A NEW BEGINNING

Eavesdropping Transcript – Confidential Level, Code: Nahar Family

(Obtained through illegal access to the Family's communication channel. Conversation between two members.)

Voice 1: “I’m telling you, it came from the inside. I can’t explain it any other way. Sindar Lad was our stronghold. An operation like this wouldn’t have been possible without someone selling us out.”

Voice 2: “And you think it was the PDC? They’d be going against their own. They had people there.”

Voice 1: “Then where else could the leak have come from?”

Voice 2: “That’s just speculation. Could’ve been anyone. The Vorns, the Kovari, maybe even that new guy, Brooks. You know the kind of position he’s building for himself? Young, ambitious. Those are the worst.”

Voice 1: “The Kovari are scum, we all know that. But they couldn’t pull off something like this. They don’t have enough people on the ground. Don’t even get me started on the rest. But the PDC? They’ve got everything. Access, control of transport, even direct links to the Beacon. I’ve been saying for ages I don’t like this, and now it’s happening—exactly what I warned the Council about.”

Voice 2: “So you think it was an order from the top? We all know the Beacon doesn’t play fair, but this might be a bit of a stretch.”

Voice 1: (long pause) “I know it doesn’t make sense at first glance. Why would they destroy their own strategic sites? But what if they just needed an excuse to fully deploy their Alters?”

Voice 2: “That’s your theory, not mine. But let’s face it. If they wanted to show the world how effective the modified are, this would be the perfect place. Just look how fast they showed up. How prepared they were. Even the media campaign launched the very next day. I’ll admit, that would make sense.”

Voice 1: “This... this is dangerous. If the Beacon’s behind this, then we’re all just dancing to its tune. So what do we do now?”

Voice 2: “Nothing for now. But we no longer trust the PDC. And if we find out they’re involved...”

(End of recording.)

Reng, the Beacon, Upper Prim

Reng sat huddled in a dark corner of the room. The sounds around him were muffled, distant. A deep hum vibrated softly through the walls and floor—like the echo of something unknown, something that lived just beyond human reach. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, its dampness a stark contrast to the dry air laced with the sharp stench of antiseptics.

Outwardly still, inwardly he battled madness. His mind was breaking apart into shards of memory and dream, impossible to tell from reality. Combat. Death. Astin’s face. Miny's. Lifeless. Condemned to be forgotten. He felt the weight pressing on him, crushing bone and organ alike. Tinor! He still heard his voice, even after he’d died under that same crushing force. Had he survived? Or would he too remain in the well of oblivion?

Cold. Heat. Fevered skin. The chill of metal implants embedded deep in his flesh. He trembled—fear, fever, and pure, undiluted madness.

Everything had changed the moment he woke up. He felt the raw scars on his wrists. And something foreign inside him. Foul. Waiting. Crouched in the dark corner of his aching mind. He had no control over it—and feared the day it would awaken.

A sound. He knew it well. A food tray slid through the opening beneath the door. Fed like a wild, dangerous beast. He struck his temples with his fists and curled back into himself. He wasn’t hungry. He didn’t want to feed that thing inside. He wanted to die. To kill it. To make sure it never woke.

His pulse quickened. His body tensed involuntarily, bracing for an attack.

He screamed. The silence was deafening. Then—he heard a whisper. He couldn’t tell if it came from outside or from within. His lips murmured without his will: “I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy…”

“You’re not crazy.”

Reng flinched. His eyes snapped open. That voice was far too close. Far too real.

A tall figure—entirely metal. Two bright eyes fixed on him. Pure nightmare made flesh, conjured from the darkest corners of his dreams. He cried out, pressing back into the wall behind him as if he could push through it and escape the reach of the metal demon.

Pain struck without warning. A hot needle pierced through his shoulder. He stared at it, dazed, as his body locked up and the world faded into mist.

***

Consciousness returned slowly—this time, without pain. At least not the physical kind. Maybe they’d given him something, something to dull the edges. But no drug could fix what his mind perceived.

He was afraid. Terribly afraid. The kind of fear that could unravel a person’s sanity.

Was he alive?

 He wasn’t sure. He felt dead. Perhaps he’d ended up in a place meant for those who needed to suffer for their wrongdoings. It felt like Fate had condemned him to a punishment that might, somehow, balance the scales.

“You’re awake?”

The voice was the same as the one he’d heard last. And he suspected the question was rhetorical. Whoever had spoken knew perfectly well that he was conscious.

He slowly opened his eyes, bracing for the worst of all nightmares.

He recognized it. The figure was huge, gleaming, entirely mechanical. And yet, its voice and its metal face bore human features. It even smiled at him.

He closed his eyes again. It was easier not to acknowledge that this creature of steel stood within arm’s reach.

“What are you?”

Reng heard a heavy step thunder on the cold floor.

He wanted to get up, to put distance between himself and the apparition—but he couldn’t move. Panic surged as he writhed against the invisible restraint. He tried lifting an arm, a leg, his head... nothing worked.

It forced his eyes open once more. He was lying on a bed, strapped down. Someone had decided it would be safer to keep him bound with thick restraint belts. He tried again to rise. Muscles straining, sweat breaking across his brow, the straps groaned with tension—but it was useless.

He screamed. A cry of hopelessness and resignation.

Then he looked back at the metal figure, still standing calmly, patiently, waiting for the storm to pass.

And finally, it answered:

“We are Tonot. And before you ask your next question—yes, you are in the Beacon. And yes, we just saved your life.”

Reng looked down at his restrained arms and couldn’t miss the scars. The implants. The handiwork of the Beacon.

“Why?”

He forced the word out, barely managing to suppress the wave of revulsion that rose in his mind every time he remembered all the foreign things now embedded inside him.

“You served in the PDC. You signed the agreement authorizing the Beacon to do everything in its power to keep you alive. And the Beacon keeps its word. We believe you’ll come to see that you’ve gained more than you’ve lost. In the service of the Beacon, recognition awaits. It won’t be long before you’re strong enough—strong enough for you and those like you to secure a better future for the world.”

Reng blinked, confused. He tried to absorb what the mechanical being was telling him, but either the drugs were still clouding his mind—or he simply couldn’t understand. The werren didn’t seem bothered. Perhaps it was used to being misunderstood by mere mortals.

“But you are... somewhat different. You are our creation. Personal. We’ve invested greatly in you, and we trust you will repay us in full.”

It raised a hand, and with a soft click, the restraints holding Reng to the bed disengaged.

He flinched in surprise, as if unable to believe he was actually free. He sat up cautiously, rubbed his wrists—then recoiled at the touch of metal. Implants. Small ridges at the base of his wrists. Almost invisible—but he knew they were there.

He pushed all emotion aside.

The werren laid two objects on the bed. Reng stared. He recognized them.

A knife. A bolaso.

He never thought he’d see them again.

“Ela said these were yours. We believe their return will help you understand that we mean you no harm.”

“Ela?”

He spoke her name with disbelief.

Until now, he had convinced himself she was just a part of the nightmares that had haunted him since he woke. Surely she couldn’t be here—in a place like this. But perhaps nothing was as it seemed.

“So it was her? When I woke up?”

He looked directly into the werren’s eyes—even if the glowing artificial lights made his skin crawl.

“Remember this, Reng,” Tonot said slowly, gravely.

“Ela has duties. And obligations. To us, and to the Beacon. In this world, there is no room for human emotion. It distracts. It weakens.

From today onward, you are an Modificant. The best the Beacon has ever created. And you must not have weaknesses—just as Ela must not have hers.”

Reng swallowed hard. Those words sounded awful. It was easy for a metal being to speak of cutting off what made them human—without realizing that doing so meant they ceased to be human at all.

“I just want to know she’s okay.”

“Of course she is. And soon, you will be too.

Trust us.”

***

After the werren left, Reng had plenty to think about. His gaze wandered again to the corner of the room—the one where he had spent several days barely aware of his own existence. He could go back there. Curl up and wait for the end. He couldn’t deny it felt more tempting than what Tonot had offered him.

You’re a Modificant now.

He had no idea what that word really meant. He only sensed it had something to do with what they’d done to him. Uneasily, he raised his hands again and studied his wrists. With disgust, he brushed his thumb over the raised implant. The metal was surprisingly warm, not cold as he’d expected. Its technical perfection was marred by the ugly scars around it. nlike the foreign metal, those grooves in his flesh were entirely his own doing.

He imagined what it would be like to do it again. To let go of everything. To stop fighting. To let the blood flow until he felt nothing. Would that be freedom at last? Or just another form of failure? Maybe it would be a mercy—to everyone.

He shook his head, trying to chase those thoughts away.

It wouldn’t be so easy this time. He was too aware now.

Better to think. What was this foreign piece of tech even good for? He had no idea… His fingers continued their search over his body.

He found another implant—this one nestled in the hollow above his collarbone. And another at the base of his skull. That’s when he realized they had shaved his head for it. Just like they did to the subjected back in Karhen Rouz. The irony made him smirk.

The lock on the door clicked. But this time, it wasn’t the werren who entered—it was someone he barely recognized at first glance.

The first thing he noticed was the man’s left hand. Reng had seen plenty of people who’d lost limbs—especially in the South, on the line. Those who survived made do with all kinds of prosthetics. But none like this.

And then it hit him—who the arm belonged to. That crooked smile was unmistakable.

“Borin?”

He said the name with disbelief, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Was it really him? The same man he had carried on his back, swearing he wouldn’t let the Rippers tear him apart?

His longer hair had been cut short now. He looked unusually... healthy.

Reng felt a wave of bitterness rise in his chest.

Borin was everything he wasn’t now—strong, unburdened, untouched by pain. And that hand…

Once the initial shock faded, he had to admit it was perfect. Cold and mechanical, yes, but a testament to Borin’s victory over fate, while his own body was a map of defeat. Next to him, Reng suddenly felt pitiful.

“Damn right it’s me, buddy!”

Borin grinned wide—and the familiar gap between his teeth was gone too.

“You seriously gotta tell me how it is I always find you torn to pieces. This time I was sure you were done for.”

“Well, I wasn’t the only one,” Reng replied dryly.

“Still, you look like hell,” Borin smirked.

Maybe he meant it kindly—but something in his tone, or maybe in that vaguely unreadable expression, suggested that Borin had been through a lot himself since their paths diverged.

The mechanical hand might’ve been the least of it.

“You’ll need this,” Borin said, handing him a bundle.

Inside, Reng found neatly folded clothes. He welcomed it—he was still naked, just as he’d been when they pulled him out of the tank. It didn’t surprise him that it was the same kind Borin wore. Standard issue, no doubt meant to remind the wearer that they now belonged. A simple black jumpsuit made of soft, flexible material, with a white stripe around the upper arm.

Reng couldn’t help but notice Borin’s stripe was different. A different color. Marked with several symbols—clearly, he ranked much higher.

“I command a full unit,” Borin said, noticing his glance and tapping the patches.

“See this? This one means I completed full basic training. This one shows I’ve been deployed outside. And this—this means I’m a commanding officer.”

“I’m guessing the white means I’m at the very bottom,” Reng sighed.

“Yeah, but I bet that’ll change real fast,” Borin winked and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’ll get used to it—most of us do. Though, I won’t lie, some don’t make it here.

But you? You’re not the type to break. Right, buddy?”

Was it possible to break what was already shattered?

Reng didn’t know.

 So he just shrugged and zipped the jumpsuit up, letting it wrap snugly around his body. The white stripe on his arm shouted to the world that he still had to earn his place. What else did he have left?

Not much.

He had no choice but to find out what they had planned for him—and then see what came next.