Rewind to the third day after Leo stopped playing dead—the night he finalized the life-support protocols with Mora.

  The airlock slammed shut behind him with a heavy thud.

  In that instant, the lingering scent of high-grade incense was stripped away, replaced by the turbid, crudely filtered atmosphere unique to the Lower City.

  Leo stood beneath the ventilation duct, taking a deep, greedy breath. Burnt ozone, rancid decay, and the cloying sweetness of volatile chemicals.

  It smelled glorious.

  And he wasn't being ironic.

  In the sterile, clinically pure air of the Sanctum, Leo always felt an inexplicable suffocation. It was too clean—so clean he perpetually felt like a specimen preserved in a jar of formalin.

  But here? This murky smog mixed with mineral dust and radiation... it stung the throat, but it made him feel alive.

  He tapped the chip in his breast pocket. It held the massive procurement fund Mora had granted him. He popped the collar of his trench coat and killed the communicator Crow had forced on him.

  The streets of the Lower City were narrow, choking with humanity. The neon red of holographic ads danced on the oily, slick pavement. Hands deep in his pockets, he skipped over a puddle of sewage.

  On the roadside, a child halfway through a prosthetic swap was wailing; a woman who had sold her spine to a data company twitched on the ground.

  Leo looked away, but his right hand spasmed.

  That damned Xeno-Limb Pain again. It was both his gift and his curse. This sensitivity allowed him to visualize lesions, but it exacted a toll in excruciating clarity.

  He quickened his pace, transferred to the subway, arrived at Sector D4, cut through a row of stalls hawking second-hand organs, and ducked into Pump Room No. 3.

  This was the underground clinic of the "Lamplighter."

  "It hurts... hurts..." A festering hand suddenly clawed at his pant leg. It was a young miner, half his face warped by radiation, pus drooling from his lip.

  Leo kicked the hand away, expressionless.

  "Quit screaming. Pain is just an electrical impulse. Flip the switch, and it stops." He turned to the busy Lamplighter. "Give the kid a shot of 20mg DP. On me."

  The Lamplighter walked over, handing him a cryo-box. While injecting cheap synthetic morphine into the miner, he smirked: "Leo, you still can't stand to see others bleed, can you? Where have you been getting rich lately?"

  Leo ignored the small talk. He glanced at the young miner curling up on the mat, eyes glazing over as the morphine sent him to "Heaven." He grinned at the Lamplighter. "Seems your drugs are more effective than your faith."

  The Lamplighter flashed his transparent synthetic diamond teeth. "Yeah. The world hurts too much. Gotta give these poor bastards some anesthesia, or their brains will throw a runtime error."

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  He jerked his chin at the cryo-box. "You want such expensive smuggled goods... operating on some big shot?"

  Leo checked the box. It was full of Earth-sourced medications prepared for Vivian.

  "No. It's for charlatans and lunatics like you."

  The Lamplighter laughed loudly. Leo moved on to Sector C2.

  This was the neural hub of the underground world. Countless fiber optic cables hung in midair like exposed nerve bundles, pulsating with multi-colored light.

  Hundreds of "Deep Divers" hung from racks, data tubes jacked directly into their spines.

  In the virtual world, they played emperors, gods, and everything reality denied them. In exchange, they were puppeted as thieves, stealing any data that could be sold.

  Ten years ago, he would have been angry, sorrowful, thinking these wastrels were hopeless. But now, he just wanted to turn and leave.

  It's all the same, Leo thought. The Ring uses theology to build a grand narrative; they use hallucinations to prove their existence; and I... I use "Going to Earth" as a reason to keep breathing.

  Everyone is chasing things they can't have. That is the Dream!

  But can we stop dreaming? No! Absolutely not! Only by dreaming can we possess!

  He walked into "Spider's" shielded room.

  "Doctor," Spider’s electronic eyes whirred, recording. "This isn't fair."

  "Fair?" Leo smiled—a sneer full of scorn. "You peddle digital narcotics, and you talk to me about fairness? You are truly shameless!"

  Spider let out a kindred laugh. "I sell the possibilities of life."

  Half an hour later, he took the chip Spider had prepared. It was loaded with zero-day exploits, backdoors, and cheat codes. Iron picks for prying open prison gates.

  The last stop was the dead end of Sector F.

  This was the cloaca of the Lower City. Massive exhaust fans wheezed like dying beasts.

  Old K's scrapyard was built inside an abandoned missile silo, piled high with recyclables.

  "Here's the goods." Old K threw back a tarp.

  A simple personal escape pod, code-named "The Coffin." Ugly, rough, still stained with uncleaned industrial grease.

  Leo stepped forward and patted the cold shell. This was not the afterlife paradise promised by the Ring, nor the momentary pleasure brought by drugs. This was a physical vault.

  "Three million. Non-negotiable!" Old K quoted.

  Leo’s finger hovered over the payment key. Vivian’s face suddenly flashed in his mind.

  His stomach clenched.

  This money could buy more equipment, better drugs, design a safer surgical plan for her. But I’m embezzling it.

  If I can't have both... do I sacrifice myself to save her, or kill her to save myself?

  A heavy, suffocating sensation gripped him again.

  Damn it. This is why I need this pod. She is too crazy... and those fanatics following her, they seem to genuinely believe. Sincerity is scarier than hypocrisy. If I don't keep an ace up my sleeve, they'll drag me to my death.

  I am a doctor. I believe in science, not theology.

  Leo told himself silently. This is called Triage.

  Abandon the unsalvageable. Evacuate the survivors first.

  As long as I try my best, my conscience is clear.

  PAYMENT AUTHORIZED.

  He pressed his finger down. As his account hit zero, he let out a long breath.

  The Xeno-Limb Pain vanished, replaced by a nauseating sense of relief. This time, he decided to completely excise that soft, weak flesh that always plagued his heart.

  Leo turned, his trench coat snapping loudly in the exhaust wind.

  Three days after returning to the Lower City—the seventh day since he stopped feigning sleep—Leo returned to the Third Sanctum.

  Mora scanned the ledger with the precision of an X-ray machine.

  Leo watched coldly from the side. I don't believe you know black market prices better than I do.

  Sure enough, Mora moved her gaze to his face. She was reading Leo’s micro-expressions.

  She withdrew her gaze. Accepted.

  Leo walked out. At the corner of the corridor, Crow materialized.

  "At least three million was skimmed." Crow’s voice cut across his skin like a scalpel. "Doctor, your books don't balance."

  "You're right. I gave it to Oba. Don't forget, he's one of us." Leo feigned a look of gutter camaraderie.

  "Oba?" Crow’s dead-gray eyes twitched.

  He didn't press further, but he didn't disappear either. He just stared at Leo, as if his gaze could penetrate skin and bone, seeing straight to the escape pod key hidden in the inner pocket of his coat.

  For a second, Leo thought he would draw his blade.

  But Crow didn't. He turned sideways, clearing the path. Just as Leo passed, he clamped a hand on Leo's shoulder.

  The hand was heavy, like iron tongs, but devoid of killing intent.

  There was only a... baffling pity.

  "There is actually another way," Crow whispered, almost inaudibly. "Turn around now. Walk out the airlock. And never look back."

  Leo stood motionless, his brain spinning at high speed.

  He's hinting for me to run? But then Vivian would lose medical support and lose the competition!

  Is he working for another faction? Trying to stop Vivian?

  No. He is testing me!

  Leo kept his face calm.

  "Why should I run? I still have to help Her Highness ascend to the Throne. Crow, don't forget, I am Her Highness's personal doctor, her Guardian. And I value my reputation."

  He patted the pocket holding the key, striding towards Vivian's prayer room.

  Crow remained in the shadows.

  "You really shouldn't have come back," he called out.

  Only much later, when Leo stood on the judgment platform watching Vivian walk toward him, did he understand: That humanoid killing machine, in that moment, genuinely wanted to give him a way out.

  However, the Leo of that time didn't care. Because he had to hurry to check Vivian's body, measure data, and craft her protective suit.

  Of course, this time he wouldn't be passive like before.

  He was going to play the role of Vivian's Guardian well—and an incredibly domineering Guardian at that!

  He pushed open the door. The sunset was perfect. Within the Sanctum, amidst the interplay of light and shadow, a woman stood waiting.

  the story is fully written.

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