Atropos let out a long sigh, the tension lingering in the room as she collected herself. “We’ll talk again,” she said, her tone firm but carrying a hint of something unresolved. Without waiting for a response, she turned sharply, striding toward the exit.

The stolen doll—now bound to her brother’s will—shifted aside, moving back to allow her passage. She cast a last glance over her shoulder, her gaze fixed on the brother who no longer remembered her. Her normally impassive expression softened, and for a brief, unguarded moment, sorrow flickered in her eyes. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced by her cold, unreadable mask as she stepped out, leaving the room heavy with unanswered questions.

As Atropos walked to the elevator, she pressed the top floor button.

She calmly reactivated her emotional inhibitors, causing a cool numbness to seep over her as her emotions faded into controlled neutrality. Yet, beneath that familiar veneer, her mind drifted back almost twenty years, to a time when she’d last seen her brother. She had made the painful decision then, choosing to leave him in the care of their grandparents, believing she could keep him far from the life she had chosen—a life steeped in shadows, danger, and obligation to the Hunter World.

And now, he was here, entangled in the very world she had hoped to shield him from. A faint throb resonated in her core, the burned scars on her soul echoing with each heartbeat, old wounds that still pulsed with lingering pain. She remembered that fateful day, when a monstrous force had intervened in their lives, tearing apart the futures they had envisioned. How the government, with brutal pragmatism, had condemned her, binding her soul with twisted spells, shaping her into the perfect weapon they required.

It was the law, they said. Her destiny, they said.

They had stripped away her emotions, her memories of a life once filled with warmth and innocence, and rebuilt her into a creature who existed only to serve. But the memory of her brother, distant yet vivid, had always remained a stubborn fragment in her mind.

And now he was back. It was a complication she hadn’t foreseen—one that stirred feelings she had long been trained to suppress, but never truly erased.

Atropos stepped off the elevator and into the command center at the top of the tower.

The room spread out in a vast, circular layout, illuminated by a cool, sterile white light that shone down from panels embedded in the ceiling. Walls lined with screens displayed a constant, pulsing stream of data—maps marked with blinking red and green dots, live feeds from Hunter missions across the region, and streams of surveillance footage from secure sites.

Rows of sleek workstations stretched across the floor, each outfitted with multiple holographic displays. Each screen was dense with intel: lists of active Hunters, their stats, current mission statuses, and profiles of known threats. Operators sat at these stations, their heads bowed in concentration, fingers skimming across virtual keypads as they tracked activities and managed assignments.

Atropos moved through the rows, past the staff immersed in their tasks, their faces occasionally flickering with the bluish glow of the screens. At the far side of the room was a series of glass-walled cubicles—the offices of each department’s head. She cast a glance at the one labeled “Director of Intelligence and Analysis,” where the faint, familiar glow of screens reflected against the glass.

Her gaze traveled back to the main command area. Larger screens dominated the central wall, displaying a map of global and regional hotspots, lists of flagged supernatural entities, and known cult activities. A smaller side screen, showing a feed of recent mission footage, caught her attention briefly. It showcased a high-stakes battle that a team of Hunters was currently engaged in.

Atropos’s gaze softened as she approached the command center’s heart, where the chairman sat in his customary throne-like chair, sprawled in an unflattering pose, fast asleep. The figure before her was, at first glance, nothing like what one would expect of the head of the Hunter's Association. Bob, the chairman, was slouched back with a lazy air, one hand loosely clutching a crinkled packet of chips and the other a half-empty can of soda. His face was softened by the peacefulness of sleep, the faintest snore escaping from his slightly open mouth.

Even so, Atropos couldn’t help but feel a deep-seated respect for him. Bob, with his relaxed demeanor and ridiculous red cape made of aura draped over his shoulders, was anything but ordinary. In fact, he had saved her from a hellish existence she rarely allowed herself to remember. Back then, she’d been nothing more than a weapon, her humanity buried under layers of conditioning and control. It was Bob who had pulled her from that darkness, giving her the chance to live, to feel, to be something more than a doll for others to wield. Because of him, she had found the freedom to exist as something close to a real person.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips as she approached. With a careful hand, she adjusted the recline of his chair, tilting it back just enough to let him settle more comfortably. She removed the bag of chips from his slack grip, setting it down beside him, then took the soda can and placed it upright to prevent it from spilling. Lastly, she fetched a blanket from a nearby storage bin and draped it gently over his shoulders. A touch of tenderness filled her expression as she stepped back.

To think they were close in age, yet here he was, the chairman of the Association, a man whose influence stretched farther than most would ever realize. He’d achieved so much, transforming himself from someone who might have remained another cog in a vast machine into a leader, someone truly remarkable.

Despite his relaxed, almost absurdly carefree appearance, Bob carried the weight of an organization that impacted countless lives. In a way, he was everything she had once dreamed of becoming.

She looked down at him, the faintest hint of a smirk forming on her usually stoic face. “Sleeping like a fool… doesn’t he know he might get assassinated anytime soon?” she murmured, the words almost affectionate in their familiarity.

Atropos’s colleagues were an odd but competent bunch, each a vital part of the Hunter’s Association’s top brass. She’d barely settled at her workstation when Maurice’s casual voice rang out, breaking the usual hum of quiet conversation and machinery in the command center.

“Well, he is pretty tough, so confidence of the strong, eh?” Maurice quipped, glancing up from his Gameboy with a grin. Maurice was the director of security and enforcement, and despite his casual appearance, he was one of the Association’s most capable fighters.

With dark skin and a wild afro, Maurice looked much younger than he was—many might even mistake him for a teenager. He wore a simple shirt and jeans, preferring comfort over any strict uniform, and had a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. He was a protector in every sense, directly responsible for the chairman’s safety and the security of the organization, even if his relaxed demeanor didn’t immediately convey it.

Tori, however, had a different outlook. “I don’t know about that…” she muttered with a note of tension in her voice as she sipped her coffee. “We’re in a pretty tight spot recently. I swear, spies are the last thing I want getting in our pants. The government is working hard on putting us in check.”

She was the director of intelligence and analysis and was everything Maurice wasn’t when it came to appearance and attitude. Her dark hair was tied in a severe bun, and her sharp gaze was framed by equally sharp glasses. She wore a tailored suit that made her look as intimidating as she was professional, an air of precision surrounding her as she sifted through a pile of reports.

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At the small snack bar, a low wooden table before her was stacked high with documents, making her workspace feel more like a strategist’s den than a break area.

Opposite Tori, lounging without a care in the world, was Dr. Yamada. His messy brown hair and rugged stubble made him look somewhat endearing—if one could ignore his current choice of reading material, an open risqué magazine, which he was flipping through with no hint of shame.

“I want a girlfriend, damn it…” he muttered aloud, earning a few unimpressed looks.

Dr. Yamada was the director of medical and psychological services, a brilliant, if occasionally eccentric, physician. His tendency to grumble about his perpetual bachelorhood was as much a part of his routine as his habit of ignoring social norms. Without warning, he absentmindedly reached a hand down to adjust his pants, crossing yet another line.

"Oh man, I could use some shagging..."

Dr. Yamada sensually reached for his crotch…

A loud whack echoed as Tori slammed her foot against the table, startling Yamada so badly he nearly choked on his words. With deadly calm and veins practically bulging at her temples, Tori hissed, “Dr. Yamada, I suggest you behave, or I will personally ensure your castration.”

The resulting silence was profound.

But it didn’t last long, because just then, a loud, resounding thud came from the side, drawing everyone’s attention. A pale figure had flopped onto the floor, his gangly limbs sprawled haphazardly as he groaned and shifted in half-asleep confusion. It was Klein, the director of personnel and recruitment, whose eternally drowsy state was as infamous as his flagrant disdain for government regulations.

Klein was an albino with striking white hair and skin as pale as moonlight. His fashion choices were as controversial as his work habits—today’s attire included a bright yellow shirt with a defiant graphic: a cartoon hand flipping off the government’s flag.

“Ugh… what time is it?” he mumbled, blinking sleepily as he pushed himself up from the floor.

Klein often snoozed through work, but given the late hour, no one could fault him too much for his half-awake state. His responsibilities lay in identifying new recruits and vetting personnel, a job he handled with a surprising amount of success despite his disheveled approach.

Maurice strolled over to where Klein lay sprawled on the floor, his stance sharpening as he leaned back and kicked Klein square in the face with all the controlled ferocity of a tiger. Aura surged through his leg, adding force to the blow. Klein was sent rolling back, yet somehow, no blood was spilled.

“Go to your room if you’re planning on clocking out, dumbass!” Maurice barked.

Klein snapped up from the ground with wide, wild eyes, looking as though he had been jolted into another dimension. “YOU CANNOT DISSUADE ME! ALIENS ARE REAL, AND I AM FROM ANOTHER WORLD, YOU SON OF A—Wait…” His gaze darted around, registering his surroundings for the first time. “What am I doing here?”

With a groggy stretch, he stumbled towards the elevator and stepped in, promptly vanishing from sight as the doors closed.

Dr. Yamada snickered, tossing his magazine aside with a lazy grin. “Well, I should probably go too. Need to vent some stress… on my blow-up—”

“Oh god, disgusting. You don’t need to say it!” Tori groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose and visibly shuddering.

Maurice shook his head, his expression shifting from disgust to a stern reminder. “Move on, will you? The chairman needs his sleep. Or do you want to be kicked in the face, too?”

Dr. Yamada yawned and waved a careless hand as he ambled toward the elevator. “Fine, fine.” With a single, tired glance back, he slipped into the elevator, leaving the command center.

Now, it was only Atropos, Tori, and Maurice left in the quiet, softly humming room, surrounded by the dim light from the screens. Atropos looked over at the chairman, still dozing peacefully.

With a thoughtful tilt of her head, she murmured, “Want me to kick the chairman in the face too, then? Just to even the playing field?”

Maurice paused with, a flicker of alarm in his eyes. “Uh… probably not a good idea. He is the boss, after all.”

Atropos glanced at the chairman, sprawled on his seat with his head tilted at an awkward angle, his mouth slightly open as he snored away. She sighed, the idea of giving him a swift kick to the face momentarily tempting.

“You’re right, Maurice,” she muttered, folding her arms. “We should just let him suffer a stiff neck so maybe, just maybe, he’ll learn to go to bed on his own.”

Maurice rubbed the back of his neck with a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Or… maybe I should kick him in the face after all?” He seemed tempted for a moment, despite his disposition as a security guard.

Tori shook her head, gathering her files with an exhausted sigh. “I’m going now, you bunch of crackheads.” Without another word, she made her way to the elevator, leaving the two behind.

Maurice yawned, though in a quick second he used an aura technique to refresh himself, shaking off the weariness. Atropos watched him go back to his own cubicle, his posture was relaxed and unhurried.

Around her, the command center’s walls were lined with screens displaying mission progress, reports, and security feeds. The cubicles were occupied—not by people, but by Atropos’s dolls, each one in a designated spot, fingers gliding over keyboards, meticulously cataloging the success and failure rates of the day's operations. Each doll operated with precision, keeping logs and alerts up-to-date under her direction. As the Director of Operatives, her workload was extensive, but her dolls allowed her to extend her reach and stay in control without pause.

Maurice, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, tapping away at his own PC with a satisfied smirk. While technically a director, his responsibilities as head of Security and Enforcement boiled down to little more than bodyguard duty for the chairman.

Free from intense managerial tasks, Maurice pulled up a round of MOBA on his screen.

Atropos sat back in her chair, her eyes flicking between the various screens in front of her as she analyzed the flagged activities. Each notification, each anomaly, was carefully scrutinized, but one particular thread caught her attention. The “Elsewhere Cult” was a name that had never crossed her radar until now. She had no idea who they were—until she dug deeper into her brother’s recent actions. Reynard had a talent for blending into the shadows, that much was clear now. And this discovery? It both intrigued and disturbed her.

What the hell has he been up to?

Atropos couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and irritation. Reynard had surprised her time and time again, especially after she saw what he was capable of with aura. She’d always known him to be smart, but his hidden abilities were something else entirely. She was left questioning what other talents he had been hiding from her.

Her thoughts wandered back to the incident with her stolen doll. The situation had left her conflicted. She didn’t know whether to be furious that one of her creations had been taken so easily—or impressed by the audacity and skill it took to pull it off.

She activated a few camera feeds, zeroing in on a young man: Gerry Mansel. A kid from old nobility, one of the two assassins sent to kill her brother. Atropos’s lip curled in disdain as she watched him carefully.

Gerry… You’re still alive?

She had planned to deal with him, to make an example of the arrogant child for even daring to cross her brother’s path. She’d considered all options—kidnapping him, torturing him, and even ending his life outright. After all, the kid had tried to harm her brother. But despite all that, Gerry had persisted. He hadn’t been eliminated, and now he was still playing this dangerous game.

Atropos shook her head, deciding against the death sentence for the moment.

He’s not worth it yet.

Instead, she plotted her next move with a sly smile. She’d let him live for now, but not without purpose. She would let him face her brother directly, in tomorrow's exam. She was confident that Reynard, with his unpredictable abilities, would deal with Gerry—just as he had with everything else so far. If he failed, well, then it would prove that the Hunter's life was not the right path for him.

And if he succeeded? That would only make her more curious about just how far he could go… despite all her instincts.

She manipulated the tournament brackets. There was no reason to make it easy on him—if anything, it would be more interesting to see how he handled the pressure of facing the toughest opponents in the exam.

Let’s raise the stakes.

The tower, known publicly as the Fighting Tower, was a miraculous piece of technology and aura combined. Atropos knew its true name, however—World Tower. She had seen firsthand what its advanced systems could do. While the public saw it as a mere arena for battles, the tower had deeper functionalities, ones that even the most brilliant minds struggled to fully comprehend. And that made it perfect for her plan. With its fail-safes in place, the possibility of accidental deaths was minimal. But the pressure it could place on a person? That was something else entirely.

She smirked at the thought of Reynard, already anticipating his performance. Whether he rose to the occasion or not, Atropos would be watching every step.

And preferably, Reynard would realize the folly his actions and give up the hunter life.