Chapter 119: Fatal Fear
Neo-Atlas Inferior had stopped working.
In the year 2150, conditions were far from ideal, with extreme poverty and inequality. Only the most basic rights were promised under heavy surveillance.
It was the social order built from the wars of old, which had driven humanity into a critical state.
There were also rumors of other cities that had survived and built their models under the same principles—but they were nothing more than rumors. In the lower districts, no one could access that kind of information.
Yet even in that state, humanity had endured. Remolding itself and finally accepting the consequences of its freedoms.
Only an attack as devastating as the one that struck the Western Sector could stop the city’s heart.
A crime so grave that it had cost the lives of thousands of citizens. The real and tangible numbers still under investigation.
The unprecedented video that began circulating through the network only worsened the social uncertainty.
There wasn’t a single damned drone!
It didn’t even resemble a systematic attack—it had emerged fully out of nowhere, like a riot of nature itself.
"I can’t be wrong..." he said as the neon lights cutting through his cracked window illuminated his face. "If this is real, God has abandoned us."
That phrase wasn’t even his, but it felt extremely fitting for the moment.
The sirens could be heard like a distant echo—pitiful and guttural. Unleashing the cries of a wounded beast.
Police drones filled the gray skies with yellowish dots, like countless eyes of an even greater being.
His mind had emptied.
There was no thought.
Is this what the apocalypse looked like?
In the streets, not a single individual could be seen—everyone remained in the safety of their homes, prey to panic and anxiety. Even the homeless had retreated to their safe dens.
Smoke rose from the west, and the east was the other side of the coin.
The network connection returned with a slight flicker. His mind connected instantly, perceiving that there was an emergency live video.
It was a public announcement.
An old man with yellowish, cracked skin was the speaker—who, despite his age and pale mustache, had broad shoulders and dark eyes.
He was surrounded by men in black, very similar to the ones he knew.
"A tragedy. Our Western Sector is a tragedy. But we cannot allow panic to spread..."
For an instant he wished to disconnect from the network, yet he remained.
"Bullshit speeches, as always," he muttered through clenched teeth.
"We are free citizens and we will remain with this conviction. We will not allow anyone to act with impunity. We will be the law, the weight, and the iron."
With that phrase the session ended, the connection fading.
"Law, weight, and iron." His expression was shadowed. Nervously playing with his fingers on the surface of his table. "They’re scared. Very scared. They dug up a decrepit old man from his grave just for a few words of encouragement."
In truth, he was nervous. Extremely nervous.
Watching how easily his safety could be threatened was hard to accept.
Thousands, or even tens of thousands of people had paid with their lives to prove it.
There could be more dead at any moment.
Because it hadn’t been drones... nor any terrorist attack.
Who the hell was Black Mask?
In his heart there was only one certainty, and to a certain extent he refused to believe it.
In an almost casual gesture, his hands stopped fidgeting nervously. He frowned in silent meditation.
The events had arrived in such a way that it was impossible to deny them. That was a logical fact. Similar to the snake that bites its own tail, Ouroboros, which Edward had told him about.
Only fools would be fearful and, ultimately, cowards—worsening their initial situation.
He had to be smarter. Cunning.
There was no update in the headlines—the official video had silenced the notes on the fatal event, like a hemorrhage that magically stops.
He had to decide solemnly. Hide, or be a man he was proud of, deep down.
He was the kind of person who preferred to hide. It had been one of his winning cards in the gamble of life. Without any shame.
But he was not a man who hid from the difficulties and adversities of life—each person learned, in their own way and time, how to face them bravely.
He stepped outside his apartment. The sky carried a gloomy energy; it would rain soon. His white hair swayed gently.
His shadowed face had gained a trace of light. Even with the gray weather.
"Where is this world headed?" His words resonated with even more force in the empty streets. "When the situation becomes unsustainable, not even the king survives."
He murmured a phrase he had heard in his youth—he didn’t even remember where from; it had simply happened.
But the situation would not resolve so soon. Enormous emergency sirens began to sound as an instinctive fear seized the chest of every citizen.
It was cruel and primitive. A fear that awoke intuitively, against all logic and reason.
Above the emergency sirens rose a voice, transmitting an urgent message through the loudspeakers.
"Attention, citizens. Remain sheltered in the safety of your homes. I repeat: Remain sheltered in the safety of your homes."
Something had happened.
Something very terrible.
Cold sweat gathered on the back of Gabriel’s neck. That sudden wave of fear had struck him deeply, far more than others.
It felt like a fracture in reality. A breaking point.
His strength was limited. Inside the video game he could duel numerous Pseudo-Tyrants, engaging in a bloody battle.
But in reality, he had always survived on low-level nutrient formulas. With a high-stress life, his conditions were far from ideal for a natural fighter.
He could not be a hero—nor did it mean he sought to be one.
He could only trust in the effectiveness of the armed and organized forces employed to stop the threat.
Because he was certain it was not a human attack.
It was deeper.
And more terrifying for humanity.