--Chapter One: Hell Yeah!--
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—A circular, shifting rift materialized right above a two-person bed.
No flash. No warning.
Just… blackness — deep and endless. From any angle, it appeared like a portal with no borders, only pure void — endless black, dotted with white glowing orbs that resembled distant stars.
And from that abyss, he fell.
Whump
"Guh—!" The masked man grunted as he landed headfirst into the plush cushion of the bed, his fall awkward and disoriented.
The rift didn't linger. It quietly shrank in on itself, folding into nonexistence as if it had never been there. He didn't even get the chance to see it vanish, or register from where the hell he'd just been hurled.
Still stunned, the masked man stayed on the bed, silent.
He thought he was dead.
Yet… he felt pain. He could breathe. He could feel. His body wasn't crushed, incinerated, or vaporized. He was alive.
Slowly, cautiously, he raised his head, one hand pressing over the exposed half of his face — the part not covered by the cracked, real-bone skull-mask.
The other hand?
Still gripping his sidearm.
Tightly.
He'd been taught never to let go of it. Even in death, the gun is your companion. It's the only thing that listens in the end.
And, as a good man essentially, the idea of letting go of his pistol even in his last moment, never crossed his mind.
His violet eyes, now visible under the soft bedroom light, opened wide with a growing confusion as he looked around.
His eyes darted around, scanning the room, narrowed in shock, and—
"What…?"
A breathless murmur. The word barely escaped his lips, more breath than sound, as he sat up.
Yet, even in this moment of shock, the fallen "Lieutenant" was not one to speak too much during such crucial moment maybe that could prove dangerous.
—His instincts kicked in.
He didn't talk. He moved.
Rolling off the bed, he dropped to the floor and crossed the deep, velvety purple carpet in a swift tactical crawl toward the door.
His movements were fluid, swift, precise and full of skill. He was trained to not be caught off guard. He was a leader for a reason.
—He didn't hesitate.
—And what was he doing right now? Checking out the area for possible dangers of course.
With a sharp kick, the door burst open.
Clear left. Clear right. Clear behind.
No threats. No monsters. No burning battlefield.
Just… an apartment hallway.
A normal-ass apartment hallway. With several neighbors' doors.
He spun again, aiming at every angle — covering all blind spots.
But... nothing.
No enemies.
No threats.
And the room he had been inside?
It looked like his.
Unbeknownst to him, mask still on, wearing nothing but black boxers, and caught on multiple hallway security cams — he had just made the most tactical half-naked roll in local surveillance history. Maybe he will be famous by tomorrow?
He glared at one of the cameras without turning his head. Just a sideways glance... Yeah.
Then casually turned back inside,
Click and locked the door behind him.
The person behind the cams surely peed themselves. No cap.
Leaning against it, his mind began to churn.
'...Where the hell am I? Must I not be dead by now???'
He stayed still for a few minutes. Breathed in slow. And forced himself to assess. This wasn't panic — this was calculation. Controlled confusion.
Eventually, his gaze returned to the bedroom.
He scanned again — slower this time.
Very. Slow.
More. Attention.
Bed: neatly made.
Carpet: deep purple, thick, luxurious.
Bookshelf: —wait.
Are those… erotic comics?
His brow twitched.
The room was quite spacious.
A sleek wooden desk with a Samsung TV mounted above it.
Another desk in the corner, outfitted with a modest but neat setup: laptop, keyboard, mouse, and a leather chair. Cozy. Not bad.
—It wasn't a dream.
It was way too coherent for that.
Turning his gaze to a second door on the other side, it was open, and in came a view of the kitchen. Good.
The room was pretty much clean. Save for the... things on the bookshelf.
—Curious.
His feet carried him to the laptop. It was already open, and the screen was glowing white.
And then he saw it.
An email.
He leaned in.
Read the first few lines.
Stopped.
Read them again.
"...Nah."
A blink.
"No way."
A double blink.
He scrolled, slowly.
Congratulation, Mr. Savant.
Eyes narrowed. He read further.
- Subject: Application Approved
- From: Mr. Smith – Frenni's Night Club Boss
— Congratulation, Mr. Savant.
Your application for the "Sole Night Guard" high-pay position at the famous Frenni Fazclaire's Night Club, the city's most in-safe adult entertainment facility, is approved.
Your shift starts tonight at 12 AM. We expect punctuality.
Rules to Follow During Shifts:
10. Properly dress the uniform. (Non-animatronic Staff)
9. Do not fuck the animatronics.
8. Respect the staff.
7. Respect the customers.
6. Do not disturb paid-performance staff.
5. No pictures.
4. No quarrels. Handle that shit outside.
3. The club closes at 11 PM. Leave before that. (Customers and non-animatronic staff)
2. Staff Room / Locker Room / Animatronics Chamber — Keep out.
1. Do NOT fuck the animatronics.
Yours sincerely,
—Mr. Smith.
He stared.
Then re-read it.
"...Nah."
He scrolled up.
Read it again.
"...No way..."
His expression broke. For real.
It finally clicked.
...
...
...
The man, now known as Mr. Savant, really, and like really, wanted to say MANY things. Many. About this tone used in the message.
—Wait.
Frenni's Night Club.
It finally clicked.
His entire body stiffened as realization slammed into him like a mech drop.
He knew this place.
He knew those names.
He knew those rules.
He knew this world.
Mr. Savant's eyes widened again, this time in pure shock, as he also froze in his place while staring down at the screen without blinking once.
It is as if he found the gates to heaven. He really looked like that, even with his skull-mask on.
His voice then came, and it sounded quite shaky, but with a hint of excitement. "This world... I KNOW this world. These girls... they were my dreams." His character completely broke. Like. Absolutely.
His hardened soldier's facade shattered. Right there and then.
BAM
His hand slammed the desk.
Head lowered. Fists clenched. Breathing heavy.
Then — a sudden grin.
A slow, spreading, insane grin.
—A single, crystal droplet... A tear hit the wooden surface.
"—FUCK YEAH!" One fist punched the air.
—He truly broke character.
"—Now we are talking! Hahaha!"
"There's no mistaking it! I've finally lost it! —Or maybe I've just fucking won!! HAHAHAHAHA!"
He really bro—
"FUCK YEAAAH!!!" Another fist was thrown.
His eyes were alive — wild with fire.
"My mentality's too strong to break! I don't fear DEATH!"
—At this moment. It was no longer a fearsome Lieutenant... But just a boy finally witnessing his fantasies coming true.
Right now… he wasn't a battle-hardened Lieutenant.
Not a killer.
Not a commander.
Just a boy whose fantasies finally came true.
He stood tall, still in just his mask and boxers, yelling toward the ceiling like some twisted god just answered his prayers.
From death's call to a cushy bed. Then a job application approval for a night guard at a night club. There is no mistaking it!
His comrades and men? They were nice and obedient elite soldiers, but they don't mean much to him.
They never did.
He was always alone.
—Yet it never affected his state of mind.
He hadn't forgotten what he went through just moments ago — but hell, he was adaptable.
This?
This was paradise with a body count (Militaristic).
And he was ready.
And damn it, he was ready.
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POWERSTONES!!!! GIVE ME!