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Chapter 7

  Chapter 7 | Jason Allen

  I’m beginning to understand this place. Everything operates in an order established long before my arrival.

  The Agents, as they call themselves, are individuals from different versions of Earth, recruited to hunt criminals and dangerous aliens across various worlds. Holden explained that Agents are granted weapons and abilities to make their missions more efficient.

  All Agents wear button-up shirts, ties, and other formal attire as a symbol of the order they belong to. However, there’s room for personalization. Jackets and vests are optional, and they can customize accessories like face coverings, gloves, and other small details if they maintain the overall refined aesthetic.

  Holden also revealed that the ring I wear is called a relic core, and relic cores serve more functions than just transportation to the Agency. Pressing the ring’s middle section upward once summons an Agent’s weapons, no matter where they are. Clicking it twice changes them into their uniform. Some Agents even receive multiple uniforms, with the extras tailored to their personal style or mission needs.

  “So, Jason,” Holden says, watching me carefully, “how are you taking this all in?”

  I nod a few times as I gather my thoughts. “It’s a lot, but I think I’m understanding.”

  “I told you it wasn’t confusing!” Holden grins, clearly satisfied with himself.

  Holden admits that he doesn’t know when or how this place was created, but he does know who’s in charge.

  “Me!” Holden exclaims, his excitement barely contained. “I’m in charge!” He laughs at his own theatrics, and despite myself, I smile.

  “I run this place. Everyone here works for me.”

  “Besides me,” I point out.

  His laughter fades, and his expression grows serious. He looks down at his hands for a moment before meeting my gaze again.

  “That’s what I want to talk about, Jason. I want you to be an Agent.”

  I nod slowly, considering. “What’s in it for me?”

  “Purpose,” he says immediately. “Something meaningful to do. And payment, of course.”

  “Payment?”

  Holden raises an eyebrow. “You think we ask people to hunt dangerous criminals for free? What are we, monsters?” He smirks, though the weight of the conversation quickly pulls him back to reality.

  “So, let me get this straight,” I say. “You’re offering me weapons, a suit and tie, and some magic tricks in exchange for hunting down threats?”

  Holden nods. “We prefer the term ‘hunt,’ but in essence, yes.”

  I let the idea settle. This place exists outside of time, meaning I wouldn’t miss anything with my friends or family unless I was on a mission. The Agency is a secret, meaning I could still be a drummer. It’s just… an addition. What do I have to lose?

  I take a breath.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Where do I sign?”

  * * *

  Holden walks me through the Agency, proudly introducing me as his newest recruit, until we finally reach the Agent everyone calls “The Seamstress.”

  Her presence catches me off guard. Her deep, dark eyes contrast sharply with her rich brown skin, and her hair is a fiery orange-red, brighter than any of her clothes. Her outfit is a chaotic mix of patterns and textures—completely mismatched, yet somehow, she still manages to look precise and put together.

  “So, Seamstress,” Holden says, “we have a new recruit. I need you to get him fitted up.”

  She nods, assessing me with a scrutinizing gaze. “Yes, I can do so. How many cores does the boy have?”

  “Currently just one,” Holden replies. “He hasn’t received any weapon spares yet. You can retrieve those if you’d like.”

  A slow smile spreads across her lips. “With pleasure.”

  She reaches out and grips my right index finger, wrapping her slender fingers around the relic core. Then, without warning, she yanks it forward. I stumble, but before I can react, she drives her foot into my stomach, holding me in place as she stretches my arm outward. A strange sensation overtakes me, and suddenly, the ring on my finger begins splitting and reforming in mid-air.

  “He’s got four,” the Seamstress calls out, holding up the four newly manifested rings. “That’s a lot, Holden. Are you letting him keep all of these?”

  Holden nods. “He deserves them. He might need them too.”

  I glance between them, confused. “Need them? Weapon spares? Do these things create weapons?”

  Holden exhales sharply, then pauses. “Close. They power weapons.”

  “Power weapons? What kind of weapon needs power from a ring?”

  Holden chuckles, clicking his relic core upward. In a flash of light, his weapons materialize. He has brass knuckles hanging from his belt and two sleek pistols at his sides. He draws one and casually points it at my head. I freeze.

  “If I were to fire this,” he explains, “you wouldn’t die. This gun doesn’t use traditional bullets, it fires concentrated energy, built up through kinetic charge.” He spins the gun in his hand before firing a shot into the ceiling. A bolt of blue electricity crackles as it disperses. “The electric rounds sting humans but are lethal to aliens.” He flicks a small switch on the side. “Now, the rounds are reversed. Non-lethal for aliens, deadly for humans.” He clicks the switch again and holsters the gun. “Some weapons just use the power for added strength, but firearms need them to function.”

  I nod slowly, pretending I fully understand. “So… what weapons do I get?”

  The Seamstress smirks. “You simply choose them.”

  “Is there, like, a catalog or do I just throw out random ideas?”

  Holden laughs and gestures toward the Seamstress. She pulls out a large sheet of paper and hands it to me.

  I was joking, but apparently, they really do have a list ready.

  Skimming through, two things stand out. Two pistols, like Holden’s, and twin katanas, which supposedly conduct energy to deliver faster, more devastating strikes.

  “So,” I begin, “four cores mean four weapons?”

  Holden nods.

  “Then I’ve made my decision.”

  Moments later, the hollow shells of my chosen weapons are forged, their structures infused with the energy of my relic cores. The pistols glow faintly with a light blue tint, pulsing with contained power. The katanas emit a subtle hum, faint arcs of electricity dancing along their edges.

  I’m fitted for my standard uniform; Jacket, tie, shoes, the works. Then they ask if I want any modifications.

  I think for a moment before answering.

  First, gloves. If I’m going to be some kind of secret bounty hunter, I don’t want to leave my prints on every surface... or every body. Second, a mask to cover my mouth, giving me a bit of anonymity. Holden mentioned that my physical features—hair length, eye color, and general build—would change slightly when I go on hunts, but a mask adds another layer of protection.

  Finally, I’m fully suited up. My crisp black tie fits seamlessly with the jacket and shirt. Everything is neat, precise. For once, I look… professional.

  “Well, a new recruit, huh?”

  The unfamiliar voice makes me turn sharply.

  The man before me looks to be about Holden’s age, but his skin is significantly paler. His dark brown hair falls neatly to his collar, carefully combed. There’s something about him that puts me on edge.

  “Hi, I’m Elijah,” he says, extending a hand. “I’m a few notches down in the system from Holden.”

  I notice his weapons. Knives at both hips and a massive hammer strapped to his back.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, following my gaze. “You get used to seeing people armed to the teeth.” He lets out a sharp chuckle before taking his hand back from mine.

  He glances at Holden, gives a slight nod, then waves us off. “I’m in a rush, but I’ll see you around.”

  As he leaves, Holden clears his throat. “Well. I think it’s time for you to learn how to fight.”

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