The sleek engine purred like a devil waiting to be unleashed.
Out in the alley, beyond the steam and the corpses, parked with the elegance of a predator sunbathing after a kill — sat a vehicle that didn't belong in this kind of neighborhood. Its surface shimmered like liquid obsidian, sharp-lined and low-slung.
Alya blinked. "Wait… that's your car?"
Alan didn't reply. He just opened the passenger door.
Nolan, meanwhile? Fully lost it. The boy's brain went brrr.
"Oh my gods," he whispered, practically vibrating. "That's a Veltraxion GT-Luxe. Triple-core plasma drive, hover-adaptive wheels, ceramic-titanium fusion armor, and wait— is that— IS THAT A GRAZILIAN RANGE SENSOR?!"
Alan gave him a side glance. "You done?"
"No." Nolan clutched his head like he was about to cry from joy. "Only 14 of these exist in the galaxy. And you— you just parked it in a murder alley like it's some delivery drone?!"
Alya, still covered in grime and trauma, raised an eyebrow. "Are you two flirting with the car?"
Alan smirked. "Get in. Both of you."
And so they did.
Mou was already on the front seat, curled up like royalty, completely unfazed by everything — a big mood in a world on fire. He didn't even glance at the teens, just shifted slightly to make more room for himself.
The backseat was softer than any bed Alya had ever known. Nolan looked like he'd just ascended to a higher plane of existence.
The car purred to life, hovering silently as Alan slid into the driver's seat. No start button. No gears. It obeyed him like a trained beast.
"Where are we going?" Alya asked, peeking out the tinted window.
Alan simply replied, "You'll know."
The city outside blurred into neon streaks. But something was changing.
Slowly, the grit and grime of lower Velaria gave way to silence — not from lack of life, but from refinement. Street lights turned golden. The roads widened. Air filtration systems kicked in. Even the smell shifted — from plasma smoke to imported lilacs.
And then they reached The Gate.
An obsidian wall rose like a curtain between worlds. Engraved with platinum glyphs, guarded by bots taller than buildings. The Entrance to VIP Velaria.
Alya's jaw dropped.
"No way," she whispered.
Nolan pressed against the window. "We're going in? Us?! No, that— that's illegal! That's 'shoot you before you step on the sidewalk' territory!"
Alan rolled the window down, showed something — probably a permit, or a death glare, hard to tell — and the gate parted.
They entered.
And it was like stepping into heaven — if heaven came with chrome towers, floating gardens, and silent, smooth-moving drones offering citrus water to passing elites.
Alya and Nolan couldn't even whisper anymore. They were too busy pointing at things. A hover fountain that defied gravity. Streets that cleaned themselves. Shops with clothes so shiny they looked like they'd slap your bank account for fun.
Nolan muttered under his breath, "I thought Nexus was about rebellion. Who the hell lives here?!"
Alan: Silent.
But the slight twitch in his smirk? That said "Yeah. I break stereotypes for breakfast."
They stopped at a mall. A real one. Not the black-market slums. This one had air conditioning that hugged you and lighting that made even dried blood look like part of the aesthetic.
Alan marched them into a store.
The manager blinked at the trio — especially at Alya and Nolan, whose clothes looked like they'd been borrowed from a corpse buffet.
Alan just said, "Full sets. Top quality."
Ten minutes later, Alya was holding a midnight red stealth-weave jacket, stunned silent. Nolan was holding gloves that had a temperature regulator built in.
They changed.
They returned human.
But hunger still haunted their eyes.
Alan didn't say a word. He just took them to the food court. No fast food here — this was fine dining with floating tables and meat that still glowed from its preservation aura.
They ate.
Correction: They devoured.
Alya ripped into a nutrient bun like it owed her money. Nolan was dual-wielding cutlery like he was fighting for his life. There was sauce. Everywhere.
Alan finally sighed. "Mou's eating more mannered than you two."
Mou, on the table, was indeed nibbling a royal pâté — pinky paw raised like a sassy emperor.
Alan gave Nolan and Alya the stare.
They at least wiped their mouths.
Eventually.
By nightfall, the car slithered through silent roads until it stopped.
Before them stood a house.
No — a statement.
Sleek. Shiny. Structured with obsessive symmetry. Walls that pulsed faintly with red and cyan hues, like a heartbeat caught between war and peace. Lights traced the outline in slow, hypnotic pulses.
Alya blinked. "Red and cyan... I get the red. That's your whole Reaper aesthetic. But… cyan?"
Alan didn't answer.
She didn't press.
They stepped inside.
And were hit with a sensory whiplash.
It was immaculate.
Polished floors. Surgical-clean counters. Digital displays running diagnostics, feeds, alerts. Everything had a place.
"This is the opposite of what I expected," Nolan mumbled.
"No bones?" Alya added. "No, like, dismembered trophies?"
Then, they heard it.
"Don't touch the furniture unless you can afford it."
The voice was deep. Smooth. Male.
A cat stepped into view. Glossy silver fur. Emerald eyes. Wearing a sleek neckband.
Alya shrieked softly. "IT SPEAKS?!"
"Yes, darling," the cat replied. "And I don't do hugs. Back up."
"I— I wasn't going to—"
"You were. I read intentions like a psychic with better hair."
"I'm Meow," he said with pride. "The superior species in this household. You'll learn."
Alan opened a drawer.
Pulled out a sleek band.
Snapped it on Mou's neck.
Click.
The Russian beast stirred. Sat up. Licked a paw.
Then spoke.
"Royalty."
His voice was deep. Sharp. Laced with savage velvet and pure ego.
Alya gasped.
Nolan gawked.
Alan just walked past them like this was Tuesday.
Their lives had changed forever.
And they hadn't even begun training yet.