"They show up at night, always. At least three of them each time." The old local rubbed his weathered hands together nervously. "They break into homes, grab whatever they can carry, then disappear before anyone can react."

"And?"

"That's... that's all I know."

Red's frustration exploded outward. "That's it?! Come on, old man—give us something actually useful to work with!"

The local man's face crumpled, like he'd personally failed them. "But that really is everything I can tell you..."

"You're telling me nobody ever tried following them?" Red leaned forward aggressively. "Nobody thought to track these assholes back to wherever they're hiding?"

The man sighed, the sound carrying years of helplessness. "I'm afraid not. Every capable Auron got drafted for the war effort. These bandits stumbled onto a goldmine—we've got no protection and nowhere else to go."

"A goldmine, as you said." Blue stroked his beard thoughtfully. "With hostilities still ongoing, the military remains far too occupied to respond to distress calls from settlements this remote."

Sol slipped his hands into his pockets casually. "Police won't send a force out here either. Not a big enough one to make a difference against organized bandits."

Neiva's face twisted with genuine disgust. "That kind of criminal is the absolute worst! They're parasites!" Her voice shook slightly with anger.

Angelo had been absorbing everything in silence. Now he spoke, his voice carrying that particular coldness reserved for the condemned. "Neiva's right. They need to face judgment." He shifted his weight. "Sol's assessment is accurate too, but there's a distinction—it's not that the police can't send appropriate force. They won't. Too focused on protecting their own city borders."

Red's grin turned feral. "So we handle it ourselves?"

Angelo met his counterpart's hungry stare and nodded once.

"You kids want to take them on?" The old man shook his head vigorously. "There's five of you and dozens of them! You wouldn't last five minutes!" He held up his hands pleadingly. "Please don't throw your lives away for us. They take food and money, sure, but they don't kill anyone. Property isn't worth dying over."

"Don't worry about us." Angelo's quiet certainty somehow carried more weight than shouting. "We'll handle it."

The man sighed, rubbing his forehead. He recognized that particular brand of determination—the kind that couldn't be argued with.

Sol stepped forward, slipping into strategy mode. "Alright. What's the plan?"

Angelo's eyes swept across the town before locking onto Sol. "Simple. If we don't know where they are, we set an ambush."

"How exactly?" Sol raised an eyebrow. "They could hit the other side of town while we're sitting on our hands somewhere else. By the time we react, they're gone."

"Ha!" Red barked out a laugh. "Easy answer, pretty boy! We watch the entire town at once!"

Angelo reached into his jacket and pulled out several small spheres—some glowing faint orange, others pulsing crimson. "With these."

Meanwhile, halfway across the world, an entirely different scene was unfolding.

Milo stretched in the cramped passenger seat, her joints popping as she yawned loud enough to wake the dead. "Ugh, I swear—after we recruit this guy, I'm gonna CHOCK him for making us chase him for a full week."

The driver kept his hands steady on the wheel, his entire body covered by cult like robes. His hood obscured most of his features. "Perhaps you should focus on the full half of the glass, Milo."

"Which would be...?" Her tone could have frozen water.

"We've had valuable time to get to know eachother." His voice remained light, almost pleasant. "Bonding is crucial for effective team dynamics."

"I don't know what team you're talking about." Milo stared out the window. "I still barely know anything about either of you, Clay."

Clay sighed, his hands adjusting slightly on the steering wheel. "Milo, please. I've explained this multiple times—I'm not Clay. I'm Clay Two Point Zero. Clay the Second, if you prefer. The original Clay is a completely different individual."

"Yeah, well, you keep dodging every question about that guy." Milo waved dismissively. "So as far as I'm concerned, he doesn't exist."

"That's..." Clay glanced at her, though his hood blocked most of his view. "That's rather unpleasant to hear. The original means a great deal to my creator."

"Right. The infamous Dr. T." Milo's voice dripped sarcasm. "Is he even a real doctor?"

"That's... somewhat complicated." Clay's tone shifted, becoming more defensive. "He never completed his formal education—the scientific community rejected his work. But he's the most brilliant mind alive! Even the celebrated Albert Goldstein pales in comparison to his genius!"

"Figures." Milo smirked. "So a guy named Trevor calls himself Dr. T. No wonder his naming conventions are batshit crazy. I mean, who even names somebody 'Clay'?"

Clay stopped at a red light. "The original Clay was born without hands. Dr. T installed a pair of prosthetic hands with retractable metal claws. Hence the name." The light turned green and he accelerated smoothly. "Aside from his arms, the first Clay is absolutely perfect in every way!"

"Hmm." Milo studied Clay's hands on the wheel—the strange marble-like objects embedded in his palms, the metallic components jutting out at odd angles. "Well, I don't see any claws. Just those weird marbles and metal bits. So why'd you get stuck with the same name?"

"Ah, good observation." Clay's tone brightened slightly. "I was the second attempt after the original escaped. Dr. T gave me the same designation."

Milo blinked. "Let's pretend that makes sense for a second." She jerked her thumb toward the backseat, where another robed figure sat in complete silence. A faint red glow emanated from under his hood, and metallic limbs peeked out despite his efforts to conceal them. "What about him? Why 'Ritto'?"

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Clay paused for a long moment. "I genuinely don't know the reasoning behind that one."

Milo shook her head slowly. "Mad scientist doing mad scientist things. That tracks."

"Milo, please..." Clay's voice took on a pleading quality. "Show some respect toward Dr. T."

"Can't hear you, don't care—STOP THE CAR!"

Clay slammed the brakes. The vehicle screeched to a halt in front of a weathered, run-down house that looked like it was held together by wishful thinking and old paint.

"We're here." Milo's voice went flat and professional.

She pushed the door open and stepped out. "Clay, you're with me. Keep your mouth shut unless I tell you otherwise." She looked back at the silent figure in the rear. "Ritto, stay in the car."

From beneath his hood, Ritto made a low rumbling sound. "Mm."

They approached the front door, Clay trailing behind her like a well-trained bodyguard.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Silence.

Milo tried again, harder this time.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Ivan? Ivan Krokovitch? We know you're in there!"

Still nothing.

Milo sighed and glanced back over her shoulder. "Open it."

"Yes, ma'am." Clay stepped forward, his posture straightening. "Please step back."

Milo moved aside. Green energy erupted around Clay's form like cold fire. The door exploded inward with a thunderous crack.

"What the fuck?!" The voice came from somewhere deeper in the house.

They stepped inside. Trash covered every available surface—takeout containers, empty bottles, crumpled papers scattered like confetti after a sad party. Footsteps shuffled down the hallway, and a man appeared, dropping the bag of chips he'd been holding. Snacks spilled across the filthy floor.

"Who the hell...?" The man's dark hair stuck up in every direction like he'd been electrocuted. His body was stick-thin except for his belly, which protruded like he'd swallowed a bowling ball whole. Stubble covered his jaw, and gaps showed where teeth used to be. "You just destroyed my door...?"

"Who the hell are you people?!"

Clay stared at him, his voice dripping with revulsion. "This is a chess world champion? How utterly barbaric."

Milo ignored the commentary. "You Ivan?"

"I'm not telling you shit!" Ivan backed up a step, fumbling in his pocket like he was reaching for a weapon. "You fix that door and get the hell out, or I'm calling the cops!"

He pulled out... a can of whipped cream. Held it like a knife.

Clay's disgust somehow intensified. "Milo, are you absolutely certain we require this individual for our mission? I respectfully request we reconsider our recruitment strategy."

Milo stepped forward casually. "Don't worry. We can fix him."

"Stay back!" Ivan brandished the whipped cream can like a blade. "I'm warning you!"

"Want to know the truth about what happened to your mother?"

The words hit Ivan like a physical blow. His eyes went wide as dinner plates. His hands lowered slowly, the can dropping from his grip and clattering on the floor.

"What?"

"Behave yourself and do what I say." Milo's voice turned to poisoned honey. "I'll tell you everything. And I'll even offer you something more."

"Take a shower while you're at it!" Clay interjected desperately. "Please, Milo, I'm begging you—add that to your list of demands!"

"Zip it, robot," Milo muttered, then turned back to Ivan. "So what do you say? You willing to help us out?"

"Help? With what?" Ivan's voice cracked slightly. "What could you possibly want from me?"

Milo's smile could have sold ice to someone freezing. "Your mind."

Ivan went pale as paper.

"She doesn't mean literally!" Clay explained quickly. "It's a figure of speech. What she actually requires is your cooperation and intellectual capabilities."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious. He gets it." Milo hissed under her breath.

"Oh."

"... Tell me."

Both of them looked at Ivan.

"Tell me the truth." He stood there like a lost child fighting back tears. "Why did my mother have to die?"

"First, introductions." Milo placed her hand on her chest. "Milo Marinez. Private investigator."

"Marinez...!" Ivan breathed out the name like it explained everything. "The hospital scandal. Of course..."

He grabbed his head like it was splitting open. "If you know the truth, it has to connect to your investigation." His eyes darted rapidly, processing. "Dr. Xin-Woo disappeared right after you started digging, didn't he? My mother died because he was harvesting organs—selling them on the black market! And when you got close, he ran!"

"Close, but wrong." Milo's voice carried zero sympathy despite having lost her own mother recently. "I did investigate that angle initially. But you want the real truth? About who actually killed your mother?"

The way she phrased it ignited something behind Ivan's eyes. Rage bloomed hot and immediate.

"TELL ME!"

"The Enlightened Society."

The name fell like a hammer.

"What?" Ivan froze completely. Tears streamed down his face while his eyes stayed locked open, unblinking. "The Enlightened... Society?"

"That's right." Milo spoke matter-of-factly. "Xin-Woo underwent Enlightenment and got recruited by them before your mother's surgery. I know because I tracked him down myself. Found him. He told me everything."

"Told... you?"

"Yeah. He said he wanted to save your mother. They wouldn't let him." Milo's tone stayed flat, clinical. "Told him they'd kill both of them if he operated. Part of their 'reset clause.'"

Ivan's breathing turned ragged. He crouched down, hands clawing at his own hair, then started screaming—raw, broken sounds like a child having a complete meltdown.

Milo approached and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know why you're screaming. You want revenge."

He stopped. Just froze in place, his entire body shaking.

"But you know you can't have it. Because people like us can't challenge gods."

Ivan said nothing. Clay leaned forward, trying to see his face better. Then, slowly, Ivan rose to his feet. Still looking at the ground. Hands balled into fists at his sides.

"You said you needed me... My mind." His voice came out flat, dead. "You said 'us.' Like we're the same."

"I did."

"You want to take them down."

"I do."

"How?"

"I joined a shadow organization." She paused, watching Ivan's face shift between shock and disbelief. "I'm dead serious. They've got people everywhere. The Anti-Enlightened Society. AES for short, since that's a mouthful."

"The... A... E... S?" He echoed each letter like learning a foreign language.

"Right. They're building a weapon. Something that could theoretically challenge the children of the cosmos themselves." Milo leaned forward slightly. "They didn't give me all the details, but they're legit."

Ivan just stared at her, mouth slightly open.

"Anyway." Milo needed to strike while the iron was hot. "To finish their weapon, they need to capture and study this anomaly. And I figured—who better to help me than the world chess champion?"

"An anomaly?" Ivan asked like he was in a trance.

Milo snapped her fingers in front of his face a few times. "Come on, Ivan. Stay with me here."

He blinked. Once. Twice.

"So what do you say? You giving me a hand with this capture mission?"

Ivan sighed, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. "At this point, what do I have to lose? Lost all my motivation for everything else. Least I can do is avenge her."

Milo smiled. "Good boy."

"What is this anomaly, anyway?"

"I'll tell you on the way. We'll be in the car outside." Milo's tone turned cheerful, business concluded. "Grab whatever you need and meet us downstairs."

"Right..." Ivan sounded utterly uncertain about what he'd just agreed to.

Thirty minutes later, Ivan emerged with a battered suitcase, dragging it behind him as he approached the car. Each step looked hesitant, like walking toward the edge of a cliff.

Milo rolled down the passenger window. "Take the back seat." Then she called over her shoulder. "Get out and help him with his luggage."

The door in front of Ivan opened. What stepped out looked like something that had crawled straight from a horror movie.

"What the hell is that?!" Ivan screeched, stumbling backward.

"Relax. Ritto won't hurt anyone unless I tell him to." Milo's voice stayed bright and friendly. "Right, Ritto?"

Ritto stared down at Ivan. His mechanical eye glowed red like a demon's. Then he nodded once.

"Mm. Yes, ma'am." The voice came out gruff and mechanical, like gears grinding in his throat.

Ritto grabbed the suitcase like it weighed nothing and deposited it in the trunk. Then he climbed into the back seat behind the driver, leaving the spot behind Milo for Ivan.

"Next stop—Luminia!" Milo pointed forward dramatically. "Onward!"

"What?! Luminia?!" Ivan's voice climbed with panic. "How the hell are we supposed to get there?!"

"The AES has agents everywhere." Clay's calm explanation cut through Ivan's rising hysteria. "Including airports. We'll proceed to the nearest one."

"You can't be serious!"

But the car was already moving.

Clay guided them smoothly away from the broken house, leaving Ivan's old life behind in the darkness. Milo settled into her seat with a satisfied smile. Ritto sat motionless beside Ivan, red eye glowing like a warning.

Four broken pieces assembled into something dangerous.

And somewhere far away, the divided trio had no idea what was coming for them.

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