Training Room – Reaper HQ

  The sound of combat wasn’t the cracking of bones, but the electric hum of Jester’s hoverboard and the gusts of air Henry wasted with every punch thrown into the void. Dressed entirely in black, Henry looked like a shadow trying to catch the wind. His movements were precise for a human, but Jester was an anomaly.

  Henry threw a right cross, aiming for the jester’s cloth mask, but Jester tilted his head to the side with a fluid, almost mechanical motion.

  "Missed again! Where’s that street aggression, Bluey?" Jester mocked, his high-pitched, bouncy voice echoing off the metallic walls. He spun around Henry, the bells on his suit jingling like a constant laugh. "I’m not fast, Henry... it’s just that the world is slow to me! You fight like you’re swimming in honey."

  Henry growled. He tried a sweep kick, but Jester engaged the hoverboard’s thrusters, leaping over him and landing smoothly behind the Heretic. Before Henry could turn, he felt Jester’s arm wrap around his neck.

  The arm was thin, but it had the strength of a hydraulic press. Jester abandoned the hoverboard and locked his legs around Henry’s waist, dragging him to the floor in a perfect rear-naked choke. Henry’s world began to dim.

  "Do you know what I see when I look at you?" Jester’s voice changed. He activated his voice modulator, and the clownish tone gave way to a soulless, metallic thunder that vibrated directly in Henry’s ear. "I see a corpse that hasn’t realized it stopped breathing yet. If you keep this up, how will you survive out there? Silas doesn't want a pet; he wants a Reaper."

  Henry felt his vision throb in red. He tapped Jester’s arm twice—the signal for surrender.

  The grip vanished instantly. Jester hopped back onto his hoverboard, reclaiming his squeaky voice and the apple he had left on a bench.

  "Better! At least you know when to lose."

  The training room’s pneumatic door slid open with a hiss. Silvia Turner stood there. She wasn't wearing her full combat gear, just tactical pants and a black tank top that revealed the surgical scars on her pale shoulders. Her mask of black tears was clipped to her belt.

  Her icy green eyes swept over Henry’s pathetic state.

  "Enough playing with the fool, Henry," Silvia said, her melancholic voice carrying a silent authority. "Go clean yourself up. Silas is waiting. You’re coming with us today."

  Henry stood up. "Where to?"

  Silvia stared at him for a moment, and Henry saw a spark of something that looked like a warning in her eyes.

  "To take down another group. Silas wants to see if the black of your clothes matches the blood of the infidels. We’re going to hunt the Conductors."

  The Road to the "Energy"

  The Reapers' black armored vehicle cut through the morning mist with the precision of a bullet. Silas was at the wheel, his skull mask resting on the dashboard. He didn't look at Henry, who sat in the back next to Silvia, but his presence filled the entire space.

  "The Conductors think the world is an equation, Henry," Silas began, without turning around. "They fence off territories with copper wire and think they can tax the sun. Yesterday, they intercepted a shipment of batteries that was meant for us. Copper Vector made the mistake of thinking his 'mathematics' could protect him from our hunger."

  Silas finally turned, his eyes locking onto Henry’s.

  "I’m giving you a weapon today. A real one. But remember: if you hesitate—if a single Conductor manages to fire one of those voltage arbalests at me or Silvia because you felt 'pity'... I’ll let Lil finish what he started with your other eight fingers."

  Silvia handed Henry a matte black M4 rifle, identical to her own. The weight of the gun felt like a sin he was about to carry.

  "Don't worry, either of you," Henry said, a new coldness in his tone. "I’ve already proven my loyalty by killing those supremacists and the Wraiths. Today won't be any different. But let's try to talk to them first—find out what they want. Depending on the answer, we’ll decide whether to shoot to kill or just send them to heaven."

  Silas held Henry’s gaze for a moment too long. He seemed to be searching for any trace of hesitation, but he only found the determination of a man who had already lost almost everything.

  "The Wraiths were good practice, Henry," Silas commented, turning back to the road. "But electricity doesn't bleed like common flesh. Silvia, give him the negotiation channel."

  The High-Voltage Perimeter

  The vehicle pulls up to the cable fence. The 60 Hz hum is torture to the ears. Henry climbs out. The four Conductors, in their rubber suits and glass masks, level their fiberglass spears at him.

  Henry takes a step forward, keeping his rifle at rest but his posture aggressive.

  "I’m Henry, with the Reapers. And before we decide whether to turn this place into a metal graveyard, we want to talk," Henry projects his voice, ignoring the static field that makes the hair on his arms stand on end. "What do you want in exchange for the batteries? Name your price. If it’s fair, we leave in peace. If not..." Henry slightly raises the rifle, "...I’ll personally ensure your 'system' suffers a terminal short circuit."

  Silence lingers until the speakers on the high-voltage poles crackle to life. Copper Vector’s voice emerges, heavy with an arrogant French accent.

  "Talk? A Reaper who uses logic before bullets... what a fascinating miscalculation. Silas must be getting sentimental. You want the batteries? They’ve already been integrated into the Great Grid. But I am a man of business, not waste. The price for their return is your nervous system. You would be the perfect battery for my central lab for... let’s say... the rest of your short life."

  Silas, leaning against the armored rig with terrifying calm, looks at Henry and gives a lopsided smirk from behind his bandages.

  "There’s your 'talk,' Henry. They don’t want metal. They want us for power generation. So?" Silas unlocks the bident hidden in his gauntlet with a metallic click. "Are we sending them to heaven, or can I start peeling back those rubber suits?"

  "Fine. I tried it my way," Henry says, his voice now distorted and icy through the black mask’s modulator. "Now, we do it the Reapers' way!"

  Before he can even finish the sentence, chaos explodes.

  The High-Voltage Massacre

  Henry doesn’t fight like a common soldier, nor entirely like a Reaper. He fuses the parkour agility of the Heretics with Silas’s ballistic lethality. He lunges toward one of the Conductors trying to load an arbalest. Henry draws his M4 and fires a short three-round burst. The bullets pierce the enemy’s thick glass visor, shattering the porcelain insulator and causing the rubber suit to collapse into a puddle of fluids and static electricity. Henry spins on his axis, using the rifle as a club to parry a spear, and finishes the move with a front kick that sends his opponent into the electrified fence, frying the Conductor’s nervous system in seconds.

  Silvia moves with a haunting elegance. Where Henry is explosive, she is surgical. She walks calmly through the battlefield, M4 braced against her shoulder, firing with inhuman precision. An enemy tries to flank her, but Silvia drops him with a headshot. Through the surrounding glare, she picks off two more, moving between the bolts as if she were part of the storm itself, her masked face remaining impassive as she "cleans" the perimeter.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Silas ignores his rifle. For him, this is personal. He charges like a tank of flesh and bone. One of the Conductors fires a high-voltage bolt directly into his chest, but Silas barely staggers—biological modifications and military-grade plating soak up the impact. With a low growl, he grabs an attacker’s fiberglass spear with his bare hands, ignoring the shocks coursing through his gloves. Silas yanks the man close and, with a sharp snap, fires the hidden bident from his gauntlet. The two iron prongs tear through the rubber suit and the Conductor’s chest like paper. He hoists the man’s body over his head and hurls him into the nearby transformers, triggering a blast of blue sparks that illuminates the entire valley.

  In less than two minutes, the ground is littered with hollow rubber suits and the scent of ozone smoke. The four front guards and the reinforcements that emerged from the mist have been decimated. The 60 Hz hum is now accompanied by the sound of twisted metal and scorched flesh.

  Silas wipes the blood from his bident onto his sleeve and looks at Henry. There’s a glint of almost cruel approval in his eyes.

  "See, Henry? Their math didn't predict our arrival."

  Copper Vector screams over the speakers, his voice now trembling with fury and fear: "YOU... YOU ARE MONSTERS! THE WASTE OF LIFE IS AN EQUATION I CANNOT FORGIVE! RETREAT, OR I WILL OVERLOAD THE ENTIRE GRID AND BLOW THIS REGION SKY-HIGH WITH YOU INSIDE!"

  Silas looks at Henry and Silvia. "He’s bluffing to save his own copper. Henry, it's your call: do we breach the base to shut down the system manually, or do we use the rig to take out the main generators and leave this place in the dark?"

  "Who am I to decide?" Henry says, his voice steady and emotionless through the modulator. "You’re the leader. Do what you think is best... as long as we get to him."

  Silas pauses for a second. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face. He gives Henry a heavy pat on the shoulder—a gesture of recognition that the Heretic has finally understood his place in the pack.

  "Fair enough, Henry. Very fair," Silas mutters. "Silvia, clear a path. Let’s go visit the mathematician."

  The Heart of the Grid

  They breach the central lab. The place is a cathedral of metal and wiring, with Copper Vector cowering behind his reinforced glass dome, plugged into the system like an electrical parasite.

  "Stop! Take one more step and I’ll overload the system!" Vector screams, his voice trembling. "Efficiency demands that you retreat! I can blow everything!"

  Henry doesn't wait for Silas to give the order. He walks calmly to the base of the dome, ignoring the warnings. He stares at Vector through the glass, his Reaper mask reflecting the electric arcs dancing around the room.

  "Did you hear what I said out there?" Henry asks, his voice sounding like a final verdict. "I tried to talk. But Reapers don't care for math. They care for results."

  Silas and Silvia flank Henry like shadows of death. Silas hands a fragmentation grenade to Henry but keeps his eyes locked on Vector.

  "Henry said I decide," Silas says, staring down the leader of the Conductors. "And I’ve decided the world doesn't need energy accountants. Henry... show him what happens when the books don't balance."

  Henry doesn’t waste a second on Copper Vector’s desperate pleas. He pulls the pin with a sharp tug and drops the grenade directly into the vent of the generators powering the glass dome.

  "The debt is settled."

  He turns his back before the explosion even hits. The roar shakes the base, and a shockwave of fire and copper shrapnel tears through the platform. The glass dome shatters into billions of fragments, and the French leader's screams are swallowed by the sound of a terminal short circuit. The central system collapses, plunging the lab into a crimson emergency light.

  In the midst of the chaos and smoke, the battle isn't over.

  A remaining Conductor, hidden behind a high-voltage pillar, lunges from the shadows with a charged fiberglass spear. He charges toward Silvia, who was momentarily distracted adjusting her mask after the blast.

  Henry reacts on instinct. He levels his rifle and fires three rounds into the side of the attacker’s glass helmet. The man’s body thuds to the ground inches from Silvia’s boots.

  Henry holsters his weapon, walks over to her, and—in a tone that blends his new Reaper coldness with a trace of the old Henry—says through the modulator:

  "You owe me a drink, 'Little Death'."

  Silvia stares at him from behind the black tears of her mask. She doesn't offer a verbal thanks, but Henry notices the subtle tilt of her head—a recognition of a blood debt that, among Reapers, is worth more than any promise.

  Meanwhile, in the background, Silas is a force of nature. Five Conductors try to surround him, desperate to avenge their leader. Silas doesn't even bother reloading his rifle. He moves among them like a black-and-white phantom.

  With one hand, he seizes a Conductor by the throat and crushes him against the wall; then, he fires the bidents from his gauntlets, impaling two enemies one after the other. He spins, delivers a bone-shattering punch to one man, and finishes the last by snapping his spine with a fluid knee strike. Within seconds, Silas stands in the center of a pile of bodies, his breathing not even phased.

  He looks at Henry and Silvia, the light of the flames reflecting off his skull mask.

  "The batteries are in the back hangar," Silas announces, his voice vibrating with the satisfaction of triumph. "Henry, you did well. Today, Oregon learned that no matter how much you hide behind wires and calculations... Death always knows the way."

  The Return

  On the way back, the armored rig is silent. Silvia wipes a drop of blood from her suit, occasionally glancing at Henry. Silas watches the horizon, already plotting their next moves.

  From behind his black mask, Henry stares at his bandaged fingers. He saved one life, took dozens, and now commands even more respect from the monsters who once hunted him. But in the back of his mind, the 60 Hz hum still rings, and he wonders how much of his own "energy" he has left before he truly becomes one of them.

  Reaper HQ

  The atmosphere inside the CIA base was quieter than usual when Henry walked into the kitchen. The hum of the LED lights seemed to echo the exhaustion he felt deep in his bones. He sat at the same minimalist table where, days ago, the "family dinner" had sealed his fate.

  It had been three days since Lil turned his face into a mess of blood and bruises.

  Silvia appeared in the doorway, moving with her spectral grace. She was no longer wearing her mask, revealing a pale face and eyes that seemed to carry centuries of weariness. She was carrying the same medical kit as before.

  "It might be time to take these off," she said, stepping closer and placing the kit on the table with a sharp click. "We need to see what Lil left behind. The bio-sealant should have done its job by now, but the skin... the skin holds onto memories of pain longer than the rest of the body."

  She reached out and began to loosen the adhesive tape at the base of Henry’s neck.

  "Stay still, Henry. It might sting a bit when the air hits the scars."

  As she unwound the layers of gauze, turn by turn, Henry’s face began to emerge. The swelling had gone down thanks to the Reapers' advanced medication, but the marks were deep. There were cuts that had turned into jagged red lines and bruises fading into shades of purple along his cheekbones and jaw.

  Silvia paused for a moment, observing the results with clinical precision, but her eyes lingered on his just a second longer than necessary.

  "Lil is efficient at what he does," she commented in a whisper, dabbing an antiseptic cotton ball on an open wound near Henry’s eyebrow. "But you’re resilient. Most would have been left permanently disfigured. You... you just gained the look Silas likes. The look of someone who survived hell."

  She picked up a small hand mirror and tilted it so Henry could see.

  Henry stared at his reflection. The bruises and scars were now part of his identity—marks of a baptism by blood that he never asked for, but now carried on his skin. He ran his fingers over the discarded bandages on the table and looked up at Silvia.

  "Well... it doesn’t matter what I think of my reflection anymore," he said, his voice clearer without the mask’s modulator, but heavy with a grim acceptance. "I’m one of you now. Aren't I? At least that’s what Silas and Jester won't stop saying."

  He pauses, studying her pale face, trying to find the humanity hidden beneath that "Beautiful Death" facade.

  "Can I ask why you care about my recovery? You don't strike me as the charitable type, Silvia."

  She opens her mouth to respond, perhaps with something technical or cold, but Henry interrupts her. He reaches into the pocket of his black leather jacket and pulls out a small object pulsing with a soft blue light. It’s a handcrafted necklace, made from braided copper wires and a small capacitor he salvaged from the wreckage of the Conductors' base. The residual energy makes the object glow in a perfect heart shape.

  "Here. I made this for you," he says, holding out the luminous necklace. "Just consider it a reminder that not everything born from electricity has to be a weapon."

  Silvia freezes. She looks at the necklace in Henry’s hand as if it were something dangerous—something her Reaper logic can’t process. The blue glow reflects in her eyes, and for a moment, the silence in the kitchen is broken only by the faint hum of the energy trapped within the pendant.

  She slowly reaches out, her pale fingers touching the cold metal and the warm light of the necklace.

  "You’re strange, Henry," she whispers, her voice wavering for a fraction of a second before regaining its neutrality. "No one has ever given me anything that wasn't an order or ammunition. If Silas sees this..."

  She doesn’t finish the sentence. She closes her hand over the glowing heart, hiding the light, and glances at the kitchen door as if expecting her brother or their leader to appear at any moment.

  "I care because..." she starts, meeting his gaze again, but now with a different intensity, "...because if you’re just another monster, then I’m truly alone here. Now, put your mask on. Silas is coming, and he doesn't like seeing what’s underneath the bandages."

  Henry remains seated, his face—marked by Lil’s scars—exposed under the harsh kitchen light. Silvia quickly tucks the necklace under her gear just as Silas makes his imposing entrance. The leader of the Reapers comes to a halt.

  Henry doesn’t look away. He stares at Silas’s white bandages and tosses out a provocation with a tone that defies the leader’s authority.

  "Well? Do you like the little gift your 'pet' left on me?" Henry points to the bruises and cuts on his face. "Doesn't matter. I’m going to bed. Wake me up early for whatever mission is next."

  The silence that follows is ice-cold. Silvia holds her breath, bracing for a violent reaction. Silas tilts his head, studying Henry’s face as if analyzing an unfinished work of art.

  Silas lets out a low, guttural laugh. He walks over to Henry and places a heavy hand on his shoulder, squeezing with a force that would make an ordinary man scream, but Henry doesn't flinch.

  "The 'dog' only bites those he feels are in need of a new shape, Henry," Silas says, his voice low and controlled. "And it seems he gave you exactly what you were missing: the look of someone who has stopped caring about his own life. Go get some rest."

  Silas removes his hand and steps aside. Henry stands up and passes him without another word, heading toward the dorms.

  In the hallway, before entering his room, Henry looks at his bandaged hands. He knows Silas only wants him around for his utility.

  As he enters the room, Henry lies down on the luxury bed. Solomon and the Heretics’ plan feels like a distant dream, while the black-and-silver reality of the Reapers becomes his new skin.

  Henry’s Room – Reaper HQ – 02:30 AM

  Henry is drifting through a restless sleep when he feels a light touch on his face. He wakes to find Silvia’s silhouette at the edge of his bed. The room is draped in shadows, but the blue glow of the necklace he gave her hours earlier—after the mission—illuminates her pale face.

  "What are you doing here?" Henry asks, confused.

  Silvia just looks at him, touching the heart-shaped pendant made from the Conductors' energy. "I didn't say thank you. So, thank you," she whispers. "In twenty-nine years, I’ve never received anything like this. Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep."

  She leaves the room silently. Henry watches the door close and, for the first time in nearly a week of living with the Reapers, he closes his eyes and falls asleep with a faint smile.

  End of Chapter

  Faction Data (Lore)

  The Conductors: This faction, composed of 50 French nationals, acts as the nervous system of the devastated world, operating under a logic of mathematical fanaticism where energy is treated as a finite divinity and waste is the ultimate crime. Their operating procedures and negotiations are based on rigorous efficiency audits; they do not accept currency, only high-conductivity metals (copper, silver, and gold) or hours of slave labor on manual dynamos to recharge their battery banks. If a contract is breached, they initiate the "Cut-off Phase," plunging the debtor into a total blackout and confiscating all the wiring in the territory as a penalty. Their weaponry focuses on potential difference and conduction: they utilize fiberglass spears with copper tips connected to dorsal battery packs to fry enemy nervous systems, and arbalests that fire coil-wire bolts to electrify targets from a distance. The standard base uniform is a black vulcanized rubber suit sealed with insulating resin, bakelite chestplates with bronze connectors, and thick glass masks with porcelain insulators, ensuring they are immune to their own discharges while maintaining a robotic and impersonal aesthetic.