Thirty minutes passed.

  Every minute felt like an hour of slow torture.

  In the corner of a small convenience store inside the "Third Island" (Caeli) station, the "Assistant" still sat on his hard plastic chair, staring into a cup of black coffee that had gone completely cold, a thin film of oil forming on its surface.

  His hand, gripping the cup, trembled in an irregular rhythm, causing the cold liquid to ripple inside the paper container. His eyes were fixed on the glass reflection of the station entrance, watching every movement, every shadow, every passerby.

  "He’s late..." he whispered to himself, voice hoarse and dry, cold sweat soaking the collar of his white shirt—ironed meticulously hours ago, now clinging to his back like a suffocating second skin. "He said he’d be back... he said it was just a routine meeting... Dr. Arno is never late..."

  He tried to convince himself. Tried to recall "Arno’s" calm tone. But the image of that cold smile from the "thing" wearing Arno’s face haunted him.

  Suddenly, the rhythm of the station changed.

  It wasn’t a loud shift at first. The cheerful automated announcements about "new products" ceased. The murmur of travelers and scientists dropped.

  Then, the main entrance of the station opened with a silent, forceful authority.

  A squad of four men entered. These were not ordinary security guards in blue uniforms. They wore full tactical armor in pitch black, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. Their faces were hidden behind featureless, deaf helmets, reflecting only a faint red digital interface.

  They moved with terrifying military precision, a non-human coordination, spreading to the four corners of the hall, sealing every potential exit with their presence alone.

  The squad leader raised his armored arm. A sharp blue light emitted from a device embedded in his wrist, cutting through the dusty air of the station, forming a massive hologram slowly rotating in the center of the hall for all to see.

  The Assistant’s blood froze in his veins. The coffee cup slipped from his hand, spilling the cold black liquid onto his trousers, but he felt nothing.

  The image was not of an unknown person, nor a fugitive monster.

  It was two images.

  The first was of "Dr. Arno" (worn by Hunjin). The second... was him. His pale face, his terrified eyes, even the small mole on his neck were clear in high definition.

  "Targets wanted," the voice came over the station’s speakers. It wasn’t a human voice, but metallic, cold, and devoid of any emotional tone—the voice of the System itself. "Procedure: Immediate containment. Threat Level: Suspected breach of Level 2 Protocol."

  Passersby gasped. Scientists and passengers backed away from the hologram as if it were a contagious plague.

  (They know...) the Assistant’s mind screamed in silent panic, his limbs going numb. (They know Arno is fake... and they know I’m with him! ... But how? Why? Isn’t he in...) His face paled further as a realization spun in his mind.

  (That bastard left me alone as bait!)

  He turned his head very slowly, terrified that the sensors of the black helmets would pick up his movement. The back door of the store, leading to the maintenance and garbage platform, was partially open.

  (I can’t go back to the Energy and Factory Island... through this station, there’s a biometric ID check... the place will be crawling with them,) the Assistant thought, panting, thoughts racing and colliding with his heartbeats that drummed in his ears like war drums. (The Fourth Island... or the Second... The Circular Train! It’s my only choice.)

  He slid off his chair, practically crawling toward the back door, ignoring the puzzled look of the clerk.

  He emerged into the dark maintenance corridor, where pipes hissed hot steam and the smell of burnt oil choked the breath. He ran. Ran like he had never run in his life, stumbling over boxes, tearing his shirt sleeve, but he didn’t stop.

  His goal was the lower sub-platform, where the "Loop Train" connected the four support islands away from the central lines.

  He reached the platform as the train whistled for closure.

  "Wait!" he screamed with a voice that didn’t come out, and jumped.

  His body slid through the doors at the last second, and they hissed shut behind him, sealing him off from the pursuers... and from the safe world.

  He collapsed onto the cold metal seat, panting and clutching his leather bag tightly as if it were a lifeline in a raging ocean.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He lifted his head slowly, sweat blinding his eyes, to look at the digital map above the door.

  A red dot blinked and moved toward the next station.

  "To the Fourth Island... Solis et Lunae..." he muttered, reading the name, voice trembling. "News hasn’t spread there yet... I’ll find a way... any way to disappear among containers or warehouses."

  He placed a hand over his chest, trying to calm a heart that threatened to break his ribs.

  "Why... why didn't I just tell them what happened?.. I'm innocent!" Tears welled up from the injustice and frustration. "I'm just an assistant... I didn't do anything!"

  Then his thoughts paused for a moment. He remembered Hunjin's face as he coldly sliced his colleague's skin. He remembered the look of the guards.

  "Will being innocent matter to them?" he asked himself in a faint voice. He recalled whispered stories among scientists about "The Vanished." He sighed in despair, leaning his head back, closing his eyes. "If I get caught, I'll tell the truth... and if it doesn't happen, and I'm alive... I'll resign. I'll work on the Service Island. I'll open a bakery. Anything but this."

  As the train sped into the dark tunnel, moving away from the light of the Third Island, the Assistant didn't realize that his decision to flee to the "Fourth Island" was not a path to survival... it was a ticket to an unforgettable journey.

  The Loop Train stopped slowly at the final station.

  There was no soft hydraulic hiss this time, but a heavy, grating metallic sound—iron grinding against iron, as if the train itself hesitated to open its doors, or as if it were drawing its last breath.

  [Destination: Solis et Lunae. Restricted Fourth Island.]

  The door opened very slowly.

  The "Assistant" stumbled out, legs numb from fear and sitting.

  "I... I survived..." he panted, wiping cold sweat from his forehead with his torn sleeve. He looked around cautiously, expecting to see guards, cameras, or security robots chasing him.

  But the station was... empty.

  And not "empty" in the sense of the usual nightly quiet. It was empty in the sense of "Absolute Absence."

  No staff in the booths. No robotic cleaners. No announcement sounds. Even the security checkpoints were unmanned, their gates wide open, devices blinking with standby lights finding no one to operate them. As if the entire crew had suddenly evaporated minutes ago.

  The Assistant looked at the station's design. It instinctively provoked anxiety. The right side of the walls was made of matte black metal, containing lights that blinked momentarily in a deep crimson red like embers. While the left side was highly polished silver metal, with lights blinking coldly in pale green.

  "Where is everyone?" the Assistant muttered, his voice echoing hollowly in the vast hall. "Is... is there an emergency evacuation? A chemical leak?"

  (If there is an evacuation, that's better,) he thought quickly, grasping at any straw of hope. (I'll hide here. I'll wait until the situation returns to normal, or until the cargo train heading to the Energy Island arrives.)

  He walked cautiously toward the exit, avoiding the red-lit side, clinging to the shadows on the cold left side.

  He pushed the heavy door and stepped out of the station building into the island's open air.

  And froze in place.

  "Solis et Lunae" wasn't just an industrial facility as he imagined.

  It was... an arena.

  A vast arena, stretching as far as the eye could see. It contained luxurious residential buildings resembling villas, distributed in a strange geometric pattern.

  But what made the Assistant’s knees knock together and fail him weren't the buildings.

  It was the ground.

  The station’s front plaza, supposed to be a garden or a parking lot, was completely destroyed. It wasn't ordinary destruction, nor cracks from age.

  They were "Craters."

  Giant, circular pits, as if meteors had just struck here. The ground was scorched, molten in some places, and shattered in others. Had the island not been of immense depth, he could have seen the sky through the holes in the floor.

  It wasn't one crater. There were dozens of them.

  The Assistant approached the edge of the nearest crater with trembling steps. He looked down. The darkness was pitch black at the bottom, there was no smell of sulfur and burning; the probability that an explosion caused this was low.

  "Wha... what is this..."

  He retreated quickly when he felt the ground beneath his foot was brittle and hot, as if it would collapse under him.

  "Th... this..." The Assistant looked around, eyes wide with genuine horror, recalling the image of terrifying robotic constructs on the Energy Island. "Is... is this a weapons testing ground? Am I in a firing range?"

  In that moment, as his mind tried to comprehend the scene...

  GRAAAAAAH!

  The sound tore through the air. Not a machine sound, nor an explosion. It was a monstrous, deep, primal roar, carrying boundless rage within it.

  The Assistant covered his ears with his hands and fell to his knees, body shaking violently.

  Then, immediately after the roar...

  BOOM!

  A thunderous explosion came from the right side of the island, shaking the ground beneath his feet and knocking dust from the station's facade.

  "Are they conducting biological experiments here!?" The Assistant lifted his head in shock, crawling on all fours trying to get away, then managed to stand leaning against a nearby villa wall that was half-destroyed.

  "WHOOOOSH!"

  Then the sound came from above. It wasn't just loud; it came with a massive wave of air pressure, as if a jet plane passed directly over his head. The Assistant was forced against the wall, unable to move, while the wind messed with his hair and clothes.

  He lifted his head slowly, neck cracking from tension and fear.

  Above, in the dark sky pierced by the lights of the industrial island...

  He saw "The Entity."

  It wasn't a bird, nor a plane. It was a massive, colossal entity possessing extended black wings blocking the lights. But they weren't wings of feathers and flesh.

  They were a mass of sharp "blades," black as ink, forming and undulating constantly. The matter composing it was neither solid nor liquid... it was a black "void" devouring light.

  "ROAAAAR!"

  When the entity roared again, the blades in its wings began to spin with insane speed. The sound was like millions of metal saws operating simultaneously.

  The scene was terrifying, nightmarish, but even more terrifying was what lay in front of that entity.

  A small dot.

  Compared to the giant wings covering the sky, it was merely a dot. But the Assistant, thanks to his relative proximity, could distinguish the shape.

  It was a boy.

  A boy wearing a black hoodie and dark trousers. He was hovering in the sky, and the terrifying entity emanated from his back like an embodied shadow.

  "He's that boy from before..." whispered the Assistant as he remembered the boy's image through the window.

  But the Assistant saw something else. The entity that was roaring suddenly vanished, as if imploding, scattering shards of darkness. And from within it, another dot appeared.

  A small, glowing dot began ascending with insane speed toward the winged boy, then crashing down on him with force.

  The winged boy and the unknown attacker... were fighting in the sky.

  The Assistant fell to his knees completely, watching the dots collide, separate, then fall toward the earth with terrifying speed. To his eyes, they were no longer dots, but living meteors.

  The Assistant didn't think. Didn't hesitate. Primal survival instinct took over completely.

  He ran.

  Ran like he hadn't even run in the station. Forgot his bag that fell from him. Forgot his fake identity. Forgot even his destination. He was just running away from the sky, away from the monsters making the islands shake.

  He ran between luxury villas, through scorched gardens, past deep craters.

  Then he stopped.

  Not because of a hole, or because he reached the island's edge.

  He stopped because the scene in front of him slapped him in the face harder than any pressure wave.

  The island he thought was empty, abandoned, just a war zone... was inhabited.

  In front of a massive arena, resembling a Roman "Colosseum" but with modern technology, the stands were full.

  Teenagers in expensive clothes, children holding strange toys, adults wearing elegant masks or formal wear... thousands of them. They sat there, safe due to their distance from the left side, but he could see devices scattered around the place emitting transparent energy barriers. They were looking at a giant screen suspended in the air broadcasting the live feed of the fight happening in the sky above them.

  And worse than that...

  There was a man in a shiny suit standing on a platform, holding a microphone, his voice filling the arena with hysterical enthusiasm.

  "NOW! NOW!.. THE KNOCKOUT BLOW APPROACHES! WHO BETS THE SCORE WON'T CHANGE?! AND WHO BETS IT WILL!"

  The screams of the audience rose, raising their devices to bet, laughing, and drinking, while the sky above them was being torn apart.

  The Assistant backed away slowly, eyes wide with horror.

  These are not scientists. Not soldiers.

  These are "The Audience."

  And this island... is not a factory.

  It is an Arena.

  The Assistant turned around and began running around the arena, away from this madness, trying to find any dark corner to hide in before one of the monsters fell on him, or before one of these "spectators" noticed him.