Log no. 6 - Monkey pox

[Local News Broadcast]

"Today, we've received troubling reports of massive grocery thefts at Quality Time Mall. The mall's owner expressed deep concern, noting that security footage showed no signs of forced entry, and the guards on duty reported nothing unusual. Authorities are investigating and hope to identify and apprehend the perpetrators soon."

The broadcast cuts off abruptly.

The screen fades into the dim flicker of fluorescent lights in an underground parking garage. A disheveled man cradles a tattered monkey doll, murmuring under his breath.

"They never give the poor anything… I've been denied nature's bounty—and they dare call me the thief?" He strokes the doll's frayed fur. "Society is the true thief of the poor."

Behind him, a group of mechanical monkeys step from the shadows. He stands, eyes glowing with grim resolve.

"I'll take what's mine."

It was another exhausting morning. After fighting off multiple psytonoids this past week, I was feeling more mentally drained than physically bruised. My healing factor worked fast, but no ability could mend a tired mind. Honestly, I needed a break from school.

At the school gate, Vincent waved at me.

"Yo, Felix! You finish that Philosophy essay?"

"Yeah," I nodded, stretching a bit. "Just an essay. I gave it some thought and wrote what came to mind."

"Nice. Oh, by the way, 11/7 just dropped their new slurpee flavor. Want to grab one after school?"

I checked my mental schedule, weighed the potential for peace, and gave him a nod. "Sure."

We headed to class. General Mathematics with Ms. Sophia was the usual—linear functions and tired formulas—until I heard a faint tink from my bag.

I subtly checked the source. My Eden-issued tablet blinked with a new mission alert. "Ongoing mass burglary: Quality Time Mall."

A burglary? That's not my jurisdiction... or is it?

I glanced up. Ms. Sophia's gaze met mine. There was no hostility—only a wordless understanding. I needed to go.

I raised my hand. "Ma'am, I'm feeling a bit off. May I go to the clinic?"

She gave a silent nod and gestured toward the back, where the clinic slips were. I grabbed one, tossed it in my pocket, and slipped out of class.

From his seat, Vincent muttered, "What's with him suddenly getting sick?"

Meanwhile, Sarah, seated near me, frowned in concern, eyes drifting to my abandoned bag. 'Felix… what are you up to?'

Cut to me leaping from rooftop to rooftop, wind whipping through my hair, destination in sight.

[Connected]

The wind hissed past my ears as I vaulted across another rooftop, the city below blurred in motion. Just as I landed on a corrugated metal shed, a soft chime echoed in my earpiece.

"Pico here," said a familiar voice, tinged with urgency. "Sorry to interrupt your... rooftop acrobatics, but we need your help, Felix."

I sighed, slowing to a jog along the roof's edge. "You know I've been on active ops for days, right? I'm about one caffeine crash away from a coma. Think I could maybe—just maybe—get a breather?"

"I know. Believe me, I know," Pico said, her voice softening for a moment. "But you're the only registered Eden field agent within a ten-kilometer radius. Everyone else is either in Mindanao for containment or on aerial sweep in Baguio."

Of course they are. Why wouldn't they be?

I tapped the side of my earpiece and brought up the mission overlay on my tablet: Ongoing Mass Burglary - Quality Time Mall.

"A burglary?" I asked, skepticism dripping from my voice. "Last I checked, Eden Corp isn't the city's glorified locksmith service. Shouldn't the cops handle this?"

"They tried. But it's more than a break-in," Pico said, tapping keys in the background. "There's a high probability this incident involves an 'Owner.'"

I stopped short on a rooftop ledge, heart pausing for half a beat. "You're serious? An Owner?"

"Confirmed traces of Bia residue inside the mall," she said grimly. "Energy readings match Class A psytonoid-embedded anomalies. This isn't just a thief—it's someone who's merged with a psytonoid or commands them."

I swallowed hard.

Owners. Humans like me who awakened Bia... but instead of using it to protect, they used it to dominate. Some bonded psytonoids into themselves. Others built armies. Either way, they weren't just rogue. They were monstrous.

"This isn't in my comfort zone, Pico," I muttered. "My last combat record capped at mid-tier B. A-class is suicide."

"Which is why I'm staying in your ear the whole time," Pico said, her voice leveling into firm control. "You're not alone. Think of me as your overwatch. We're Eden—we adapt or we fall."

I clenched my fist. "Alright. I'm in. What's the op details?"

"Local police have the perimeter on lockdown. You'll be meeting Chief Henry. Identify yourself with your codename. I've cleared your presence through Eden's encrypted relay—authorization stamp Q-14."

"Got it."

"And Felix," Pico added, her voice softening again, almost imperceptibly, "be careful. This isn't just about arresting a criminal. If this really is an Owner, they're capable of bending minds—especially their own."

"Noted," I said quietly. "Thanks, Pico."

[Inside Quality Time Mall]

We moved in.

The sliding doors—jammed open—welcomed us into a shattered paradise. The once-bright and sterile interior was now a war zone. Broken glass crunched beneath our boots. Torn promotional banners fluttered like ghosts above us. Scattered clothes, half-eaten food, and crushed shopping carts lined the halls.

But strangely, the destruction had a pattern.

Everything was wrecked… except the grocery section.

"No signs of fire or forced entry," one officer whispered. "But why is the food section untouched?"

"Feels like it was... preserved," another muttered.

I nodded silently. It wasn't just preservation—it was reverence. Whoever—or whatever—was behind this had a purpose.

Then—

A groan.

My head snapped toward the sound. Behind a check-out counter, someone stirred.

We rushed over. A cashier—bound and gagged—lay curled behind the register. As we freed her, a cascade of shocked cries rang out.

"Back here!" another officer shouted.

Dozens. Maybe more.

Behind the storage doors and counters, mallgoers and staff were tied up—gagged, restrained, but alive.

"What the hell…?" an officer whispered.

"Don't just stand there—GET THEM OUT!" Chief Henry bellowed, snapping everyone into motion.

Then, a voice cut through the air like a blade.

"I won't let you."

It was soft. Hollow. But the chill it carried shut the room down.

From behind a neatly stacked shelf of cereal boxes stepped a man.

Filthy clothes hung loose around his emaciated frame. His eyes were sunken, wild with something far beyond rage. In his arms, he cradled a tattered monkey doll—its button eyes staring into nothing, its seams oozing a black mist.

"Gennyson…?" Chief Henry's voice cracked. "Is that... you?"

The man tilted his head, smile spreading too slowly across his face. "Henry... you remember me."

Before anyone could move, a violent snap echoed—the doll twitched, and a tendril of dark energy whipped across the tile. It hit the wall behind Henry, leaving a black scorch that sizzled like acid.

The air shifted. The temperature dropped.

Then he laughed.

Not a laugh of joy, or cruelty. A hollow, broken thing—a laugh that had forgotten what it used to mean.

The doll wasn't just a toy.

And Gennyson... wasn't just a man anymore.

I stepped forward carefully. "Gennyson, I don't want to hurt you. Let's talk."

He tilted his head, curious. "Talk? You still believe in diplomacy?"

"I'm offering a deal. You keep the grocery section," I said, calmly but firmly, "and release the hostages."

Henry threw me a shocked glance—but didn't interrupt.

Gennyson smiled, slow and warped. "Tempting... but boring."

He stroked the doll's head. "Let's play a game instead."

My stomach sank.

"Hide and seek," he said, voice gleeful now. "You're the seeker. The hostages are the hiders. Each one is guarded by a monkey psytonoid—my beautiful children. Face them one-on-one. Break the rule? Everyone dies."

Chaos rippled through the room like an aftershock.

"THAT'S INSANE!" Henry shouted. "We're at a massive disadvantage!"

Gennyson smirked, the doll twitching in his arms. "You've got a golden boy. That should even the odds."

He raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

Immediately, dozens of psytonoids slithered from the shadows—primate-like, twitching, limbs shifting unnaturally. Each one dragged a hostage into a different aisle, melting into the darkness like living nightmares.

"You have five minutes," Gennyson said, as he too vanished into the shadows, voice trailing off like smoke. "Then the game begins."

The mall fell silent.

Tension wrapped around us like a vise.

Chief Henry turned to me, jaw tight. "What the hell do we do now?"

Everyone looked to me.

I looked at my hands. At the quill holstered on my back. And then I closed my eyes.

It was time to go within.

[Inner Realm]

I closed my eyes.

And the world fell away.

No sirens. No shouting officers. No cursed dolls or ticking clocks.

Only stillness.

I stood in a vast, ink-black space—my Inner Realm—where thoughts rippled like water and memory echoed like thunder. The air was thick with ideas half-formed, swirling like clouds waiting for command.

In the distance, something shimmered—a faint glow. I walked toward it.

There, resting on a pedestal of nothingness, was my quill—the physical manifestation of my Bia. Sleek, obsidian, tipped with starlight, and humming with a subtle, ancient energy. It rose into the air as I approached, tilting slightly as if studying me.

"Well, look who's finally decided to think," it said dryly, its voice echoing directly into my mind like a whisper wrapped in sarcasm.

"I feel powerless," I confessed, breath fogging in the cold of my own doubt. "I can fight. But how do I help others do the same? Normal men can't fight psytonoids. Not like I can."

The quill drifted closer, circling me like a hawk sizing up its student. "You're asking the wrong question."

"Then what should I ask?"

"What can they do?" it said. "What tools do they already possess?"

"Guns. Conventional weapons," I said slowly. "But against psytonoids, they're basically slingshots."

The quill pulsed gently. "And yet your Bia... can alter reality. It's not just for flashy duels or dramatic speeches. It's a forge. A conduit. Use it."

I blinked. "You mean—modify their weapons?"

"Now you're thinking like a strategist." The quill spun in the air. "Enhance their gear. Infuse it with your will. Turn desperation into design. But remember…"

Its voice sharpened, slicing through the silence like a blade.

"Every gift has a cost."

A heavy weight settled on my chest. "Recoil," I whispered. "Their bodies won't handle the channeling. They'll burn out after just a few shots."

The quill dimmed slightly, as if in mournful agreement. "True power doesn't come without sacrifice. But even ordinary men can become titans with the right weapon... and the right resolve."

I nodded, the decision crystallizing in my chest like tempered steel. "Then I'll give them a fighting chance."

The quill pulsed once more—bright, proud.

"Then go," it said. "And write your story... in fire."

Back in reality, I turned to the squad.

"Are you physically ready?"

Chief Henry nodded. "These are my best men."

"Then listen carefully."

I created special magazines—infused with my Bia. These would channel energy into their bullets. But there was a cost: massive recoil would leave users physically drained for hours.

I explained everything.

The men loaded their weapons. "Whoa, feels heavier," one muttered.

"Like it's humming with power," said another.

"FOCUS UP!" Henry roared. "THIS IS A RESCUE MISSION!"

Morale soared.

"Let's move." I signaled the squad to split and sweep.

As for Gennyson… that man wasn't fully in control. The doll was manipulating him. I needed to find a way to end this—without killing him.

Let the seek begin.

-END-