Chapter 50

[David's POV]

It was early evening. The sky outside had started to darken, and the warehouse lights cast long shadows across the floor, giving the space a quiet, focused atmosphere.

Monday had been a quiet day so far, but something felt different. I could feel the weight of expectation hanging in the air.

The system was still offline. It had been exactly forty-eight hours since the update began. The countdown was nearing its end, and tonight, it would come back online. Once it did, I would finally get the answers I had been waiting for.

I would understand why I was here. How I had arrived in this world. What the system truly was. And why it chose me.

But until then, I focused on my training.

The upper floor of the warehouse had become my main training area. It was spacious and open, perfect for movement drills and combat sparring. The basement bunker was better suited for storing tools and running experiments, so I kept my training up here.

I stepped onto the mat in the center of the warehouse floor. The lighting overhead came on as I approached, bright and even, illuminating the space. Two of the sparring bots stood in position, waiting for commands. Their sleek frames and agile joints made them ideal for combat practice.

"Initiate combat mode. Level five," I said clearly.

The bots activated immediately, shifting into ready stances. I moved into position as well, grounding my feet and loosening my arms.

As soon as the first bot lunged at me, I slipped to the side and used its momentum to trip it forward. It recovered quickly, but I was already engaging the second bot. I ducked under a wide swing and countered with a sharp elbow strike to its side, followed by a quick take down.

My movements were fluid and sharp. Every reaction felt natural. It wasn't borrowed skill anymore—it was mine. I no longer had to think about it. My body responded before I finished the thought.

Still, something felt incomplete.

Every time I practiced the hidden blade motions, I noticed the difference. It was almost right. The steps, the stance, the feel—it was close. But not perfect. Not yet.

I kept going.

Again and again, I sparred with the bots. I increased the difficulty level slowly, from six to eight, and finally to ten. Even at the highest level, I kept up. My reflexes, my speed, and my control—they all worked in sync.

But it wasn't just about winning. I was doing this to gain experience. Real-time combat, unpredictable motion, stress on my body.

With a twist and a sweep, I dropped the first bot to the mat. The second came in fast, but I blocked, redirected its strike, and forced it into a hold. I pinned it down and stood over it, breathing slowly.

"Reset and stand by," I ordered.

Both bots returned to their idle positions.

I walked over to the bench, grabbed a towel, and wiped the sweat from my face and neck. My arms ached slightly, but I liked the feeling.

I glanced at the corner of my vision, where the countdown had silently ticked all day. Three hours and fifty-seven minutes left. The system would be back online tonight. And then, everything would change.

I sat down on the bench and leaned back against the wall. I looked up at the ceiling, thinking about what was coming.

What would the system reveal once it returned? What truths had been hidden from me? Would I finally understand the purpose behind all this?

Why was I brought into this world? Why was I chosen? And what was the real nature of this system that had given me so much?

I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

The answers were close now.

But until then, I needed a break.

I made my way to the locker, grabbed a fresh change of clothes, and headed to the small washroom. After a quick shower, I changed into clean jeans and a dark gray long-sleeve shirt. I sprayed some body mist to cover the scent of sweat from training.

Stepping out, I decided to head out for the night. I needed some air.

As I walked down the sidewalk, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Elena. Just a casual check-in. We texted for a while, light and easy. Then she called. Her voice sounded warm and tired. We talked for a few minutes before she said she had to get back to work.

"Talk to you later," she said.

"Sure. Take care," I replied.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and continued walking. The cool air felt nice on my skin. I let my legs guide me, no real destination in mind.

Then I saw it.

Josie's Bar.

The exterior looked like it had seen better days. The front wall was glass, but the pane was cracked in several places. The word "JOSIE'S" was written in faded red paint across the the window. Bits of graffiti colored the surrounding brick, and the neon sign above the door flickered faintly.

I stepped inside.

The bar was dimly lit and narrow, with old wooden floors that stuck a little underfoot. The long bar stretched down one side, lined with mismatched stools. Tables were scattered unevenly across the room, and most of the chairs looked like they had been around since the 80s.

The air smelled like stale beer and fried food. A few regulars were already inside. Some sat hunched at the bar, nursing drinks. Others occupied booths, speaking in low voices.

A jukebox played a slow classic rock song in the corner. The mood was calm. Familiar. Real.

I took a seat at the bar.

The bartender was a woman in her late forties with sharp eyes and a calm expression. She walked over, drying a glass with a rag.

"What can I get you?"

"Your best drink," I said.

She nodded, poured something strong-looking into a glass, and slid it over.

I took a sip and leaned forward on my arms. The drink was good. Smooth with a bit of a burn.

As I sat there, I listened to the people talking around me. The voices blended with the low hum of the jukebox, but I could still make out what they were saying. Every table had its own little storm. Some people spoke in whispers, others louder with frustration in their voices.

The news was the same at every table.

Gangs were running wild in the streets. But now, after so long, the cops were finally taking action. Videos and documents about corrupt officials had started showing up online. Proof. Evidence. It was spreading fast, and the public wasn't ignoring it anymore. Pressure was building, and now the authorities had no choice but to act.

Some people in the bar said it was a good thing. That the streets would finally be cleaned up. That justice was finally catching up to the criminals.

But others didn't sound so sure.

They said it didn't really matter who got arrested. Because for every gang taken down, another one just stepped in. The power didn't disappear—it shifted. One group fell, another took its place. And the ones rising now were worse, meaner, more desperate.

People didn't know who to trust anymore. Not the police. Not the politicians. Not even their own neighbors.

It wasn't just fear I heard in their voices.

It was disappointment.

A woman at the corner booth said her cousin got arrested last week for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A man at the bar complained about how one gang left, but now a new one was charging him double protection money.

The system, they said, was broken. No matter how many arrests were made, nothing really changed.

As I listened, I stayed quiet. Just one more guy sitting with a drink.

After a while, I finished my drink and stood up. Time to move.

As I stepped out of the bar, two men were just walking in.

One was blind, using a cane. He wore dark glasses and a coat. The other was slightly pudgy, had long hair, and wore a coat too.

I only glanced at them and walked past them and headed back toward my apartment

But I felt something like someone was watching me and I knew that was.

But I didn't react and just kept on walking.

To Be Continued...