Chapter 1

“Humans are ignorant yet arrogant. They endured wars, plagues, earthquakes, tsunamis…”

An intense heartbeat exploded, thump-thump, thump-thump.

“And God permitted it all.”

Towering skyscrapers sped by in retreat as the recon drone dove forward, closing in on his skin, which had heated up dramatically from the frantic sprint.

“Humans never reflected for a moment. Vanity, indifference, scheming—they built the tower together.”

His breaths came like they were waterlogged; all other sounds blurred.

A red beam burst from the recon drone, shooting straight through the air toward its target.

His body was pierced through. The fleeing man grunted dully, splattering blood along the road and eliciting screams from passersby.

“This tower is called: Humanity’s Collective Karma.”

His breathing churned, but he couldn’t stop. He had to evade the pursuit.

“Doomsday arrived. Prometheus’s fire ultimately burned humanity to death.”

A heatwave rushed in. Amid his mad dash, Horne tilted his head slightly. The trembling light reflected in the flashing glass of the buildings on either side.

The recon drone behind him had opened its maw, a mass of blazing flames gathering inside, growing larger and brighter.

“Three.”

He couldn’t die like this.

“Two.”

Run faster!

“One.”

There was a corner!

Boom!

Bang!

Amid the ringing in his ears, Horne threw himself forward with all his strength. The heatwave whistled past his heels.

He didn’t hit hard, cold ground. Instead, Horne grabbed a pair of hot, strong arms. It was too late to adjust his trajectory mid-air.

The immense force carried him—and the person he’d tackled—rolling backward several times amid a cloud of dust, finally stopping a few meters away.

“Cough, cough.” As soon as they stopped, Horne shoved the other away and struggled to stand, but the violent impact forced him to drop to one knee. He couldn’t stop coughing, and his vision blackened.

The heat from the explosion still whooshed past his ears. Fortunately, flames didn’t turn corners; they barreled straight into the adjacent street district.

“Does it hurt?”

A low voice, tinged with urgency. It belonged to the man he’d accidentally tackled at that corner. He hadn’t expected anyone to step out.

Horne’s eyes snapped open. A hand was already extended before him, steady and unmoving.

Knuckles prominent, fingers callused, palm hardened. Held still in mid-air, not a hint of tremor visible to the naked eye.

This man’s marksmanship was undoubtedly excellent.

“Let me take you to treat that wound, alright?” The other said patiently again, his voice gentle, unperturbed by Horne’s inaction. The hand just waited there.

Horne’s ragged breathing steadied a bit. He reined in the ferocity at the corner of his eyes and looked up slightly. Just as he was about to refuse, a familiar alarm blared overhead again.

“Target not eliminated! Target spotted!”

Horne’s expression sharpened. As he moved to act, the man before him beat him to it, helping him up.

“Follow me!”

They turned and swiftly vanished into the depths of the alley.

——Today’s news report: The corpse on Central Avenue No. 1 was a case of mistaken injury. Deceased: Shi Hui. Family please come claim the body.

Bang! The metal door slammed shut, cutting off the piercing alarms and the clamor outside.

The sudden silence made his pounding heartbeat even sharper, almost ringing in his ears.

Horne took two steps forward. He relaxed for only half a second before his knees buckled, and he slid down against the wall to sit on the ground. In that instant, it felt like every wound on his body split open one after another, the sensation of blood flow gradually returning.

“Wait for me a moment.” The man said softly. His footsteps as he walked away were light, as if afraid to disturb the air.

Horne leaned his head back against the wall, chest heaving violently. His eyes narrowed slightly, nerves taut. His peripheral vision tracked the stranger’s figure without a second’s lapse in vigilance.

This was an unfinished small warehouse inside some rundown building. It would take the recon drones outside extra time to find him now.

The man returned in less than half a minute, holding something in hand, and crouched down halfway.

As the shadow just covered Horne, he snapped his eyes open and seized the other’s throat, asking coldly, “What are you doing?”

Hels hadn’t expected Horne to be so vigilant. A chill shot straight to his throat. He stiffened for two seconds, then slowly peeled a mask from his face.

The face beneath the mask was exposed in the dim dustiness. Horne narrowed his eyes, able only to make out the sharp contours, brows like knife edges, and an unfamiliar aura.

In an instant, Horne tightened his grip further. He lowered his voice, tone hostile. “What is this? Who are you? Why bring me here?”

He hadn’t had time to think in the heat of the moment, but now it all felt suspicious.

The man’s appearance at that corner might have been coincidence, but he’d caught the sudden tackle steadily, without the flustered reaction a normal person would have. Saving someone under pursuit, all while staying eerily calm—it was impossible not to suspect.

“Are you military?” Horne endured the pain in his body and fired off questions.

Hels made several “heh heh” sounds, signaling he couldn’t speak. Only then did Horne release him. In the instant of release, he yanked Hels around, shoved him hard against the wall, and pinned him with an elbow.

Thud. Accompanied by the other’s grunt, a sharp little knife flicked out from Horne’s sleeve cuff, pressing right against his throat.

“Talk.” Horne’s voice was icy, unwavering like the blade tip.

Hels coughed violently a few times. Once he stopped, he didn’t speak. His initial surprise faded.

He stared deathly at Horne, pupils reflecting that exquisite yet cold face. Their gazes locked in close-range combat.

After a long moment, Hels laughed. It started low, then grew more exaggerated, hands covering his face, shoulders shaking, laughter mad and eerie, echoing in the small warehouse. Horne frowned at the sound.

Was this guy… insane!

Once he’d laughed enough, Hels wiped the corner of his eye, voice still that same gentle tone. “I think I brought you here to save you. As for this ‘military’ you mentioned…”

At the word, he started pursing his lips in laughter again. His neurotic demeanor furrowed Horne’s brows deeply.

“Military, haha. Don’t go around asking people outside if they’re military. You’ll get beaten.”

“What do you mean?”

The little knife dug into flesh. Hels ignored the blatant threat, putting on a suddenly enlightened expression. “Whoa, amnesia?”

Horne said nothing.

He’d realized it since waking up.

The moment he opened his eyes, he was in a completely unfamiliar place: a black room, black flowing… But probing why he was there brought only a whirlwind of fragmented memories in his brain, roars and screams splitting his head with pain. Before he could react, the piercing alarm nearly ruptured his eardrums.

He was being hunted.

Remembering this, Horne’s breathing quickened again. Pain screamed from his wounds.

Hels curved his lips, donned the mask again, voice mild. “Alright, no worries. I’ll tell you. It’s the year 2210 here, Loch City. Oh, right—do you know why the recon drone was chasing you just now?”

Horne’s expression remained cold and hard. He only watched with his eyes, the threat in his hand unrelenting, but his long-strained muscles began to tremble with fatigue. He was almost at his limit.

“Because…” Hels continued on his own, raising another mask in hand. “Here, not wearing a mask is like streaking down the street without underwear. They spotted you, so of course you’d be wanted, fined, or jailed. Refuse still, and you’re deemed criminal—shot on sight. Don’t ask me why. Tower rules.”

Hels held the mask before Horne’s eyes. “This is mine. New one. For you.”

Horne stared fixedly at the man, hand not lowering. “Why should I trust you?”

Hels’s muffled laughter came erratic. Suddenly, his gaze focused on a bead of sweat trickling from Horne’s temple.

He frowned, reached up, and gripped the knife in Horne’s hand. The blade sank into skin, blood dripping.

Horne watched as the man pried the little knife away barehanded. His entire arm went limp, unable to resist.

Snap. The knife hilt retracted.

Hels instantly reversed positions, broke free of restraint, wedged his forearm behind Horne’s back, pressed him down to sit against the wall, placed the knife and mask on the ground, and stood easily.

He turned his back to Horne, peeked out the window by lifting a corner of the curtain, and murmured indifferently, “You don’t have to trust me. But those recon drones are still nearby. They’ll find you.”

“And…” He turned his head, flashed a smile, slanted a glance at Horne in the dark, tone casual. “Being this guarded against me? I’ve had plenty of chances to kill you, haven’t I?”

Horne clenched his fist abruptly.

The man was tall and imposing. From start to finish, his every action confirmed he was no ordinary person. In Horne’s current state, resisting would be difficult.

No time to think—the man walked back and crouched before him again.

This time, he’d brought a medical kit, opened it deftly, took out a tourniquet and disinfectant. Without asking, he rolled up Horne’s pant leg.

Seeing the mangled flesh and blood beneath, Hels’s eyes darkened, voice lowering. “You can think I’m bored and played roadside hero to save you, or that I had a soft spot for a frightened little white rabbit. Either way, I suggest you behave. Let me treat your wounds. Unless you want this little warehouse bombed later—wear your underwear when you should.”

The pale greenish light cast eerie shadows on the mask’s contours, like human skin. If it wasn’t real skin, then its maker’s craft was extraordinarily skilled.

Horne picked up the mask and held it before his face, originally just to inspect. But it swiftly fused with his face as one.

No seams to feel, no odd sensations. A chill ran down Horne’s spine. Had it grown onto his face?

What was going on?

The man said it was 2210, but his memories held 2100, or maybe 2110?

A century?

The place he’d woken: a room, endless corridors, plaza, Tower District…

Alarms always saying: Tower. He’d woken in the Tower, and then…

“Hiss!” Horne suddenly drew in a sharp breath, sat up straight. Pain yanked his thoughts back in an instant. He gritted his teeth. “Lighter!”

Hels didn’t look up, muttered, “I wasn’t using force,” then carefully disinfected, stopped the bleeding, and bandaged the wound, his movements much gentler.

Horne relaxed slightly, back slowly pressing against the icy wall. His gaze swept over the man’s face.

Loch City a century later—humans all needed masks?

Hels noticed Horne’s unabashed stare, looked up, and smiled. “Hm? Staring at me? Am I that good-looking?”

Horne instantly withdrew his gaze, said indifferently, “What’s the point of two faces?”

Hels was patient. “The point is, who knows what you are under the mask? So why didn’t you wear yours earlier?”

“None of your business.”

“Tch.” Hels raised a brow. “I saved you, at least. Isn’t this attitude a bit rude?”

Horne didn’t answer.

Silence flowed between them. In the quiet, faint mechanical hums became audible, along with their close-range breaths and heartbeats.

No recon drone sounds.

With the mask on, everything truly quieted—except Horne’s occasional pained gasps he couldn’t control.

His furrowed brows never eased. Eyes closed, teeth clenched, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths.

Until a cool touch invaded his cheek. Horne’s eyes flew open.

Hels wiped the sweat from his temple with the back of his hand, gaze soft from below. “Relax a bit. You’ll be fine.”

He couldn’t see the man’s expression or eyes, only feel the careful, cherishing motions.

Horne’s brows knotted deeper. After a moment, he spoke dully. “How much?”

“Hm?” Hels looked up blankly, then realized Horne meant the mask.

His hands paused, then reached behind Horne’s ear. As Horne tensed defensively, Hels stopped him with the other hand.

“Shh, don’t move. I’m a very kind person, with a bad habit of charity.” Hels’s voice was low. One hand clamped Horne’s wrists, the other groped behind his ear. “Resident Chip should be here. Ah, got it.”

Hels felt the bump under his skin and muttered to himself, “Horne, 30 years old, balance zero.”

Horne gritted his teeth, shackled so he couldn’t free his hand, as this man’s warm fingertip pressed against the skin behind his ear.

Hels leaned closer to Horne to confirm the information on the Resident Chip once more.

His breath sprayed against Horne’s neck. Horne closed his eyes, his muscles tensing throughout his body. If not for his wounds, this man’s neck would already have been snapped.

He disliked strangers getting this close to him. Back in the Military District, no one had dared to get this close either.

Fortunately, Hels soon lowered his hand. After quickly tending to Horne’s remaining wounds, he stood up. “All done. I’ve recorded your Resident Chip. Now it has my contact information and details on what you owe me. It’s not much—you can pay it off within a hundred years. No need to worry.” He spoke with a hint of amusement, making it hard to tell if he was serious or joking.

Horne slowly pulled his clothes back into place, concealing the stench of alcohol. As if he hadn’t heard the man’s words, he stood up expressionlessly, said nothing, endured the lingering pain, and headed straight for the door.

“Leaving right after I patched you up?”

“None of your business.” Horne’s voice was icy cold—still the same words. He opened the door, and the sunset shone right in, spilling over him.

It felt like he hadn’t experienced sunlight in ages. The warmth pierced through his memories, illuminating the vast expanse of pure white within.

Hels leaned against the wall out of the sunlight’s reach, shadows swallowing his face. He didn’t stop Horne from leaving, only said lightly, “How rude. I saved you, bandaged you up, and not even a thank you.”

Horne took a deep breath and said flatly, “I don’t owe you thanks just because you saved me. You know full well what your intentions are.”

Hels let out a scoff, in that near-maniacal tone again. “Right, right. I never do anything unnecessary. I came all this way specifically to save you, and with ulterior motives to boot. Does that make you happy? Now can we…”

“The Tower.” Horne cut him off.

“Hm?”

“I’m going to the Tower.” After Horne said this, silence fell behind him.

Hels straightened up, the unchanging smile and indifference vanishing from his face.

The Tower.

Silence spread between the two men.

In the year 2050, an alien civilization arrived on Earth. After sixty years of war, humanity was defeated. The Tower was the area where the Aliens resided, located at the very center of Loch City. It was there that they decided humanity’s fate.

After a moment, a dark sigh came from the shadows. Hels spoke slowly, helplessly. “The Tower—the Aliens’ central district. That’s not a place you should go.”

Aliens. At those two words, Horne’s muscles tensed abruptly throughout his body, his blood running cold as if he’d plunged into an icy abyss.

The word “Aliens” pierced his heart like a sharp sword from the darkness.

“Aliens… central district?” His lips instantly drained of color as he murmured the words in disbelief. After speaking them, his lips only went numb.

Humanity… had lost?

His legs moved forward powerlessly a few steps before stopping. He didn’t turn back, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly. “Thank you for saving me, but I need to know some things.”