Day 61 – Hour 015 Rules of Preparation

Day 61 – Hour 015

Rules of Preparation

Nemi left the gym just before the sky dipped into its late-afternoon colors. He walked slowly, taking his time to soak in everything his body was now processing—nutrition, structure, guidance. The soreness hadn't yet settled into his muscles, but he could feel it circling. He welcomed it.

His bag was heavier than usual—not with gear, but with thoughts. The envelope from Nolve. The Club's dossier on his last assignment. And the memory of Riell's unblinking gaze still sitting in his bones.

He was back in his apartment within fifteen minutes. Lock clicked. Shoes off. Everything quiet.

He placed the envelope from Nolve on the table but didn't touch it yet. Instead, he sat down and reached for the ledger.

The brown, aging cover now carried more weight than it had when he first opened it. It was no longer just a record of childhood fantasies. It had become a chronicle of decisions, risks, and the way the Club tested the boundaries of who he thought he was.

He flipped to the newest entry.

Nemi leaned back in his chair.

Only if you are useful.

The words echoed again in his skull, carried not as a rebuke, but as an admission. The Club didn't care about him as a person. Not who he was, not what he believed in. They didn't care if he was honorable or selfish, kind or ruthless. What mattered was whether he could deliver results.

The bonus question—arguably the rarest thing he'd ever been granted—was spent on something vague. Something human. A thread of doubt. And they answered him like a corporation answers a complaint: efficient, impersonal, mechanical.

He shouldn't have asked.

He should've asked who was in the Club. Or how many people were being tested. Or what happens when someone fails completely. But deep down, he knew that even if he had asked something sharper, they would have simply refused to answer. The truth was only given when it was earned.

And apparently, the truth about his value had been earned.

He ran his fingers over the top of the ledger and sighed. He wanted to feel triumphant. He wanted to enjoy the reward of having solved something complicated—of outsmarting the system. But instead, he felt cold. Like he was standing outside a building with no way in, watching people he didn't understand decide his future.

At last, he opened the new envelope.

Inside was a matte black card. Stamped on it were the words:

Facility 8 – Permanent Access Authorized User: NEMI Access Tier: All Non-Contract Services

And just below that, a list of privileges: full use of training areas, complimentary meals, access to tech terminals, printers, and a private trainer.

So this was the reward. A life-extension system disguised as a gift. They weren't just giving him a gym—they were sculpting him for something longer term. Something more dangerous. This wasn't a bonus. It was a conditioning chamber.

He placed the card next to the ledger and looked down at the quiet collection of evidence on the table. Every mission. Every outcome. Every pattern, consequence, and shadow.

Nolve. Marco. The Club. The Serpents.

Multiple entirely separate entities—on the surface—all now tied to the same invisible thread: him.

He couldn't ignore the pattern any longer. Marco's shop was one location. The shop where he received the rulebook for Task Three was another. And now, Facility 8. All of them bore the same emblem if you looked closely enough. All of them handed him money. Trained him. Directed him.

What if it wasn't coincidence? What if every street he walked, every connection he thought he stumbled into—was curated? What if even his instincts had been shaped by the Club?

Was there anyone in this slum who wasn't touched by their influence?

Nemi stood up. His eyes narrowed. He didn't want to be suspicious of everyone. But the slums had rules. And one of those rules was: if something felt too perfect, it probably was.

He closed the ledger and tucked everything into a drawer. One he now kept locked.

It was time to stop pretending he could navigate this world as a bystander.

From now on, everything he did would be preparation. Even if he didn't yet know what for.