Zenon, the capital of Luxembourg, stands as the pinnacle of technological advancent, a city where every corner gleams with the sheen of automation. From the mont one steps into its pristine streets, it becos clear that Zenon is more than just a city; it is a living organism, pulsing with data and governed by algorithms.
Every lamppost doubles as a surveillance node, every building’s glass facade hides sensors, and every citizen’s device is seamlessly integrated into the city’s centralized security network.
Because of this total interconnection, cri in Zenon is nearly nonexistent.
The city boasts one of the lowest cri rates in the world, but not because of the inherent virtue of its people, but rather, because nothing escapes the governnt’s gaze. Every movent, word, and gesture is recorded and analyzed.
Caras line every street and corridor. Communication devices, from cell phones and digital watches to tablets and laptops, feed continuous streams of information to the central control grid. Even dostic appliances, from the smart vacuum cleaners, refrigerators, washing machines, they all part of the network, quietly gathering behavioral data under the guise of convenience.
Despite the near-total erosion of privacy, none of Zenon’s residents complain. They live contentedly, surrounded by comfort and security. The governnt has mastered the art of persuasion, crafting a narrative that constant surveillance equals safety and prosperity.
Through endless cycles of cheerful dia broadcasts, patriotic films, and glossy advertisents, citizens are reminded that the system protects them, that every monitored heartbeat and recorded conversation ensures a faster ergency response, a safer street, a better life.
Therefore, no one questions the trade-off. The citizens of Zenon wake, work, and sleep under watchful eyes, their lives flowing in perfect, regulated harmony. To them, the surveillance is invisible, or perhaps, it has beco a kind of invisible faith.
But for outsiders, those who understand the depth of this control, Zenon is far from a utopia. Beneath the shining skyline and seamless systems lies a chilling reality: a population that has traded freedom for comfort, autonomy for safety, and has forgotten that it ever had a choice.
The car door suddenly flew open, shattering the quiet night.
Soone rushed in, breath quick and uneven.
"I’ve got new information!" he barked, yanking open the glove compartnt. He pulled out a small crystal vial and downed it in one motion.
The liquid shimred faintly as it slid down his throat. Within seconds, his erald eyes turned a deep, earthy brown.
Behind the wheel sat a man in a black hoodie, his face buried in shadow, posture loose but deliberate, the kind of stillness that only ca from soone who’d lived too long on the edge of danger.
"You should be more careful, Samuel. Without the Versipell potion, all those surveillance caras would catch you in a second," Clift said, his tone calm but edged with quiet warning.
Outside, a patrol drone drifted by, its red sensor light scanning the street through the drizzle.
Samuel wiped a trace of liquid from his lips, the glass vial still warm in his hand.
"I know," he muttered. "I got held up, and it took longer than I thought." He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders finally breaking. "But it’s worth it." His expression darkened as the neon flickered across his face, wich was very different from his original face.
Clift turned slightly, the faint gleam of his eyes visible beneath the hood. "What did you find?"
Samuel pulled a tablet from his jacket, fingers tapping rapidly across the screen before turning it toward Clift. "You know soone nad Igor Renovich?"
Clift frowned. "Isn’t he the creator who killed many children for his experints? Wasn’t he supposed to be executed this year?"
Samuel nodded grimly. "That’s what’s supposed to happen. But soone broke him out of prison, and slaughtered a lot of people in the process."
Clift’s eyes sharpened. "And why the hell have I never heard about this news sooner...?"
Samuel’s expression hardened. "According to the official report, Igor died during the chaos. But I’ve got intel saying Warden Baxter himself was involved."
Clift drumd his fingers on the steering wheel, the rhythm slow and deliberate. Then he looks at Samuel again, "And why are you bringing up Igor Renovich, it can be just because you concerned about so lunatics on the loose, are you?"
Samuel t his gaze, voice dropping to a low, steady whisper. "Because my informant said, he’s here now, he is in Zenon."
Silence lingered for a mont. Then rain began to fall, a faint patter on the windshield breaking the stillness. Clift straightened, the hood shifting just enough to reveal the cold glint in his eyes.
He sat in thought for a few seconds before speaking. "Soone from Luxemborough might’ve helped him get out of prison. Did your sources tell you why Luxemborough wants Igor Renovich?"
Samuel exhaled through his nose, eyes fixed on the rain.
"Igor Renovich is a madman, but he’s a genius. A brilliant creator in his generation. My guess is, they brought him here to continue the MADD device project." He gave a bitter half-smile. "You know, since they lost Ethan Hamilton, they needed soone to replace him. This ti, they chose a lunatic, one without a moral code."
Clift had expected the enemy wouldn’t place all their hopes on Ethan Hamilton, but he hadn’t expected they’d choose soone like Igor Renovich. Then again, considering the kind of plan they’d concocted, it made perfect sense to use a man with no conscience. "Can your informant be trusted?" Clift asked.
Samuel raised his brows. "Can my informant be trusted?" He let out a low sneer. "How do you think I’ve avoided Luxemborough’s attention all this ti? You think that just happened by luck?" He straightened in his seat, gaze drifting toward the window. "I still have people in Luxemborough who are on my side. Not many... but enough."
Clift tapped his index finger against the steering wheel, then asked again, "Did your informant tell you where he saw Igor?"
Samuel tilted his head toward him, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. The dim glow from the dashboard carved sharp angles across his face.
"Yeah," he said lighly. "Turns out our dear Mr. Renovich has a little hobby for gambling at the beast-fight arena. And guess what? He’s a regular. Always ca twice a week, on the sa days, at the sa ti, just like clockwork. And lucky for us, today’s his play day."
Clift blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "So he’s not just a bloody killer, but a gambler too?"
"Isn’t that convenient?" Samuel chided, half-amused.
Clift gave a cold smirk. "Can’t argue that."
"Anyway," Samuel continued, "the beast-fight arena he goes to isn’t your average pit. It’s a high-end place, so only the rich can afford a seat there. So we’ll need to drop a quite sum of money to buy the invitations... and maybe so proper clothes for the occasion." He shot Clift a sideways glance, smirking. "as you can see, I don’t bring nice clothes."
Clift sneered, one corner of his mouth curling. "Don’t worry about that, Mr. Albrecht. Money is the last thing we need to worry about."
He turned the key, and the engine roared to life. Headlights pierced the curtain of rain as the car rolled forward into the downpour.
The preparations didn’t take long, cause money had a way of making obstacles disappear. Perhaps, the only real challenge was finding the right suit that fit their disguise.
Once the Versipell potion had settled in their veins, they climbed into the car and rged onto the midnight streets.
Zenon unfurled before them like a living circuit board—glass and steel towers pulsing with electric veins of light. Neon billboards bathed the skyline in shifting colors, while streams of hovercars weaved between bridges suspended in the mist. Every mirrored surface caught a fragnt of brilliance until the whole city seed to ripple in motion, radiant and untouchable.
It was a city that never truly slept, only glittered, watching itself through a thousand unblinking eyes.
They drove in silence for a while, the hum of the engine blending with the city’s low electric pulse. Samuel adjusted the cuff of his borrowed suit, grimacing at his reflection in the window.
"So remind again," Samuel muttered from the back seat, "what kind of people are we pretending to be?"
Clift’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. He glanced at the rearview mirror. "Simple," he said. "You’re a new money,soone who struck it rich off a lottery card. A man who’s never tasted luxury and can’t wait to drown in it. You’re loud, careless, and trying far too hard to fit in with high society."
Samuel chuckled under his breath. "Oh, I know that kind of guy." He leaned back, eyes glinting with mischief as neon light streaked across the glass. "And you’ll be my strict secretary who doesn’t like very much, right?"
Clift gave a short, dry sneer. "Which employee actually likes their boss?"
"That’s true." Samuel nodded with mock understanding, then turned to him again. "So, how much budget do we have for the gambling? I don’t want to spend too much and got arrested by King’s n."
The corner of Clift’s lips lifted slightly. "Enough."
"Whatever you say," Samuel murmured, leaning his head back against the seat. "But I’m not taking responsibility for that." He closed his eyes, letting the hum of the engine lull him into a brief silence.
Clift drove in quietly, just the way he preferred. Outside, holographic billboards drifted across the facades, their vibrant images flickering through the mist, advertisents, political slogans, and the familiar, polished face of Theodore Navarro staring down from above giving encouraging words.
Behind them, sleek, aerodynamic vehicles glided silently along the magnetic lanes, driverless, guided by unseen systems. Their movents were perfectly synchronized, neat, efficient, and eerily quiet. They flowed with chanical grace, like streams of tallic ants tracing invisible paths through the night.
Above, a few drones drifted through the sky, patrol units, couriers, surveillance eyes, each moving in flawless formation through the steel canyons. From a distance, the city seed alive: a vast organism of light and logic, breathtaking in its beauty, terrifying in its control.
There was sothing unsettling about Zenon’s perfection, the sterile streets, the glass towers cutting against the clouds, the silence that lingered beneath the hum of machines. Everything felt too precise, too calculated, as if the city itself were no longer run by people, but by an algorithm that had forgotten what imperfection was.
It was nothing like Herriond. In Herriond, technology and nature coexisted in effortless harmony. The streets pulsed with color and noise, clean, yet carrying the gentle fingerprints of life.
Children ran laughing through narrow alleys, their muddy shoes leaving faint smudges on polished pavent. Teenagers in outlandish fashions turned every corner into a burst of color and sound. The air was rich with the scent of street food, grilled spices, sweet bread, and the soothing aroma of tea drifting from small stalls tucked between hos.
The whole city was brimming with life.
People often assud that a taciturn man like Clift would prefer a place like Zenon, quiet, neat, controlled. They couldn’t have been more wrong. He hated it. The order here didn’t calm him; it suffocated him. If not for the mission, he would never have co to this kind of place.
"We’ve arrived," Clift’s voice awoke Samuel from his short nap.
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