Cursing, I peered down. Damn it! Such idiocy! They were so young, with their whole lives ahead of them, yet they became involved in some "business"... I'm certain these brothers were young avengers. I had seen enough of their kind in Syria. They lacked any real understanding of life, yet they were firmly convinced that they alone could restore "justice," according to their interpretation of the word. They didn't value their own lives, let alone those of others. I felt no guilt for their deaths. Or to be precise, I felt no more guilt than I did a year ago when I failed to timely deliver a wounded Italian correspondent to the hospital after a mortar attack. If circumstances had been slightly different, things might have turned out much better, but... they didn't. Moreover, the warm sensation spreading in pleasant waves over my left palm was a clear indication that "Purity" approved of the demise of these two young assassins. Of the five bodies in the hangar, I only truly mourned the two dock workers. They were simply unfortunate men who had come to grab some booze.
Nevertheless, now wasn't the time to lament over them. I had to quickly decide what to do next. The simplest course of action would be to make a swift exit. The most foolish choice would be to step out of the Break and attempt to maneuver past Mateo's traps to discover what the Koreans were seeking in the hangar. I dismissed this latter option almost immediately. If I were ten or fifteen years younger, I might have risked it out of curiosity, assured that the Koreans were after something important. But I've passed that age when mere curiosity outweighs mortal risk. I wasn't too keen on the first option either, as I didn't want to leave the bodies just lying there. Who knows, maybe no one will visit the hangar for several days, and the port's abundant rats will devour the corpses... Regardless of who these people were in life, I didn't want them to meet such an end.
I dropped down, glanced at the bodies, then stepped out of the Break and pulled a flip phone from Mateo's pocket. In this world, the concept of smartphones and tablets hadn't yet taken hold, so the shapeshifter's phone was one of the top models in the market, which didn't surprise me at all - he could certainly afford it. Of course, the phone was password-protected, but emergency calls could be made without entering the password. I could have used a payphone, but that would have required leaving the Break in a public area or drawing attention to my biker getup near the crime scene. I also could have searched the other bodies for less conspicuous and pricey phones, but that would have meant moving them. Any forensic expert could easily tell if the bodies had been tampered with, so I chose to use the shapeshifter's phone. It was in plain sight. Dialing the emergency number, I waited for the operator to answer, quickly muttered the hangar's address, and mentioned the screams and sounds of a struggle that I allegedly heard. Since I had disguised my voice and spoken through the lowered visor of a motorcycle helmet, I wasn't concerned about being identified by my voice "imprint."
Even though the year in this world and my own was identical, due to a greater fragmentation of states and the effectively maintained clan system of society here, technological advancement lagged somewhat. The discrepancy varied in different areas, averaging about fifteen to twenty years. I would liken the general state of development to that of the mid-nineties in my previous world. In certain sectors, the gap was nearly imperceptible. For instance, the World Wide Web here was not much less functional than the internet I was accustomed to, only lagging in terms of data transfer speeds available to the end user. On the other hand, sometimes the divide was far more noticeable, with space exploration being the most striking example - no one here had landed on the moon, launched habitable orbital stations, used Hubble-type telescopes to study the universe, or had anything like a GPS or GLONASS system even in the planning stages. That said, a significant number of communication satellites had been launched in this world. Therefore, my belief that my voice wouldn't be identified was founded on very concrete reasons.
Mateo's phone was likely a "gray" model, meaning it wasn't registered to anyone specifically. Given his line of work, one could be nearly 100% certain of that. After completing the call, I removed the SIM card, broke the device into pieces, and then scattered its remnants around the hangar. I did this to prevent someone from inadvertently recognizing the shapeshifter's phone and associating it with the emergency call. If such a connection were made, even the most oblivious police officer would become curious: who called from a dead man's phone? Granted, I was wearing gloves, and no one saw me, but such a precaution seemed sensible. After disposing of the phone components, I promptly slipped back into the Break and, via a well-worn path far from any prying eyes, headed for my home. I wasn't concerned if someone discovered the wreckage of the phone. They would have to scour the entire hangar to collect all the pieces. This would require mobilizing all the forensic experts in the city for a year. And no one would bother to search for anything like that anyway. An experienced investigator would immediately determine: three were killed by a raig, and most likely the other two as well. Searching for evidence against the "ghost" - who would want to take on such a thankless task?
The route I selected home was both simple and secure: straight to the coast, down into the sewers, and onwards from there. Nothing complex. Grime doesn't stick to a projection, and odors aren't so concerning when you don't need to breathe. Perhaps I'm paranoid and overly cautious, but today's encounter only reaffirmed that astounding coincidences do occur in life.
Why astounding? Well, there are only about thirty registered raigs in Wilflaes, a city of twenty-five million inhabitants, and the total number of Break Knights, based on indirect data, is at most fifty. So, what's the likelihood of a random encounter involving three raigs in such a desolate location as an abandoned hangar in a far-off corner of the seaport? Exactly, it's practically non-existent.
As I made my way through the sewers towards home, I mulled over the day's events. There was no way I could have saved the dockworkers or the shapeshifter. No matter my intentions, I simply wouldn't have made it in time. However, the brothers might have survived had I been more attentive and not let my guard down after the battle, confident of my victory. Yet, I don't see myself as their murderer. If anything, they committed suicide by challenging me... "Fools" is the apt term for them. Why would they attack an unknown raig in the first place? If someone spots you, engage in a conversation first. You can often resolve things without resorting to violence! But no, they had to draw their swords and attempt to eliminate the witness. Juvenile miscreants.
What if someone else had been in my shoes, another traveler from my world but without my experience? The brothers would have undoubtedly killed him. If I hadn't met Vicky in my past life and ended up here, I too would be lying dead in that hangar alongside the dock workers and Mateo.
Vicky... Every recollection of her is a rough stone scraping at my heart. I remember, as soon as I realized that I had been granted a new life, I was initially elated. Then, the thought struck me that I would never see her again, and I was overwhelmed by a wave of grief so profound that it might drive someone else to suicide in my situation. It's been a month since that moment, and it seems I should have come to terms with the fact that I'll never see my wife again, but somehow I haven't managed to... We haven't been lovers or shared any passion for a long time, yet it's incredibly tough. Surprisingly, I don't miss my children as much, possibly because I had long since accustomed myself to the idea that they had left their father's home while I was "there." In truth, Vicky was my only genuine friend in life, always there when I needed her. I felt her presence even when I was thousands of kilometers away from home. Now...
My heavy thoughts were only interrupted by the realization that I had almost reached my destination. Traversing through the earth's crust is even less entertaining than plunging into a block of concrete. Any other thoughts promptly vacated my mind. Having survived this ordeal, I ended up in the basement of my house, a twelve-story building where Izao's mother owns an apartment.
Melanie Vaillant, Izao's mother, is a strikingly attractive, well-maintained woman of thirty-eight who views herself as a brilliant, albeit unacknowledged, artist. Having seen her paintings adorning every corner of the apartment turned art studio, I can confidently say that recognition isn't likely to come her way, given the lackluster quality of her work. Nonetheless, she possesses a distinctive sense of taste and is considered a respected authority in the art world. The puzzle is why this aesthetic discernment fails to manifest in her own creations. A couple of days prior to my spirit inhabiting her son's body, she received an offer to work at the Louvre, which she accepted. A week later, she packed up her belongings and left for France. She didn't take Izao with her. He had already submitted all his paperwork to Novilter State University and paid for his first year's tuition. In her view, it would have been foolish to uproot her son, robbing him of such an excellent educational opportunity, given that NSU ranks among the top ten universities globally. Additionally, as soon as the academic year commences, Izao will move to the university campus, a standard requirement for all students. I only encountered Melanie for five days, and frankly, that was probably for the best. She was so preoccupied with packing and preparing for the significant shift in her life that she overlooked the transformation her son was undergoing. However, based on Izao's memories, his relationship with his mother wasn't exactly the warmest. The boy couldn't comprehend her emotional detachment, often causing him considerable distress. But I quickly understood the situation.
In her younger years, Melanie was essentially a mistress. It might have a different term here, but the essence remains the same. As soon as she fell pregnant, her "retirement" was arranged. It's likely that Izao's father belonged to a clan, as Melanie wasn't abandoned without a source of income after the pregnancy. Even today, a respectable law firm sends her a monthly sum of two thousand francs. It's not extravagant, considering a docker's salary, which is deemed quite decent, amounts to fifteen hundred francs a month. Nonetheless, it's not insignificant. Since then, Melanie has never married, choosing instead to devote herself to "art". She presumably loved Izao's father, and her abandonment left a profound imprint on her psyche. From what I can recall of Izao's memories, there's no suggestion that his mother had ever been involved with anyone else.
It's an unpleasant realization, but a mother's indifference towards her son is advantageous for me. Less attention from her equates to fewer complications for me, and her moving to a different country feels like a stroke of serendipity.
One would assume that I'd now be swamped with work, attending preparatory courses and spending my days metaphorically "chiseling away at the granite of knowledge". However, I seldom leave the apartment, and when I do, it's solely to buy food or venture into the Break for training. When I found out that I'd be re-enrolling in university in the fall, I swiftly went through the first-year courses and breathed a sigh of relief. Izao was a textbook nerd: quiet, unassuming, always sitting in the front rows. He was also a quintessential arts student who excelled in subjects like history and literature, but struggled with exact sciences. I am his antithesis in this regard — a techie at heart. Formulas, computations, and diagrams are not indecipherable codes that require rote memorization for me, but structures that I can easily comprehend. I also have luck on my side, as Izao, who was passionate about robot-themed films and comics, had persuaded his mother to finance his education at the Robotics Department! Well, "persuaded" might be a stretch. He essentially pleaded and whined until she relented. All things considered, the boy whose body my soul was transported into was quite a dullard: at seventeen, he didn't have any friends, even at school! Given these circumstances, I didn't face the threat of flunking out in the first semester. Consequently, I barely focused on university preparations, skimmed through local textbooks on mathematics, physics, and chemistry to jog my memory, and deemed that sufficient. Whatever I've forgotten, the professors will recap. Currently, I have a far more pressing task that necessitates my full attention — studying the characteristics of the projection and training in the Break.
It had been around a month since the last Breakthrough occurred in the Wilflaes area, indicating that my newly acquired skills would soon be essential for my survival. Unlike other raigs, I couldn't afford to ignore the Call, as the consequences of such disregard would be severely detrimental for me. This understanding dawned on me from an external source as soon as I awoke after my soul infused into Izao's body. Who transported me here? Who granted me an intuitive grasp of certain aspects of the Break? I can't tell, but considering this entity or phenomenon's immense power, it seems wise not to resist its warnings. Consequently, preparations for university and general adjustments to the new world have taken a backseat. According to the statistics from the "BKDW" website, which stands for "Break Knights, the defenders of Wilflaes," every fifth raig perishes during a Breakthrough, with newcomers who recently acquired their abilities being the most affected.
Speaking of websites...
Upon reaching my apartment, I exited the Break and hastily removed my motorcycle gear, tossing it on the floor, and rushed to switch on my computer. My first online task was routine — scouring the internet for information about new Knights spotted in the city. I had no interest in the newcomers themselves; instead, I was seeking any mention of myself. Glancing at the news, I was relieved to find that all was well. There were no reports of a raig matching my description, which meant that nobody had accidentally spotted me, providing some peace of mind. However, today I was not only interested in this but also whether there was any information about two raigs in Korean armor wielding giant two-handed weapons. Sadly, despite thoroughly researching all available information and reading dozens of forum topics, even those dedicated to rumors and idle chatter, I found no reference to this duo. It's likely they aren't locals and haven't been involved in countering local Breakthroughs. Regrettably, the majority of the Break Knights in other cities and countries preferred complete anonymity, keeping not only their identities secret but also anything associated with the Break.
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In Wilflaes, the situation was anomalous compared to the rest of the world. Here, there were two organizations of raigs that not only refrained from hiding but were actively involved in educational activities. The first, the previously mentioned BKDW, was under the patronage of the state and supervised by the city mayor's office. They were even allocated a building in the city center and provided with security. Some BKDW raigs did not conceal their true identities. More accurately, there were only three such transparent Knights, but the organization consisted of nine raigs in total. Besides these nine, about a dozen more were closely associated with this organization, receiving regular payments and additional monetary rewards for their participation in suppressing Breakthroughs.
The second organization was known as the "Masks of Novilter" and had five members in its ranks. Unlike BKDW, the raigs of this group maintained complete anonymity regarding their identities. The Masks were pioneers in disseminating all information about the Break Knights and related matters on the internet. The members of this group were proponents of open information, and most likely, they had at least one skilled programmer among them. I inferred this from the fact that the Masks' website had been operational for four months, yet the identities of its owners remained undiscovered.
Both online portals not only reported on the activities of the Knights during the Breakthroughs but also actively propagated the image of raigs as selfless heroes risking their lives to protect humanity. However, given that no one besides the raigs could theoretically stop a Breakthrough, and many people were terrified of this phenomenon to the point of trembling and hiccups, neither organization had to strive hard to forge the image of the Defenders of Humanity.
At this moment, my interest was not in the propaganda on these sites or even in the introductory articles, but rather in the catalog of the Knights. Both organizations had exceptional artists among them, and all the raigs who had appeared in Wilflaes were depicted in impressive drawings, nearly indistinguishable from photographs, which were scanned and uploaded to the internet. I searched for the brothers with hwando in these catalogs but found no trace of them.
Certainly, not all raigs fulfilled their destiny. Roughly a third of the Knights didn't engage in suppressing Breakthroughs at all, minding their business, utilizing their newfound powers not to protect others but for personal objectives. But the pair of young men I met undoubtedly answered the Call once. I reached this conclusion as both brothers had achieved the second energy level, and a raig can only elevate his rank by thwarting a Breakthrough. There is no alternative way to accomplish this. This fact led me to speculate that they were outsiders. If they had responded to the Call in the capital, someone from the Masks or BKDW would have noticed and cataloged them. Even if not through drawings, a detailed description of the two newcomers to the city would certainly have appeared on these sites. The pair must have arrived in Wilflaes no more than a month ago, as that is the amount of time that has elapsed since the last Breakthrough in the capital area.
After gathering the information I needed, I once again considered joining BKDW. Unlike many, I was acutely aware of the dangers posed by Breakthroughs. They have the potential to annihilate the entire world. A case in point validating my fears was Bremen... The Breakthrough that occurred there went unthwarted, and amoeba-like creatures spewing black slime spilled into the city from the Break. Upon contact with any biologically originated object, be it a tree or a bush, a human or an animal, this slime triggered instantaneous mutation, morphing the subject into a similar amoeba. Moreover, the slime proliferated, generating an increasing number of new monsters. Ultimately, the city was entirely incinerated... Napalm, vacuum bombs, phosphorus shells - every possible measure short of nuclear weapons was employed. The slime was halted... Yes... But at what cost! Half a million people were reported missing, according to official statistics. To put it bluntly, ignoring politeness, there were five hundred thousand dead. The catastrophe of Bremen often led me to contemplate joining a raig organization. After all, it's far more desirable to confront such infernal threats as part of a group rather than as a solitary individual. Naturally, I would never disclose my identity under any circumstances, but considering the role of an anonymous "employee" seems quite plausible. Mulling this idea over, weighing all the pros and cons, I ultimately decided not to be hasty and resolved to make a decision only after witnessing a Breakthrough firsthand. That is, of course, if I survive...
Having satisfied my curiosity and calmed down, I finally tore myself away from the computer and brewed some tea. In my previous life, I was an exclusive coffee drinker, but here, perhaps due to Izao's preferences, I had developed a fondness for tea — green tea, no less, and without sugar! It could also be because the tea grown in Novilter was genuinely exceptional.
I moved to the window, sat on the sill, and took my first sip. Delightful! All these flavors, why hadn't I appreciated them before?
From the twelfth floor, I had an excellent view of the regional park. I took pleasure in sitting like this, gazing out of the window, observing the hurried passers-by, mothers with strollers, and those attempting to maintain a fit lifestyle. However, at this time, two in the afternoon, the park was virtually deserted. Many preferred to stay indoors, shielded from the heat by air conditioning.
I looked down at the people, cars, houses, and store signs. Every time I did this, it all felt foreign to me, as if it wasn't mine. If this world had been slightly more similar to my old one, I would've given up on everything and moved to Russia. But the problem was, there was no such country here. Instead, almost twenty-seven nations occupied its territory. I had taken the trouble to count them — from the Novgorod Republic and Smolensk Rus in the west to the Alliance of Siberia and Tartaria in the east. My beloved St. Petersburg and Moscow were absent; the former never existed, and the latter was merely a regional center in the state of Vladimir Rus. The language spoken in Novgorod and Smolensk had little resemblance to the one I knew. However, it wasn't just Russia that was missing — the United States wasn't here either. In territory formerly occupied by merely three states, the US, Canada, and Mexico, one hundred and nine nations now exist! Spain wasn't here either, but there were Aragon, Castile, Galicia, Andalusia — it's impossible to remember them all. The British Isles were still divided between England, Scotland, Wales, Cornwall, and five other small entities. The concept of global superpowers or world empires never existed here, making the world significantly more diverse. Few large countries existed here, countable on one hand: France was almost within the borders I was familiar with; Austria, having expanded with the addition of the Czech Republic and the Balkan countries; Korea — here it was united and had a substantial territorial growth at China's expense; Japan, which had expanded northward to Kamchatka and southward to the Solomon Islands, and now my "native" Novilter.
In the early days, I considered buying tickets and bidding farewell to Wilflaes. But after digging deeper into the matter, I realized that all these local countries with the word 'Rus' are so distinct from what I used to call my homeland, they practically have nothing in common.
If that's the case, then what's the difference? Novilter is no worse than any other place, and given that this is Izao's birthplace, it's even superior in countless aspects. And even though this country resides on the continent of Lemuria[1], which doesn't exist in the Earth I remember, does it really matter? People are people everywhere. Even shapeshifters are people, despite their ability to transform into animals, like the mythical werewolves. The same goes for sensums and raigs. Despite their special abilities, they primarily remain human...
Wrapping up my tea on this philosophical note, I hopped off the windowsill, and my gaze incidentally fell on one of the paintings that adorned the studio apartment's walls. No matter how I looked at it, I failed to comprehend this form of "art." Once, Izao asked his mother what the canvas titled "Hopelessness," filled with geometric shapes, represented. Apparently, it portrayed a girl sitting in a public restroom holding an empty toilet paper roll. No, no matter how many times someone tries to convince me that this is truly considered art, I — a boorish brute — just cannot comprehend it. I simply won't accept it. I've seen real art: the temples of Palmyra, the amphitheaters of ancient civilizations in Libya, explored Hagia Sophia, and admired paintings in the Hermitage and the Tretyakov Gallery. And this... It's nothing more than mediocrity masquerading behind phrases like "a new direction in art," "this is a style," "expression of feelings," and "this is how the artist sees it."
I've been tempted to remove all these paintings, stow them away, or even toss them into the garbage. But it's not possible. Melanie is somewhat impulsive. She could hop onto a plane at any moment and come to visit her son. Besides, I only have a month and a half left to tolerate this. By the end of August, I'll have to relocate to the university dormitory. So let it hang — it doesn't ask for food.
Despite my attempts to distract myself with unrelated thoughts, I inevitably circled back to the topic of the raig attack. It's clear that my encounter with them was accidental. It's also practically proven that they are foreigners in the city, so why can't they let me go? What did Mateo mean by "rats," implying that the clients represented them? As far as I understand, there are five clans in the city that could be referred to as "rats." Skyre can certainly be ruled out, leaving four. On the surface, they are quite respectable, but each harbors a shadowy side.
Reseating myself at the computer, I started sifting through information, restricting my searches to a monthly timeframe. Official publications didn't yield anything of interest. However, local and regional forums offered something intriguing: rumors swirling around the Pest clan indicated that their operations were awry. The trouble wasn't related to their official undertakings — the construction of waste treatment facilities and maintaining city dumps — but with their clandestine activities. The Pest clan was regarded as one of Wilflaes' three major entities in the underworld. They had under their control lucrative ventures such as drug trafficking and illicit organ transplantation. Recently, sightings of their clan members had dwindled on city streets, and many unauthorized operations, even those that were prepaid, were canceled. All of this happened without any tangible pressure from law enforcement agencies or the ducal guards.
At any other time, if I had come across such news, I wouldn't have given a second thought to the possibility that the clan was in trouble. It all seemed more like rumors and fabrications. And the information on the local network could be trusted just as much as the Internet. However, in this case, Mateo's words lent credence to the speculation, and the force capable of causing such extensive trouble for even a potent criminal clan was easy to surmise. A pair of vengeful and relentless raigs could pose more problems for any criminal outfit than a police raid. They could even wipe out all its members and physically dismantle the clan.
If I were to be struck with some foolish notions of "justice," I could have single-handedly done this — not to the significant clans, of course, but to local ones like Pest. Easily. The difference between the deceased brothers and me is that I wouldn't stoop to exacting revenge in a hands-on manner. Instead, having gathered information about warehouses, caches, hideouts, passwords, and connections while in the Break, I would leak all this data to their competitors and relish observing the ensuing chaos from the sidelines.
The emergence of the Break, and consequently the raigs, will soon upend the conventional world order. So far, the influence of these new players isn't so noticeable, save for the widespread hysteria about Breakthroughs, of course. But it's only been half a year since the first manifestation of the phenomenon, and the Knights are primarily preoccupied with understanding their abilities. I'm confident that as time passes, clans and associations of sensums will have to relinquish a significant foothold at the pinnacle of the social pyramid. And such shifts have never transpired in human history without bloodshed. Without a sea of blood...
[1] AN: Lemuria — a continent in the Pacific Ocean, one and a half times the size of Australia — was only discovered at the end of the 17th century due to strong currents.