The only thing on Raven’s mind was to deceive the gang members for a short while, earn a few credits, pay off Diana's debt and then disappear. It wasn’t a plan that required much courage, nor was it something that would buy him extra time. But a piece of intel obtained by ION changed the entire equation.
Diana had already mentioned that this lower-tier gang known as B12 was actually connected to a more organized structure—a mercenary unit. Now, ION has also discovered the name of that unit: DeadFox.
And the moment that name echoed in Raven’s mind, the gleam in his eyes changed. It was as if a ghost from the past had suddenly touched his back. He knew that name. He knew it all too well.
Raven had once been deployed against DeadFox. And the unit Raven had belonged to had wiped them out.
There were two possibilities: either remnants of those men had survived, or someone was using the name of DeadFox. Either way, it worked in Raven’s favor. That was the piece of information that formed the foundation of Plan B—of wiping out B12 and RustJaw.
With ION’s guidance, locating the bar used as a base by the gang wasn’t hard. It was hidden beneath an old train station—a dark place hissing with neon lights and illegal drugs. A microcosm of the underground crime world; every drink hid a threat, every laugh masked a buried fear.
Raven put on the mask he’d picked up from a shop a few hours earlier. Its outer surface was a screen. The sensors at eye level turned the wearer’s facial expressions into emojis on the outer surface. Popular at parties, these masks were the first choice for those who wanted to disappear in a crowd unnoticed. But Raven had bought it to be noticed.
With ION’s code modifications, a fixed symbol glowed on the mask’s screen: a red, pixelated crow flapping its wings.
As he passed under the red neon lights and opened the door to the bar, the murmur inside abruptly died. The smell of smoke, sweat, and cheap drugs thickened as it mixed with the threatening aura Raven carried. The music stopped. All eyes turned to him.
Two men with thick faux-leather jackets and chains around their necks stepped in front of him. The faded but still visible B12 insignia marked their coats.
“Party’s next door, freak!” one of them sneered, eyes gleaming with disdain.
“Leave your wallet and get the fuck out.”
Raven didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on a table behind them. Three men sitting in the corner… There they were. The remnants of DeadFox.
The gang members interpreted Raven’s silence as a threat. One of them began tapping the mask’s screen with a finger. Each tap made the red crow disappear for a moment before reappearing. The rhythmic tapping created a strange tension.
On the third tap, everything changed.
Raven’s hand moved—a thin, titanium-alloy blade—pierced the arm that had been poking his mask. The man’s eyes widened in shock. He collapsed to the ground with pain before he could even scream. The blade shot out and sank into the ribs of the second man. It all happened in seconds. As the two men writhed in pain, a wave of panic swept through the bar.
Everyone was on their feet—except the three men in the corner. Most of the others had Riftblades in hand. Raven’s attack had come and gone in the blink of an eye. In the silence that followed, the groans of the wounded echoed like a sinister rhythm.
“So… we really did miss a few of you.” Raven said. His voice, modified by the sound modulator inside the mask, sounded metallic and threatening. There was a robotic chill in his tone.
The gang members were about to move when one of the men in the corner pushed his chair back and stood up. An old tactical vest glinted beneath his black jacket.
“If you don’t want to die, back off!” he shouted, his voice filling the bar.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with!”
Raven approached him with quiet steps. A few drops of blood had splattered on the mask’s screen. Each step he took thickened the tension in the room. He drew closer.
“Still sharp, Ogon.” Raven said, his voice now a deep, threatening whisper.
“Is that how you managed to escape?”
Ogon’s lips trembled. His pupils had dilated.
“You… You’re from K.R.H., aren’t you?”
Raven pulled a chair and sat down directly across from him. Blood dripped from his blade, seeping into the cracks on the floor. The crow symbol on the knife’s hilt felt like a warning before a storm.
“What do you think?”
Cold sweat poured down Ogon’s forehead. But he was still alive. And that was a good sign.
“If we’re still breathing…” he muttered,
“Then you’re not here to kill us, are you?”
Raven leaned forward slightly, coming to eye level. “The mission I was given…” he said slowly, “was to neutralize all operational enemy elements. But you know how it is… missions change.”
Ogon leaned back in his chair. His hands were still trembling, but there was a faint flicker of hope in his eyes. The big man next to him, with a military haircut and a thick, curly beard, seemed less affected. He spoke without taking his eyes off Raven.
“So…” he said firmly.
“What’s the new mission?”
Raven turned his head. Behind the mask, his eyes gleamed with a foggy resolve.
“I reported to the Tsar that you were still alive—and that you’d taken over a gang. At first, we were preparing to eliminate both you and the gang… but plans changed.”
Ogon’s hand slowly drifted toward his weapon.
“What do you want?”
Ogon’s voice bounced off the walls and came back at him. It was rough, forked, and full of fury. But behind that fury, a hidden sense of desperation lurked. Sweat trickled from his forehead down his neck, dripping inside his collar.
Raven’s head slowly turned toward Ogon. The movement was unnervingly slow. His eyes were not visible, yet Ogon could feel them — staring at him. Like the touch of a sharp blade on skin… cold and inevitable.
“We need money.”
Raven’s voice wasn’t a whisper, yet it echoed in the room like a fog — quiet, clear, and without reverberation. Cold, emotionless, and devoid of commentary. No plea, no explanation… But as the word echoed in Ogon’s ears, a disturbing contradiction began to grow inside him.
A laugh erupted. Guttural, angry, and tinged with despair. A smirk appeared on Ogon’s face, his eyes narrowing.
“K.R.H. doesn’t need money!” he said. The words shot from his mouth like spit.
Then his voice rose, as if trying to choke down a lump in his throat:
“Are you the type to mock before killing your targets? Since when did K.R.H. need cash? You’re a bunch of maniacs turned mercenaries for fun!”
Though his words sounded bold, the trembling fear behind them was clear in his eyes. Perhaps this was a man who could feel death breathing on his neck, hurling one last curse at life. Silence fell over the table. Only the moans of two gang members writhing in pain on the floor and Raven’s breathing could be heard.
The short man sitting to Raven’s left touched his chin. His face was covered in scars, his yellow hair oily and messy. He spoke almost in a whisper.
“So it’s true… That kid really blew up your armory—”
Before the sentence could be completed, Raven’s hand shot out like lightning. His knife stabbed into the table with a deep THUD. Everyone at the table flinched. The rusty metal vibrated, the tremors reaching all the way to Ogon’s feet.
“Where did you get that information?!”
His voice was sharp as ice, heavy as lead. The air in the room chilled with Raven’s words. The short man recoiled, swallowing hard. A bead of sweat dripped from his chin.
“Info broker…” he said with a trembling voice.
“From Delta-14… that pervert. Jackal. I'm sure you've heard his name.”
Raven raised a hand to his Commlink device. He fiddled with it as if activating it.
“Delta-14. Info broker Jackal. Find him.”
The sentence was flat. No anger, no urgency. But only Raven knew it was a lie. Commlink wasn't even on.
Then he turned back to Ogon. His eyes were still hidden behind the mask, yet the gaze was unmistakably on him. And then the words came — slowly, like a death sentence being read aloud:
“As I said. We need money. Pay the price for your lives.”
Ogon’s face tensed. He took a deep breath. His chest rose; his eyes briefly avoided Raven’s mask. The crow on the mask reminded him of bad memories. He couldn’t trust K.R.H., but money… That was easy. They had taken control of B12 months ago. The entire zone was under their rule — protection fees, fight arenas, drugs.
“How much do you want?” he asked. This time, his tone was quieter, more cautious.
Raven leaned forward. With one swift motion, he pulled the knife from the table. The sound of metal echoed across the room.
“The 'Tsar' wants B12.”
His words changed the air in the bar. It felt as though the walls had suddenly closed in. Even the rust stains on the table seemed sharper.
“In short, all the money flowing through this city.”
Ogon’s eyes widened. He recoiled as if punched. His lips parted, but no words came out. He had hoped to get out of this with a few million credits. But what K.R.H. wanted… was everything.
Raven pulled a small black electronic wallet from his pocket. Its screen flickered with lights. As he extended the device toward Ogon, he spoke:
“Fifty thousand. Feeding twelve people in this city is expensive.”
Ogon’s eyes widened further. The amount wasn’t what shocked him — it was the number. Twelve people? That meant two squads. He had hoped Raven only had one squad with him. But now, he realized he was facing two K.R.H. squads. It was a power he could not overcome even with the help of B12.
With trembling hands, he pulled out his own wallet and completed the transfer. The devices beeped, funds were sent. But Raven was still staring. He hadn’t moved.
“Care to contribute to my collection?”
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Raven gestured to the pistol on Ogon’s belt. It was an old model — heavy, crude, but charismatic. It used reinforced rounds, insufficient against most modern Active Defense Surfaces, but still a classy weapon.
Ogon sighed. The gun didn’t mean much to him. But the word Raven used made him pause.
Collection.
He slowly handed the weapon over. Raven took it. As he holstered it, he said only one sentence:
“I’ll be in touch.”
Then he stood up.
“You now work for the Tsar.”
There was no threat in the sentence. No anger either. Just a warning.
“Be honored.”
Raven walked toward the door. Each step crushed Ogon’s plans, hopes, and fears underfoot.
When Raven left through the bar’s creaky door and disappeared into the crowd, the atmosphere in the room changed instantly. It was as if an invisible shroud had been lifted — everyone finally started breathing again. But the relief didn’t last.
Tension pulsed outward from Ogon’s table. The thickly built, tattoo-covered, short-haired man — Rion — stood up, fists clenched. His eyes narrowed in fury, still locked on the now-closed door. Ogon grabbed his arm. Calm, but unyielding.
“Wait, Rion!” he growled.
“The guy could be lying. We should follow him!”
“You didn’t recognize him, Rion?”
Rion’s brow furrowed. There was something familiar… The knife — a carbon-coated, notched military blade used exclusively by K.R.H. operatives. The logo on it also matched K.R.H.’s. But nothing else.
At the table, the short, blond man tapped the table nervously with his nails. His eyes widened, words choking in his throat, but eventually he said in a trembling voice:
“Fang…”
Rion’s knees almost gave out. He silently thanked the gods he hadn’t followed Raven. Fang… one of the most ruthless operatives in K.R.H. A soldier known as “The Collector.”
He had once killed a small mercenary group’s leader just to obtain a weapon he fancied. The Tsar wanted him to take responsibility for what he had done. Fang then single-handedly destroyed the entire unit instead of apologising or trying to end the conflict.
In front of Rion’s eyes, the events from just minutes ago replayed like a film. The precision, the resolve, the professionalism that had taken down two gang members in a single move… And then, the word “Collection”. It all fits. If everything was true, then the man who had just stood before them really was Fang.
And even if it was all a lie, the question ‘What if he's really Fang?’ was enough to stop them.
The silence at the table was suffocating. None of them could speak anymore. In that moment, their dark pasts and instincts whispered only one thing: Don't resist.
Raven had removed his mask in the crowd, and now drifted through the neon-lit alleyways of the city like a ghost. As he walked under pale yellow streetlights, a faint smile played on his lips.
“Are you sure that Psycho-Social thing is still experimental?” he muttered, half in awe, half in disbelief.
“It’s working like a damn charm!”
ION responded instantly—in a calm, analytical, and unmistakably emotionless tone unique to artificial intelligence.
“Yes, it makes mostly accurate predictions. But it’s still experimental. Don’t rely on it too much. If you hadn’t recognized the men at the table… you’d be in a fight right now.”
Raven sighed. ION was right. He might’ve been able to handle the gang members at the bar and run away, but Ogon and his two men… they weren’t your average thugs. They were former mercenaries—survivors, even if briefly, of a unit that had once dared to challenge K.R.H. Making it out of that bar alive was no small feat.
At a time when he lacked proper equipment—aside from the Super Punchinator—his lack of weapons was a serious flaw. That was one of the reasons he took Ogon’s pistol. He needed a ranged weapon. He was skilled in close combat, yes, but in a fight where he couldn’t control distance and the enemy had numbers… it could be fatal.
The idea of Fang had come to him suddenly. He knew Fang. They’d worked together. Raven had even learned to use firearms from him. Acting like him came easily.
ION’s analysis may have guided the conversation at the table, but it was Raven who had sparked the ideas and staged the scene. Together, they made a perfect duo. Things were starting to go his way. He had redirected B12’s fury away from the Bottle Bottom Bar, scored a pile of credits, and even managed to influence DeadFox.
But things weren’t all sunshine and roses. The danger still lurked in the shadows. The name RustJaw echoed at the back of his mind. If that gang came to the city and started looking for him, everything would come crashing down.
With these thoughts, he made his way to a rusty-signed, half-abandoned hotel in the backstreets of the city. The sign read “Zenith Inn”, but most of the letters had fallen off. Only “Z–th In–” remained. When he entered, the old android at the front desk looked at him with indifference. Raven paid the credit without saying much and took the key. This was the kind of place that asked no questions, required no ID.
On the fourth floor, he entered a dark room with one window. He locked the door behind him, drew the curtain, and leaned his back against the wall. The room was gloomy; a dim ceiling light flickered weakly over the worn carpet. He dropped his backpack and sat slowly on the edge of the bed. He took a deep breath. The bed had springs, but they were old. The creaking metal beneath him echoed the mess in his mind.
He couldn’t sleep. Not yet.
He pulled a small device from the inner pocket of his coat. It was a relic from his mercenary days—hand-sized, flat, and cold. He swiped across the touch panel. When the device is powered on, a finger-sized holographic projector casts blue light patterns in the center of the room. A street map of Delta-6, the internal structure of the B12 gang… all of it unfolded before him like a miniature mental theater. It was all prepared by ION.
Raven narrowed his eyes, deep in thought.
“What’s next?” he asked in a near whisper. It wasn’t clear if he was speaking to himself or the empty room. But the answer didn’t come from the void—it came from deep within his mind.
“I can't make changes to plan B right now. Because I don’t understand your goal.”
That actually surprised Raven. He lowered his head. What was his goal?
“If your goal is to make enough money to leave the city…” ION continued, “…then you currently have 50,000 credits in your account. By my estimates, that’s enough to buy a ticket and pay Diana’s debt. If your goal is to permanently guarantee Diana's safety, then we must eliminate both B12 and RustJaw. That could take weeks. And you said someone is after you.”
Raven fell silent. He tried to think, but his mind was tangled with contradictions. Yes, he could escape. Far away, even.
But… the words he’d said to Diana still echoed in his ears. The B12 issue had seemed simple—beat up a few thugs, solve the problem. But RustJaw wasn’t like that. He had dealt them a serious blow. And RustJaw was vindictive. Ruthless. If they stepped into Delta-6, they might not find Raven—but they would find Diana.
Raven took a deep breath and stood up slowly. The projection still spun, clusters of data rotating in mid-air.
“I'm gonna take over the B12.” he said with conviction. Then his gaze shifted to the empty wall, as if a vision of the future was forming there.
“I’ll use B12 to deal with RustJaw. After that I'll destroy the B12 from the inside. Then I’ll disappear.”
ION’s voice came again—this time deeper, more inquisitive:
“The people after you… they’re K.R.H., aren’t they?”
Raven nodded. He wasn’t surprised. He knew ION had already figured it out. His eyes drifted back to the map, but this time, he couldn’t focus.
“Yes...” he said finally.
ION continued without hesitation:
“From what I understand, K.R.H. is an elite mercenary group. If what Ogon’s man said is true, then the person who blew up K.R.H.’s armory is most likely you. That alone is reason enough for them to kill you. It won’t take long for them to find you. And as you are now, you can’t stand against an elite mercenary force.”
Raven ran a hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. ION was right. One old pistol and Super Punchinator were worthless against a force like K.R.H. The day he got caught would be the day it was over for him.
“Let’s deal with B12 first…” Raven said.
“When the right time comes… I’ll handle K.R.H.”
And in that moment, under the dim light of the room, Raven’s silhouette flickered for a brief second. He wasn’t just a tired man anymore. He was a ghost—standing at the edge of shattered plans, a fractured identity, and a war with no clear future.
But at least now… he had a proper plan.
ION // SYSTEM FEEDBACK — [Session: 017 | Operator: Raven Karr]
Interface: ION_v4.6.1_β // Connection Stable [?]
[?] [MRS-09] Molecular Restoration System
- Operational Efficiency: 10.4% (↑ 2.2%)
- Primary Function:
→ Facilitates tissue regeneration via nano-scale biosynthetic repair protocols
→ Applies localized reconstruction on muscle, epidermal, and limited neural tissues
→ Simulates auto-fibrin production and coagulation to suppress superficial bleeding
→ Engages limited immunosuppression to minimize infection risk
- Critical Limitation:
→ In cases of major tissue disruption or internal organ trauma, system enters “Hemostatic Mode”
→ Prioritizes active hemorrhage control; regeneration rate significantly reduced
→ If operational load exceeds 60%, system may enter temporary shutdown
??[?] [PSA-02X] Psycho-Social Analysis Module (Experimental Prototype)
- Operational Efficiency: 2.1% (↑ 2.1%)
- Primary Function:
→ Analyzes micro-expressions, vocal tone, and biometric feedback for intent profiling
→ Constructs probabilistic behavioral models in real time
Algorithmic Output Sample:
→ “Subject Raven exhibits an 83% likelihood of rejecting the concept of ‘trust.’”
System Notice: Stated efficiency percentages apply only under conditions of full, synchronized nanite allocation to each individual module. Partial or multi-tasking deployments may result in fluctuating efficiency levels.
Raven // BODYCHECK
→ Gear:
? Street style clothes (Even though the clothes are a bit baggy, they are cooler this way.)
? Active Defense Surface [Model: AS929] (ION did something. It works now!)
? Emoji Mask (Why wear a mask if you want to show your facial expressions?)
→ Weapon:
? Left Hook of God? (Seriously? This ancient wrist-slam still here? Next to the Super Punchinator? No tech, no spark—just bruises and delusions of divine relevance.)
? Combat Knife [Model: M-12] (The only thing left of Rex.)
? Super Punchinator [Left] (Boom! It can punch now! Is Raven slowly turning into Thor? Still penetrating the Active Defense Surfaces!)
→ Additions:
? Sad vibes (Pov: Trauma)
? Stolen e-Wallet – Balance: 50734 [50000↑] (First he was a thief, now he's a crook.)
? VX-21 Commlink (There's a missed call! Even Commlink is surprised.)
? Stylish Black Bag (Used to be cool. Now it’s just “Raven’s personal hell-pocket.” Still cursed. Still smells weird. It's a little lighter now.)
? Sustenance & Regret – Contents: Bottled Rations, Bottles labeled “Water” (Technically drinkable. Emotionally scarring. One hissed and called him “mom.”)
? Monkey Chocolates (Where the hell did that chocolate go?! And more importantly, how the fuck did it go?!)
? (6) VX-21 Commlink (He's not gonna do anything with these.)