Arknights - Unknown To Dawn

Ed: New chaper coming through!!~

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Xian finally reached the market. The cold breeze followed him through the entrance, swirling around the dimly lit stalls. The faint buzz of voices filled the space, but the usual bustling energy was absent. He glanced around, noting the reduced number of vendors and customers, their faces tired and drawn.

"Quieter than usual," Xian muttered under his breath, pulling his jacket tighter as he began weaving through the narrow aisles.

His steps slowed as he scanned the stalls, his eyes moving over the assortment of vegetables, spices, and other goods on display. He stopped at one, picking up a bulb of garlic, then an onion. The vendor, an older woman with a weathered face, barely looked up as she handed him a small bag. He paid and moved on, his mind already running through the rest of the list.

"Onions, garlic, ginger...olive oil," he murmured, mentally checking off each item.

He paused at another stall, examining the bottles of oil lined neatly in a row. As he selected one, his thoughts drifted to his plan for dinner. "Maybe stir-fry? Or soup...something simple," he mused, briefly imagining the warmth of a steaming bowl of food in contrast to the chill of the evening air.

As he wandered from stall to stall, examining the quality of the ingredients, his attention was caught by a figure at the edge of one of the vendor's setups. A boy, no older than eight or nine, sat slumped against the side of the stall. His clothes were tattered and caked with mud, and his face bore streaks of dirt that seemed almost permanent.

The boy's eyes, dull and lifeless, met Xian's as he extended both hands forward, palms up. The gesture was small, almost hesitant, but it was clear that he was asking for food, or perhaps a coin.

Xian paused for a brief moment, his gaze lingering on the child. His mind didn't race with excuses or guilt; instead, there was a hollow sort of acceptance. "It's not like I can fix this," he thought, turning away without a second glance.

Behind him, the boy's outstretched hands slowly lowered as he stared straight ahead, unblinking. He didn't call out, didn't beg louder and just remained in place, as if he'd grown accustomed to being ignored.

The faint hum of voices around him grew louder as he passed a group of vendors whispering among themselves.

"Another hike in the currency value," one of them grumbled. "How are we supposed to make ends meet like this?"

"Always the same excuse," another snapped. "Blame the infected, blame the riots...it's just an excuse to bleed us dry."

The frustration in their voices was clear, but Xian paid them no mind, keeping his focus on the stalls ahead. He picked up a bundle of fresh herbs, examining the leaves carefully before moving on.

At another stall, he spotted what he was looking for, a fresh vegetables of noticeably better quality than the others. He approached the vendor, a stout man with a thick beard, and pointed at a few items.

"How much for these?" Xian asked casually, already expecting the worst.

The vendor's response came sharp and curt. "Price is what you see. No discounts."

Xian frowned, glancing at the sign. The price was steep and was almost twice what he'd paid the last time. He sighed, placing the vegetables back on the stall. "That's a bit high, don't you think?"

The vendor crossed his arms, his tone growing defensive. "High? You think this is high? Do you know how much taxes went up this month? How hard it is to even get these in stock? Take it or leave it."

Xian smiled faintly, keeping his voice calm. "I get that times are tough, but isn't it better to sell at a fair price than to let everything sit here untouched? You're losing more money keeping stock that no one can afford."

The vendor scowled, muttering something under his breath. "Easy for you to say. You think I don't know my own business?"

"Not at all," Xian replied, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "But consider this", he looks at the vendor's eyes "what's worse? Selling at a slightly lower price or not selling at all?"

The vendor hesitated, his brow furrowing as he weighed Xian's words. He grumbled something incoherent before finally nodding, albeit reluctantly.

"Fine. But don't expect me to do this again," he said, shoving the vegetables toward Xian.

"Thank you," Xian said with a polite nod, handing over the money.

As he turned to leave, the vendor muttered under his breath, loud enough for Xian to hear. "Damn infected...always stirring up trouble. If it weren't for them, maybe the warehouses wouldn't be empty."

Xian paused briefly, but said nothing. He adjusted the bag in his hand and continued walking, his thoughts swirling with frustration and resignation.

The wind picked up again as he left the stall, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and the distant hum of discontented voices. Xian tightened his grip on the bag and pressed forward, the market's dim lights flickering above him as the day inched closer to nightfall.

As Xian walked away, retracing his steps back toward his shop, his mind churned with thoughts, layering one over the other like the gray clouds above him. His footsteps echoed faintly on the uneven pavement, the chilly breeze brushing against his face, a stark reminder of the desolate streets.

He couldn't help but ponder the recent chaos caused by the infected at the city warehouses. Theories swirled in his head, each one a fragment of the larger picture he tried to piece together.

"Desperation, maybe?" he mused silently, his eyes briefly catching a flickering streetlamp. "They could be struggling just to survive, clawing for scraps in a system that's designed to bury them."

He paused for a moment, adjusting the weight of his bag as another thought crossed his mind. "Or it could be anger...venting out years of frustration and pain. Revenge, even. Make the government notice them by making themselves impossible to ignore."

The scenarios played out vividly in his mind, each one painting a grim portrait of the infected's plight. But even with these guesses, there was a gnawing feeling in the back of his head, a sense that whatever their reasons were, it wouldn't matter to the city government.

"They're too set in their ways," Xian thought, his expression tightening. "To them, infected are just problems to be solved, or worse, removed."

As his thoughts shifted, so did the weight of the topic. The boiling conflict between the infected and the city's authorities felt like a kettle about to burst. The tension was palpable, even to someone like him, who tried to keep his head low and avoid trouble.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as his thoughts turned inward, focusing on his own future. "What happens to my shop if things get worse?" he wondered. "If the economy collapses, all my preparations might not mean anything."

He reviewed his mental checklist, going over his meager safety nets. He had stockpiled a bit of extra money, hidden away some supplies, and planned for leaner days, but it all felt like patchwork. If the city truly fell into chaos, it wouldn't be enough.

His thoughts turned toward Lungmen, the bustling metropolis rumored to be better for opportunities and stability. "Maybe I could move there," he thought, his mind drifting to the idea of starting over. "A fresh start, a new life...it's possible."

But the fantasy faded as quickly as it came, replaced by the harsh reality of his circumstances. "The process would be a nightmare," he reminded himself, grimacing. "All that paperwork, the fees...and I don't have the funds to make it happen."

He sighed again, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily on him. "No point in daydreaming about something I can't afford," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head to clear the lingering doubts.

As he continued walking, the wind picked up again, tugging at his jacket and sending shivers down his spine. The streets remained quiet, save for the distant hum of occasional voices or the sound of a rusted sign creaking in the breeze.

Xian glanced at the darkening sky, the thick clouds hiding the last traces of sunlight. "Let's just focus on getting back," he thought, quickening his pace slightly.

With his mind still simmering over the tangled mess of thoughts, theories, and uncertainties.

Arknights: Unknown To Dawn

As Xian continued along the market route, his gaze wandered aimlessly. The occasional gust of wind brushed past him, rustling the loose folds of his jacket. His footsteps slowed when something familiar caught his eye just ahead, the same boy he had seen earlier.

The child was still in the same position, kneeling near the side of a stall, his arms raised in a silent plea, hands open in a giving posture. He hadn't moved from his spot. The boy's eyes, dim and devoid of light, stared straight ahead like a hollow shell.

Xian frowned, stopping in his tracks. He hesitated, glancing at the few passerby who ignored the boy's existence entirely. The scene gnawed at him. Without a word, he reached into his bag, pulling out a small loaf of bread he had bought earlier.

Walking over, he crouched slightly and placed the bread in the boy's hands. The child blinked in surprise, his face shifting subtly as he glanced up at Xian. The boy gave a faint smile, barely noticeable, though his eyes still lacked the vibrancy of life. Without hesitation, he began eating, tearing into the bread hungrily and in a rush.

Before Xian could say anything, an angry voice pierced the moment.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing, messing with my property?"

Xian turned toward the voice, startled. It was the stall owner beside the boy, his expression twisted with irritation.

"Property?" Xian repeated, his confusion evident in his tone.

The man's irritation melted into an unsettlingly cheerful smile. "Yeah, he's with me," the owner said, motioning toward the boy. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, he bent down and yanked something from the boy's side.

Xian's eyes widened. A chain. Hidden beneath the boy's tattered clothes was a chain bound tightly around his right leg. The owner tugged it hard, causing the boy to fall forward, sprawling onto the dirt-covered ground. Even as the boy continued to eat, faint groans of pain escaped him.

"See? This little brat's mine," the man said, grinning as he held the chain taut.

Xian felt his stomach churn, but before he could muster a response, the man kept talking.

"His parents send me money for him, y'know," the stall owner said smugly. "Don't even know the kid's infected. And why should I tell 'em?" He laughed cruelly, dragging the boy closer.

Xian clenched his fists as the stall owner crouched, grabbing the boy roughly by the arm. He then darted to where the man pointed. Faint black crystal marks at the boy's skin, it's subtle, but unmistakable for anyone familiar with signs of Oripathy.

"See? Infected scum," the owner sneered, holding the boy out like a disgusting trophy. He kept his face turned, staying at a safe distance from the boy's head as though he were afraid of contamination.

"This one's useful, though. Perfect little moneymaker. His kind don't have rights anyway they're the ones spreading this mess!" The man's grin widened. "I'd call it a favor keeping him around. Things like him are perfect for business."

Xian's chest tightened. He glanced at the boy, who lay limp on the ground now, his small body trembling faintly. The bread he had been eating was crushed in his hands, his dim eyes staring blankly ahead again, as though resigned to his fate.

Around them, the market continued as if nothing had happened. People passed by, ignoring the scene entirely, their expressions indifferent. To them, it was just another small argument, nothing worth their attention.

The stall owner finally turned his attention back to Xian. "You should scram now," he said, his tone casual but laced with a threatening edge. "I've had enough of do-gooders like you poking your noses where they don't belong."

Xian didn't respond, but his calm expression belied the storm brewing inside him. His body remained still, his face composed, but his mind was a torrent of emotions. As someone from Earth, the cruelty and indifference before him were infuriating.

His rationality, however, overpowered his anger. He forced himself to take a deep breath, letting his emotions settle. There was nothing he could do now without drawing unnecessary attention.

The man grinned again, misinterpreting Xian's silence as submission. "That's right," he said mockingly. "Idiots like you... Still trying to be heroes in a world like this. It's laughable."

Then, with a more serious tone, he added, "If you don't leave, I'll call the guards. Don't test me."

Xian remained silent, his gaze shifting to the boy one last time. Despite the calm exterior he projected, the rage simmering inside him was almost unbearable. He took another deep breath, sighing softly, and turned away.

As he walked off, his mind was filled with conflicting thoughts. The scene replayed in his head, and despite his best efforts to rationalize his actions, a bitter taste lingered in his mouth. His fists tightened briefly before he forced himself to release them.

As Xian walked away, the heavy atmosphere of the market lingered behind him, yet its weight still pressed against his mind. The chatter of the other shoppers, the faint shuffle of footsteps, and the occasional clinking of coins all blended into the background noise as he exited the area.

What struck him most wasn't the cruelty of the stall owner or the boy's plight—it was the apathy. The people who had passed by during the ruckus hadn't even spared a glance. Their indifference was chilling. He sighed deeply, his breath visible in the cold air, and muttered in his thoughts, "They didn't care. Not even for a second."

As his footsteps echoed along the quieter street leading back to his shop, his mind replayed the scene. He couldn't help but think about how easy it would be to get back at the owner. "It wouldn't even take much," he thought bitterly. "A well-placed sabotage, a bit of subtle interference, and his business would crumble."

But as quickly as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it. He shook his head and sighed again, the frustration rolling off him in waves. "What's the point? The rage wouldn't hit the right target. It'd just fall on the boy. He'd suffer even more for something that isn't his fault."

His hands slid into his jacket pockets as he walked, his pace steady but his mind turbulent. The thought of revenge of justice? was tempting, but he knew better. He reminded himself of one simple truth, one that often felt like a mantra to keep his sanity intact.

"This isn't Earth," he muttered silently. "This is Terra."

The words tasted bitter in his mind, a stark reminder of where he was now. Terra wasn't a world of justice or fairness. It was a place that thrived on tragedy, despair, and a cycle of suffering that seemed unbreakable.

His thoughts turned inward as he reflected on his current reality. Arknights, he thought, the name of the game that had once been a source of enjoyment back on Earth. Now, it was his reality, a world he had once explored from the comfort of his screen, detached from the horrors of its lore.

But now he was here. He was part of it. And the tragedies he had once viewed as mere story elements were now real, tangible, and suffocatingly close.

I didn't ask for this, he thought, his jaw tightening. I didn't come here to be part of this despair. His eyes narrowed as he walked, his mind sharpening its focus. I just want to survive. That's all I want.

The wind picked up, brushing against his face and carrying with it the faint scents of the market he was leaving behind. His thoughts deepened, forming a resolve that strengthened with every step he took.

"If I want to survive, I have to understand this world better," he told himself. "Its people, its history, its conflicts. Everything. I can't just live here blindly. Not if I want to make it through."

His pace quickened slightly, the cold breeze pushing him forward. The weight of his thoughts was heavy, but with each step, a newfound determination took root within him.

As he neared the familiar path to his shop, he glanced up at the thick clouds that obscured the sun. The dull gray sky mirrored the world he now inhabited, a world devoid of the warmth and comfort he had once known.

Still, amidst the despair, there was a flicker of something else. Not hope, exactly, but a determination to carve out a space for himself in this unforgiving world.

He sighed softly, the sound almost lost in the wind. "If I can't change the world," he thought, "I'll at least change how I face it."

With that, he continued forward, his resolve steeled by the harsh reality of Terra and the knowledge that survival was no longer just a goal, it was a necessity.