After Victor wished him luck and headed off toward the Playroom to return to the other world, Adyr made his way back to his room to finalize his preparations.
He scanned his hand over the digital panel beside the door and stepped inside, only to pause.
In the corner of the room, several sealed crates were stacked neatly. But Adyr wasn’t expecting any deliveries.
He approached with narrowed eyes. The labels confird they were indeed from the Division. It didn’t take much thought to guess who had sent them.
After a short silence, he opened one of the crates.
"Aren’t you quite generous, Mr. Bates?" Adyr muttered with a smile, spotting a full tactical uniform neatly folded inside, complete with reinforced boots and a matching utility belt.
This wasn’t just any standard issue. It was one of the latest-generation STF combat suits, purpose-designed for special operations units. The last ti he’d checked the shop, the suit alone—excluding accessories—was listed at 450 rit. And there was more.
He opened a second crate.
Inside were a set of throwing knives, nearly identical to his own but sharper and better balanced. Next to them lay high-grade grenades—smoke and flash variants—and a combat shield roughly the sa size as his current one but clearly superior in both material and finish.
It was clear Henry Bates hadn’t chosen these items at random. The selections mirrored Adyr’s previous purchases—sa knife style, similar gear loadout, just higher quality. The man had done his howork.
He dug further. There were carbon-fiber ropes, spools of ultrathin wire, and, nestled in a foam-lined case, a sniper rifle.
Beneath it, in a smaller box, sat two identical pistols—sleek, matte black, precision-engineered.
"These are good toys," Adyr said with a grin, lifting the rifle.
At a glance, it resembled a streamlined pump-action shotgun—simple in shape, no unnecessary flair. But the accompanying kit told another story.
Inside the case were modular attachnts: a high-magnification scope with thermal and night vision modes, a suppressor, an ergonomic vertical grip, and a collapsible bipod for prone stability. The rifle’s barrel was reinforced for high-caliber rounds, and its stock was adjustable for recoil control and comfort.
Every piece was built to military standards, with a lightweight fra, matte finish, and zero reflective surfaces. It was made purely for function, designed to kill, not impress.
Adyr also checked the twin pistols.
Both were compact, hamrless designs with polyr fras and steel slides—built for reliability over style. Chambered in 9×19mm, they struck a balance between manageable recoil and stopping power. Their low-profile iron sights and threaded barrels made them suitable for close-quarters work, especially with suppressors. Each ca with extended magazines and ambidextrous safeties, clearly configured with his fighting style in mind.
They weren’t flashy, but efficient. Fast to draw, easy to control, hard to trace.
Exactly what he preferred.
Adyr silently praised Henry Bates once again. He wasn’t surprised that the gear felt tailor-made—after all, the man was the commanding officer of the entire STF. Understanding and anticipating his soldiers’ needs was part of who he was.
The only thing Henry hadn’t sent was a set of swords similar to Adyr’s own. But that, too, made sense. His goal was to prepare Adyr for battles in this world, not interfere with what happened in the other. Even sending this much equipnt was already a gesture of goodwill. Other players would have to spend their own rit to get gear like this. Henry had quietly given him sothing most wouldn’t receive—personal support, offered off the record.
He then checked the new notification on his wrist device. Another 180 rits had been added from the creatures he’d recently turned in, bringing his total to 890.
There wasn’t enough ti to spend it now. Better to hold onto it. Once he returned to the ga, he could browse the market there, see if anything from this world could be traded over for profit.
While skimming through forums and storefronts, searching for anything worthwhile, a soft beep ca from the door.
He glanced at the digital screen.
A man in a black suit stood outside—soone he didn’t recognize.
Adyr opened the door. The man spoke in a steady, professional tone.
"Mr. Adyr, a car is waiting for you in the underground garage. I’ll escort you, if you’re available."
Adyr studied him briefly. Mutant. Not STF. His posture, gear, and lack of presence all pointed to a low-level security detail. Nothing more than a runner.
He was here to deliver Adyr to the outbound team.
"Just give a few minutes. I’ll get ready," Adyr said.
Once he received a respectful nod in response, he closed the door and turned to the gear laid out on the bed.
With practiced efficiency, he equipped the new tactical suit and gear. Then stepped in front of the mirror to check for any gaps.
The uniform was a clear upgrade—more flexible, better fit, and so light it felt like a second skin. Reinforced segnts on the shoulders, chest, and back were shaped to avoid interfering with joint movent. The material itself was rugged, but the protection ca from embedded black tallic plates molded into key areas.
Twin pistols sat holstered on either side of his waist, within easy reach. Grenades and throwing knives were secured along the belt, and a length of carbon-fiber rope hung coiled at his side without hindering movent.
His twin blades were strapped to his back in a cross-draw setup—sa as always. Above them, mounted tightly and balanced, rested the matte-black heater shield, offering additional protection.
And the sniper.
Fully assembled, every attachnt installed, it was slung across his back beside the shield. Locked in place by a magnetic shoulder strap, secure but ready to deploy at a mont’s notice.
When he felt ready, he finally stepped outside.
"I’m ready," Adyr said.
The man hesitated for a mont before responding. "Please follow ."
That brief pause told Adyr everything—he hadn’t expected to see soone in STF gear. Clearly, this mission had been kept secret even from the personnel sent to escort him.
Adyr didn’t care who saw him leave. The people he was after belonged to a group that thrived on chaos. Whether they knew a threat was coming or not, they didn’t seem like the type to make serious preparations.
And if they did, all the better. It would only make things more interesting.
Right now, he was a hunter going on a hunt. And even the smallest hint of resistance would only make the ga more satisfying.
As he followed the man down the corridor lined with player rooms, there was no one around to see him. Most players were likely in the Playroom, fully engaged in the other world.
Adyr was usually the only one who ever stepped out.
His schedule was consistent—enter in the morning, leave by evening. That alone had puzzled the researchers.
While other players struggled to find a safe place to leave their bodies, Adyr treated the process like an 8–5 office shift. In and out, clean and simple. The contrast was almost absurd.
The man led the way, with Adyr following behind. They took the elevator to the underground garage, then descended one level deeper via a second lift—this one restricted to regular personnel.
There, Adyr finally saw his team.
Five people stood clustered around a black military-grade Humr, reinforced with additional plating. They were chatting idly, so with bored expressions, clearly waiting for him to arrive.
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