Arknights - Unknown To Dawn

Ed: Ok, i know alot of people would probably drop this since Author already gives me his point but anyways. I'll prove to him that his wrong about this fanfic. Enjoy the chapter everyone ❤️.

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The winds howled through the desolate streets of Chernobog, carrying with them a biting chill that made the gray clouds overhead feel heavier. Noon had come, but no warmth accompanied it. The city seemed to hunker under the oppressive sky, its buildings dark silhouettes against the gloom.

Somewhere in the labyrinth of narrow alleys, the commotion began to rise.

"Over there! I see him!" a voice bellowed, sharp and urgent. The shout cut through the howling wind, and the sound of heavy boots slamming against the pavement followed. Officers darted through the streets, their eyes locked on the fleeing figure ahead.

The culprit, a man cloaked in a tattered jacket, pushed himself to his limits, weaving between obstacles with desperation etched on his face. His breaths came out in ragged gasps, visible in the cold air. The chase seemed endless, but fate was unkind as his foot caught on an uneven cobblestone.

He stumbled.

Before he could recover, the officers were on him, closing in like a pack of wolves. "Don't move!" one barked, tackling the man to the ground.

"Get off me!" the man spat, his voice raw with fury. He thrashed wildly, his fists swinging at anything within reach. One officer recoiled as a punch glanced off his jaw, but they pressed on, forcing the culprit's arms behind his back.

"Calm down!" another officer growled, wrestling the man's flailing limbs.

But then, the scuffle froze for a moment. One of the officers, pinning the man down, noticed something—a discolored patch of skin creeping up the man's neck, the telltale mark of the Infected. His grip faltered briefly, his expression shifting to one of surprise and unease.

"Infected..." the officer muttered under his breath before snapping back into action. Pressing the communicator clipped to his shoulder, he relayed the discovery. "Subject is Infected. Repeat, suspect is confirmed Infected. Requesting additional precautions."

The man snarled, still fighting even as the cold steel of handcuffs locked around his wrists. "Let me go! I didn't do anything!" he roared, his voice filled with defiance. But the officers were unmoved. They hauled him to his feet, his boots scraping against the pavement as he struggled to break free. Every attempt to wriggle out of their grip was met with tightened holds and sharp commands to stay still.

The city, however, carried on.

At a nearby street corner, a cluster of television screens flickered in a shop window, broadcasting the latest news. A reporter's voice narrated the chaos as shaky footage played—protesters clashing with officers in a heated standoff, fists flying and banners waving. The reporter's tone was tense, warning of escalating violence between the public and law enforcement.

Yet, outside the shop, life moved with an eerie indifference. Passersby glanced at the televisions for a fleeting moment before turning away, their faces blank. Some walked faster, pulling their coats tighter against the wind. Others didn't even bother to look, their expressions numb, as if the scenes of conflict were just another day in Chernobog.

The city remained indifferent to its own turmoil, the wind carrying the echoes of conflict and despair through its cold, gray streets.

Not far from where the suspect was wrestled into submission by the officers, a modest mechanic shop sat tucked between crumbling buildings. Its sign swayed gently in the wind, creaking faintly as if mirroring the city's exhaustion. Inside, the faint hum of machinery blended with the occasional clink of tools.

Xian hunched over his workbench, focused on the stubborn screws of an old electric fan. Beside him, a disassembled phone lay waiting, its wires exposed like frayed nerves. He muttered under his breath, a quiet curse aimed at the fan that refused to cooperate.

Finally, with a satisfying click, the fan's casing snapped shut. He let out a long sigh, setting the tool down and wiping his hands on a rag. "Finally," he muttered, reaching for a water bottle nearby. As he drank, the old radio perched on the corner of the workbench crackled to life, its static giving way to a reporter's hurried voice.

"...and tensions continue to rise as rioters clash with law enforcement in various districts of Chernobog while..."

Xian frowned, the water bottle pausing halfway to his lips. "Figures," he muttered, placing it down with a dull thud. The escalating chaos outside had become a recurring theme on the radio, each update more grim than the last.

Grabbing a sandwich he'd picked up earlier, he sank onto a creaky stool. He took a bite, chewing mechanically as his gaze wandered to the tools scattered across the bench. The shop was quiet except for the radio's droning updates and the muffled sounds of the city beyond its walls.

He sighed again, deeper this time, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Finishing the sandwich in a few bites, he moved behind the counter, where a hammock bed was strung up haphazardly between two beams. He dropped into it, the fabric creaking under his weight, and closed his eyes briefly.

The radio continued to murmur in the background, but Xian's mind drifted elsewhere. His brows knit together, and the corners of his mouth tightened as unease crept in. Anxiety gnawed at him like an old companion he couldn't shake.

He let out another sigh, this one laced with resignation. "How did I end up here?" he muttered to himself.

His thoughts spiraled back to that day, his last day on Earth. He had been walking home from university, his usual path through the quiet streets leading to his grandparents' house. The evening had been ordinary, the faint scent of home-cooked food lingering in the air.

And then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

He remembered the sensation vividly, like a sudden weightlessness as the world around him warped. One moment, he was crossing the street near the old bakery. The next, he was standing in the middle of a foreign landscape. Everything was alien—towering structures, unfamiliar skies, and a city that seemed to breathe despair.

The memory sent a shiver down his spine. Xian rubbed his temples, forcing the thoughts away. Complaining wouldn't change anything, he told himself, but the anxiety etched on his face betrayed his inner turmoil.

He shifted in the hammock, glancing at the tools he'd arranged meticulously on the wall earlier that morning. They were his lifeline now, a means of carving out some semblance of normalcy in a world that was anything but.

Still, the sounds of the city outside—raised voices and distant sirens were impossible to ignore. The escalating tension felt like a storm brewing, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing directly in its path.

Xian sighed again, his breath heavy with unspoken worries. "Just keep your head down," he murmured to himself. Yet deep down, he couldn't help but wonder how long he could remain a bystander in a world that seemed determined to pull him into its madness.

As he gaze remained fixed on the ceiling for a moment, the sounds of the city outside blending into a dull hum in the background. His mind wandered, searching for something to ground himself, to keep the rising tide of unease at bay.

He remembered a quote from a book he had read during his university days. Words spoken by a man whose wisdom had stayed with him long after he closed its pages.

"Do not be afraid of the storms that life throws your way. Instead, learn to navigate through them, for the storm itself cannot last forever. What matters is not the storm, but how prepared you are to face it."

The words echoed in his mind like a distant melody, carrying with them a sense of calm. Back then, he had dismissed them as idealistic musings, the kind of thing you find printed on motivational posters. But now, in the midst of his chaotic existence in Terra, they felt like an anchor.

He sighed deeply, his breath shaky but controlled. "Prepared, huh?" he muttered under his breath. "That's all I've ever tried to be… Guess it's time to see if it's enough."

The metaphor lingered in his thoughts, a quiet mantra that helped ease the tension coiled in his chest. He didn't have all the answers, not for how he ended up here, not for why the world around him seemed to be on the verge of collapse. But maybe, just maybe, he could prepare himself to face whatever came next.

Feeling a slight sense of resolve, Xian turned his head to glance at the workbench on the other side of the room. A small mountain of appliances, gadgets, and tools awaited him. Broken fans, outdated radios, a cracked television screen. Each piece seemed to stare back at him, a silent reminder of deadlines he couldn't afford to miss.

"Always something," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

Despite his growing fatigue, he mentally cataloged the tasks ahead. The fan needed a new motor, the radio required rewiring, and that television… Well, that might take all night. And yet, none of it felt particularly daunting. If anything, the mundane nature of his work was a comfort and a reminder that, for now, he had something to keep his hands and mind busy.

As the thought of dinner crept into his mind, he closed his eyes, trying to recall what was left in the small fridge tucked in the corner of the shop. A few eggs, some vegetables, and maybe half a loaf of bread. It wasn't much, but it would do.

"Egg sandwich again, I guess," he muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He made a mental note to stop by the market later. It wasn't much of a plan, but it gave him something to focus on as something simple, something manageable.

For now, though, the hammock beckoned. Xian allowed himself to sink into its embrace, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let out another sigh. His mind, still buzzing with scattered thoughts, gradually began to quiet.

The radio continued to play in the background, the announcer's voice now distant and muffled as Xian drifted closer to sleep. Somewhere deep down, he knew that the storm outside wasn't going away anytime soon. But for now, he could rest just for a little while.

Arknights: Unknown To Dawn

A shrill alarm from his watch pulled Xian from his nap. He groaned softly, the brief comfort of the hammock now giving way to the stiffness in his back. Stretching his arms over his head, he swung his legs off the hammock and stood, joints popping audibly as he worked out the kinks.

"Guess that's enough rest," he muttered to himself, heading upstairs toward his bedroom.

The small, modest space greeted him with its usual sparse layout, just a bed, a desk, and a rickety wardrobe that seemed like it might collapse if he sneezed too hard. Xian grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair, then reached for his wallet. Opening it, he counted the bills with a sigh.

"Barely enough," he said under his breath, shaking his head.

Slipping the wallet into his pocket, he hesitated before walking out of the room. Turning toward the cabinet in the corner, he opened it and retrieved a small stash of emergency cash he'd tucked away weeks ago. Holding the bills in his hand, he stared at them, a frown tugging at his lips.

"Should I...?" he murmured, the idea of dipping into his backup funds weighing heavily on his mind.

After a long moment, he shook his head and stuffed the stash back into its hiding spot. "Not yet. Not unless I absolutely have to."

Returning downstairs, Xian paused at the front door, glancing around the shop. He methodically checked the locks on the doors and windows, ensuring everything was secure. Satisfied, he gave a small nod.

"Still safe, for now," he said quietly.

Locking the front door behind him, he stepped out onto the street. The cold wind hit him immediately, carrying with it the faint scent of damp concrete and smoke. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself and began walking toward the market.

The streets were eerily quiet, the usual bustle of Chernobog reduced to a trickle of people. A handful of figures moved in the distance, their heads down, their movements hurried. Xian's eyes darted between the few passersby, noting their anxious expressions.

"Hardly anyone out today," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. He already knew the answer to his unspoken question. The riots. The protests. The fear. It all stemmed from the same issue. the infected.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted to the infected and the originium that caused their suffering. Even now, he didn't fully understand its origins. Back on Earth, as a player of the game that simulated this world, he'd only known it as a plot device. A source of conflict and tragedy. But here, in this world, it was real. It was deadly.

His footsteps slowed as his mind wandered further. He recalled the day the game shut down, a victim of the global economic disaster known as The Great Collapse. It had been a time of unprecedented chaos. A domino effect of financial systems crumbling, industries collapsing, and governments scrambling to salvage what little stability remained.

"The Great Collapse," Xian whispered to himself, his voice heavy with the weight of the memory.

He remembered the bleakness of that time. Entire industries vanished overnight, and the gaming world was one of the hardest hit. Companies dissolved, servers went offline, and communities scattered. Life had been stripped down to its bare essentials—survival, rebuilding, starting over.

It was like the world hit reset, he thought, a shiver running down his spine as he recalled the desperation that had gripped the planet. Some had called it a return to the Stone Age, and in many ways, they weren't wrong.

A sudden gust of wind pulled him back to the present, ruffling his hair and chilling him to the bone. He glanced up at the sky, its gray expanse thick with clouds. The sun was nowhere to be seen, and the dim light of late afternoon was quickly fading into twilight.

"It's going to be dark soon," he muttered, quickening his pace.

Despite the cold, his mind remained active, thoughts tumbling over one another. He mentally noted that he needed to practice his aim—another skill he'd been working on to adapt to the dangers of this world.

"Tomorrow," he thought. "I'll set aside time for it tomorrow."

The streets around him grew even quieter as he neared the market. Most shops were closed, their shutters drawn tight, and the few that remained open looked almost deserted. The sparse presence of people gave the area an unsettling atmosphere, like a ghost town.

Xian couldn't help but think about the infected again. To many in this world, they weren't people—they were something less, something to be feared or eradicated. The thought made his stomach turn.

"They're just trying to survive," he thought bitterly. "Same as anyone else."

He sighed deeply, his breath visible in the cold air. The wind picked up again, stronger this time, tugging at his jacket as he continued walking. With each step, the market drew closer, but so did the weight of everything he'd seen and learned since arriving in Terra.

The gusts of wind howled through the empty streets, carrying with them the distant sounds of a city on edge like a distant whispers.