liquor Store occupying the ground floor, it was a gritty, no-frills building. The upper floors housed about thirty units along a single, dim corridor.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Russell knocked expressionlessly on the door of Unit 213.
He was the landlord. Today, he was here to discuss the lease renewal. If the tenant didn't plan to stay, he would terminate the contract and list the apartment on Craigslist immediately.
He had been knocking for five minutes straight. He knew someone was inside because the tenant was a cam-girl who streamed at night and slept during the day.
Sure enough, under Russell's persistence, the door finally opened. A stream of profanities flew out first, followed by a woman in spaghetti-strap pajamas. It took another ten seconds for her sleepy eyes to focus.
"Oh, isn't it the handsome landlord? To what do I owe the pleasure?" The streamer saw Russell and immediately wrapped her hands around his arm, her voice turning sickeningly sweet. "Heehee, such firm arms. Working out?"
Russell turned a blind eye. He extracted his arm and took a step back.
He had seen her ID. He knew her double eyelids, sharp chin, and high nose were all fake. Originally, she had a square jaw and a flat nose. Her beauty was entirely the result of plastic surgery and Instagram filters.
Russell cut to the chase. "Tiffany, your lease expires next month. Are you extending? If so, you can pay six months' rent today."
"Ugh, talking about money is so unsexy. How about a discount?" Tiffany winked. She wasn't broke; she just enjoyed teasing men. Accustomed to the "simps" in her chat room, she found Russell's coldness intriguing.
Russell put on a fake smile. "Sorry, you're not my type. I prefer natural beauty."
"..."
Tiffany rolled her eyes. "I'll be honest. The plumbing here sucks. I'm moving out. My Sugar Daddy got a condo ready for me downtown."
"Great. I'll come for the keys at the end of the month. Clean the room, or pay 50 bucks and I'll hire a cleaner." Russell replied professionally. "Although the contract ends, if your Sugar Daddy dumps you, you are always welcome back at Safe Haven."
"..."
Tiffany took a deep breath, trying not to let her silicone implants explode from anger.
"Handsome Landlord, come at night for the keys. Don't disturb my beauty sleep. And... text me on Snapchat beforehand. I don't want to open the door during a stream; my fans might misunderstand. You know?"
"No problem. Let's add each other."
"Don't you have my Snap?" Tiffany looked confused.
Russell shook his head. "I blocked you. Last time you sent me nudes at 3 AM."
Tiffany's eye twitched. "If you blocked me, don't bother adding me back. Just call me!"
"I blocked your number too."
Tiffany: "..."
...
Russell. Male. 25. Single. No bad habits.
Owning an apartment complex at twenty-five was a small fortune. Naturally, Russell didn't earn it.
He inherited the building six months ago after his parents died in a sudden car accident. Following the funeral, he quit his job as a rookie cop to manage the place full-time.
While cleaning out his parents' master bedroom, Russell found a codebook hidden in a bookshelf.
This baffled him. His father, Roger, was a middle-aged man with a beer belly who spent his days collecting rent and playing Texas Hold'em. His mother, Fiona, was much the same. What secrets could two ordinary citizens have?
Russell spent three days cracking the code. The conclusion left him dumbfounded: His parents were assassins!
Assassins? Roger, who combed his thinning hair over his bald spot every morning? Fiona, who struggled to fit into her old jeans?
Life was stranger than fiction. Russell realized his romantic history had been rigged from the start.
The "nice girls" his mother kept trying to set him up with—daughters of her so-called "old friends"—were all industry insiders. Even his ex-girlfriend was a contract killer in training.
"I hate assassins!" Russell groaned.
To satisfy his curiosity, he hacked into his father's encrypted chat group. The group was lively. These assassins had cover jobs: comic artists, film critics, Uber drivers... and shockingly, six out of ten were full-time Web Novel Writers.
Through their daily banter, Russell pieced together the reality of his parents' and his ex-girlfriend's lives. It wasn't the glamorous, high-octane lifestyle seen in movies. It was a grind. And they hated it.
But in this line of work, there was no such thing as "one last job."
The only way out was in a body bag—or if the "Admin"—the mysterious figure who held the master list of their true identities—kicked the bucket first. Until then, they were trapped.
Take his father, Roger, for example. He started as a broke veteran. To pay off his debts and marry Fiona, he let his old Sergeant talk him into "a quick gig." By the time Russell was born, Roger was in too deep to pull out. He even dragged Fiona into the pit. She became his handler: managing logistics, gathering intel, and balancing the books.
Since learning this, Russell had become a permanent lurker in the group chat.
...
The Master Bedroom. Third floor, end of the hall.
This was where Roger and Fiona had lived the longest, and where Russell had found the codebook. He had swept the room for secrets, but a nagging paranoia kept him living there, guarding against anything he might have missed.
Russell glanced at the burner phone he had fished out from a crack behind the nightstand. Screen black. No missed calls, no texts.
He set it aside to charge and logged onto his computer, ready for his daily lurking session.
That was when a mechanical, synthesized voice echoed inside his skull—a sound no one else could hear.
[User please note. The Third Mission World is about to begin. Entering ten-minute countdown. Please prepare!]
The warning repeated three times.
Russell didn't react. He simply reached for the pack of cigarettes on the desk and lit one. He didn't smoke, but watching the smoke curl upward helped clear his head. He sat there, motionless, waiting.
Russell. Male. 25. Single. No bad habits...
...Except for A System in his head.
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