Chapter 1 - A Caffeine-Loving Parasite

Vincent slept in his living room.

Which also happened to be his kitchen, if a sink and a mini fridge even counted as one. And whenever someone asked where his bedroom was, his answer never changed.

"The living room."

'Honestly, what did they expect?'

It was the basement of a small-time café, not a luxury apartment.

At least he had his own bathroom. That alone was a blessing. He didn't have to sprint upstairs through a crowd of judgmental university students just to take a piss.

He had dealt with enough of that for the better part of his life.

Yesterday had been another headache. He had to fix a bug that one of his co-programmers had inadvertently created. Carelessly, if he was being honest. He had warned him multiple times to shorten his code.

But did he listen?

No.

Because of that, Vincent had to swoop in and save the day again. If he had not, their paycheck this month would have taken another hit.

Now he was knocked out cold on his worn-out, hard-ass bamboo sofa, snoring like his life depended on it.

He was a deep sleeper too. Not even the righteous shouts of the Wardens apprehending criminals on the streets could wake him.

Thoom!

Whatever explosion those Wardens had caused rocked the entire building.

The impact sent Vincent rolling off his sofa. But the floor he expected to hit never came.

Instead, he disappeared into the ground.

He shot awake, reappearing on all fours.

Frantically, his hands patted the rough cement, knocking on it even as his pale fingers started bleeding.

"Fuck—! Did that really just happen...?"

Pain finally registered. Hissing, he pushed himself up, only for his left foot to sink in the moment he took a step.

He flailed like a bird caught in water and scrambled onto his bamboo chair. The antique barely creaked under his weight, but Vincent was too shaken to feel insulted about being malnourished.

He froze, staring at the ground...

A full minute nearly passed before he waved his hand dismissively.

"Nah~ I must've drank Angel's coffee again. How many shots was it?"

He took a casual step forward, though his arms spread out as if bracing for the worst.

His foot landed solidly on the floor. Yet, he hesitated for a few seconds before letting out a sigh.

Tentatively, he took another step, feeling the cold, rough ground beneath his bare feet.

"Hah... Thought so. What parasite would want this body?"

He glanced at the thick, dark blood on his knuckles. The very proof of his four-year addiction to energy drinks. In the dim light of the room, lit only by a lone incandescent bulb, it almost looked black.

He sighed again and took another step.

Whoosh!

In an instant, his entire body submerged, only for him to reappear, swimming through the air before crashing hard to the ground. He barely caught himself with his forearms, and miraculously, his forehead only suffered a bruise.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

There was no more room for denial.

He punched the ground as he stood up, still cursing as he bolted toward the bathroom.

It was a struggle not to disappear into the shadows.

Click—

The bathroom lights flickered on, their brightness stinging his eyes.

He opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a small mirror meant for a wallet. Moving his messy hair aside, he angled the mirror to see the back of his neck, but the distance made it hard to get a clear view, even as he squinted.

He had to practically press his face to the mirror to see the golden mark left by the parasite.

"Mother of— Are you high? Bro, what kind of nutrition are you getting from me? Fuck, I thought parasites hated caffeine..."

Vincent's neck ached from staring at the mark for so long, cursing every few seconds like he was playing that rage-inducing game everyone hated but couldn't stop playing.

A muffled knock snapped him back to reality.

"Anak~? If you're awake, come have your breakfast~"

Vincent froze, his mind blanking.

His hands moved before his brain caught up, messing his hair to hide the mark. He yanked a black turtleneck from the bottom drawer, ignoring the mess he left behind. Summer was just around the corner, but the warmth on his neck made him feel just a little safer.

Slipping on his backpack, he finally met the warm, familiar gaze of his grandmother.

"Lola, I have to go somewhere."

The white-haired old woman paused her cleaning to quickly pack him a croissant. She even handed him fresh coffee, this time in a disposable cup.

"Eat on the go! Breakfast prices shot up again because of Earl! That brat keeps flying downtown in the mornings, and now the college girls are walking cash cows."

She moved with the energy of someone half her age, already wiping down tables in preparation for opening.

"Thanks, Lola... Do you want anything?"

"Ha? No, no! I take care of you. Go do your thing!"

She waved him off with a frown, but Vincent choked on the care. He noticed she was still using a string and stone to keep her glasses from slipping and made a mental note to buy her proper weights.

"Then, I'll be going."

"Ingat, anak!"

Vincent rushed out of the café.

He had no time to waste. His birthday was next week, which meant mandatory screening. They would definitely place him in a combat-oriented role, meaning he would be forced to become a Warden or a Sentinel.

And he refused.

Actually, he refused to have anything to do with the government.

Sure, he could go rogue, but just because he broke one law didn't mean he was willing to break another. Hiding a parasite would be more than enough to get him sentenced to death.

He had a promise to keep. Dying wasn't an option.

It took him an hour of running and walking (mostly walking) to reach his destination. The entire time, he prayed he wouldn't suddenly sink into the ground, consciously avoiding areas where a Warden might patrol.

There were hardly any people on the streets. The sound of carriers moving across the sky was deafening, yet the commercials flashing on the sides of high-rise buildings were even louder.

"... What a lie."

Vincent muttered to himself, fully aware that even Hosts who were media influencers worked for the government.

He dipped his head and kept walking. He wanted no part of it.

Whether it was the morning sun or sheer willpower keeping him on solid ground, he had no idea.

He turned into a damp alleyway, unfazed by the smell of rotting rats and restaurant garbage.

A group of goths sat smoking nearby, their heavy makeup giving the illusion that the heat didn't bother them.

"Hey, stickman! What are you doing here?"

A spiky-haired guy in a skull tank top and ripped jeans stood up, spreading his legs to block the way.

Vincent's intrusive thoughts told him he could probably get past just by sliding over the trash bin.

'Parkour? Really?'

He could barely stand, much less jump.

"I'm here to see Dan."

A familiar iron taste hit the back of his throat. Coffee and a croissant hadn't been enough.

"You look worse, Cents. What happened?"

A girl in gothic lolita attire rested her chin in her hands, her augmented right eye scanning him up and down.

He let her. There was nothing new in the system for her to see. After all, he hadn't registered.

"I'm in a hurry. Do you mind?"

The spiky-haired guy smirked and stepped forward. "Of course we—"

"Don't."

The goth girl cut him off without looking up, casually rolling another cigarette.

The guy looked like he wanted to argue, but seeing no one else backing him up, peer pressure made him cave. He grunted and stepped aside.

Vincent stopped in front of him, casually reaching for his dangling silver earring. Before the guy could react, he yanked it downward.

A clean slice through thin flesh.

Blood dripped instantly.

"Know who runs this alley before you come here to smoke."

He dropped the words flatly before walking away, gripping the earring just tight enough to hide how badly his hand was shaking.

There was no scream of pain behind him, but he still heard the guy stumble and fall. The urge to turn back was there, but he kept steady. His words wouldn't have the same impact if he looked now.

'Pretty sure I just lost a ligament... God, I need to see a medic.'

Not that he was about to. A single clinic visit could starve him for a month, and sleeping through hunger was no longer an option he wanted to consider.

Reaching an iron door at the end of the alley, he tried raising his right arm but cursed when something pulled painfully.

So he knocked with his left instead.

Silence.

A full minute passed. Vincent counted the seconds.

He knocked again, harder.

Another minute passed. Finally, the eye window slid open.

"Hey, Dan."

Vincent lifted a hand in a lazy wave.

"Got any cleaners in your trash? Specifically the kind that kills parasites."