There wasn't a ceremony.
No speech.No command.No hallway lined with clapping agents.
Just a hallway so quiet you could hear Goro chewing gum like it was the only thing holding his skull together.
Jessy followed him through the lower wing—some forgotten corridor in the west annex that smelled like rust and recycled air. The lights flickered like they were trying not to wake the walls.
"Where are we going?" Jessy asked.
"Promotion party," Goro said. "You're the cake."
"That supposed to make sense?"
"Nope."
They entered a briefing chamber that had no screens, no map, no table—just a single whiteboard with one phrase written in red marker, faded and half-erased:
"Obey, adapt, outlive."
Jessy sat down on one of the cracked metal chairs. It wobbled. He didn't bother fixing it.
Reef entered a moment later—tall, scarred, still somehow radiating that silent-dad-who's-killed-men-in-silence energy. He tossed a folder onto the floor between them.
Jessy didn't reach for it.
He just stared.
"What now?" Reef asked, arms crossed.
"Waiting for the holograms. Lasers. Maybe a dramatic drum roll."
Reef blinked. "We're not a cartoon."
"Disappointing."
Goro slid down into a seat and kicked his legs up onto the chair beside him.
"Alright, Julian. Welcome to the ladder."
Jessy tilted his head. "You mean ranks?"
"Not ranks," Reef said. "Numbers."
He pointed at the folder. Jessy opened it.
Inside: photos, names, and a series of code designations. Names he half-recognized from whispered conversations. Others he didn't want to meet.
"You started as a Nobody," Reef said. "Everyone does."
"Then you get a codename. That means you survived long enough to be someone's problem."
Jessy nodded slowly. "Julian."
"That's yours. Don't lose it."
Reef tapped the paper again.
"But codenames aren't status. Numbers are."
He pointed to a grid. Jessy followed it with his eyes.
At the bottom:Numbers in the 500s — disposable. Newbloods. No legacy.
Then the 50s — dangerous, but replaceable. Mercer had been here.
Then the 5s — feared, rumored, rarely seen.
And then…
Three levels above them. Carved in red ink. One-star, Two-star, Three-star.
Stars weren't even numbers anymore. They were force classifications.
"A One-Star could take a city alone," Reef said.
"A Two-Star… wipes out a nation if you give them time."
"A Three-Star? You don't meet them. You read about them after they've changed the map."
Jessy blinked.
"So Mercer... was nothing?"
Goro grinned. "Mercer was a middle manager. A scary one, yeah. But one spark in a matchbook full of monsters."
"You didn't kill a legend," Reef added. "You just kicked the wrong hornet's nest."
"Fun times," Goro said, popping his gum.
Jessy leaned back. Let the info sink in.
The room felt smaller.
Not because of the walls—but because he now realized how far the ceiling really was.
He flipped to the last page.
A photo was paperclipped there. Faded.A face half-burned.The designation?
"02 - Two-Star — Codename: MIRAGE"
Below it:"Last seen 5 years ago. Believed inactive. Kill count: Classified."
Jessy stared too long.
Something about the face. The eyes. The tilt of the jaw—
He blinked.
And saw a flash of his own father's photo, years ago.Back before everything crumbled.Before Jina's lungs.Before the pit.
He shoved the thought down.
Hard.
"What's 01?" he asked.
Reef and Goro both went quiet.
Too quiet.
"Nobody's ever met them," Goro said finally. "Not even Akula."
Jessy looked back at the file.
"Then why give them a number?"
"So we know who ends the game."
The room fell still again.
Reef reached forward and tapped the "Julian" tag clipped to Jessy's collar.
"You're not on the list yet."
"You're just a whisper in the hall."
"But whispers… become screams."
He stood and left.
Goro stayed behind.
"You alright, Smelly?"
Jessy didn't flinch. "Don't call me that."
"You sure? It's nostalgic."
"Smelly was a kid who got beat in a pit."
"And Julian?"
Jessy stood.
His voice was soft.
Not because he was hiding.
But because volume is a tool.
"Julian learns how the system works."
"Then breaks it."
🕯️ Foreshadow — Later That Night
Jessy sat on his cot, staring at the face in the file again.
He flipped it over. Blank.
But something nagged.
The burn pattern. The bone structure.
A memory twisted in his head like a crooked nail.
His father's voice once, late at night:
"If I disappear... just know I didn't run."
Jessy blinked.
Looked at the corner of the file.
Barely visible — a smudge under the nameplate.
It wasn't a smudge.
It was a symbol.
The same symbol his father carved into the underside of Jina's bed.
He stared at it until his eyes burned.
"Mirage…"
"You son of a bitch."