Nulla directione-LIX
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DATE:15th of July, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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Yesterday, I booked a cheap hotel for a few days to figure out my next move. Being kicked out by Alice was a clear signal: it was time to leave this city behind.
I found myself at a local café to think. It was crowded with students, their chatter and laughter creating a lively hum. Judging by the sheer number of them, there had to be a university nearby. Their energy felt foreign to me, a sharp contrast to the weight of my thoughts.
The investigation from earlier crossed my mind briefly. No one would ever find the killer—not with how little evidence there was. But that wasn't my problem anymore. It never really had been.
Alice's reaction still lingered in my mind. If I'm being honest, she should've put the pieces together a long time ago. She was clearly smart enough to track down old photos of the real Me But the truth? She wanted to believe. She wanted a piece of her former mentor back, even if it was just an illusion.
Sad, isn't it? But what else did she have to hold onto?
A family that doesn't care about her?
As I sat there in the café, sipping on a lukewarm coffee, Emily broke the silence.
"I'll always be here for you," she said. Her voice was steady, almost soothing, though the sentiment felt alien coming from her.
Before I could respond, she added, "I've been analyzing recent patterns and think I have a lead on the people after me."
That caught my attention. "A lead? What do you mean?"
"I believe I've identified a bar some of them frequent. The probability models suggest a high correlation between their movements and certain anomalies I've been tracking." She launched into a detailed explanation, citing quantum probabilities and intricate algorithms. It was like listening to someone recite a language I barely recognized.
"Alright, alright," I interrupted. "Skip the quantum physics lecture. Just tell me where I need to go."
Emily paused, her tone shifting to something akin to amusement. "I thought you'd say that. Coordinates sent to your phone."
I stood, drained the rest of my coffee, and left the café. Following Emily's directions, I headed toward the bar.
The bar's theme was… foreign, to say the least. Cowboys. An odd choice for this side of the continent, where such figures were more a product of myth than reality. Maybe they were inspired by Terra Incognita? I'd never been there, so I couldn't say for sure.
A female singer stood on a small stage, her voice weaving through a folk song in a language I didn't recognize. Her tone was mournful yet captivating, an odd accompaniment to the ostentatious decorations.
The walls were draped with cow and bull leathers, interrupted only by mounted animal heads—presumably trophies from the owner's hunting trips. A dusty piano sat near the singer, alongside a few other instruments that no one seemed inclined to use.
And the patrons? Most were dressed as cowboys, or something close to it. Was it a cosplay event? I didn't really understand cosplay, nor did I care to.
I scanned the room, feeling out of place but not threatened. "Emily," I muttered under my breath, "are you sure this is the right location?"
Her voice chimed in, calm and confident. "Absolutely. All the data points lead here. You just need to observe."
"Sure," I replied, skeptical but too stubborn to argue. I made my way to the bar and took a seat on one of the worn stools.
The bartender approached, his face lined with age and experience, his cowboy hat completing the theme. "What'll it be, stranger?"
"Something weak," I replied, sliding a few coins across the counter.
As he poured the drink, I kept my eyes on the crowd, trying to piece together what I was looking for. Whoever Emily had led me to, they were probably already watching me.
I stayed at the bar for hours, quietly observing the ebb and flow of patrons. People came and went, none of them standing out. If there were agents among them, they blended in so well I couldn't tell. And it's not like I could just start killing everyone here on suspicion.
Hunger eventually got the better of me. I flagged down the bartender and ordered one of their appetizer options—a ribs tasting selection. Not my usual fare, but it did the job.
The man seated on my left caught my attention. He'd been sitting there as long as I had, head down, entirely focused on his drink. His posture screamed depression, a man weighed down by something heavy.
On a whim, I told the bartender to send him a drink, on me.
When the man received it, he raised his head for the first time. We locked eyes.
He was massive, with a broad build that leaned toward chubby, a thick beard covering most of his face. He had a rugged air about him, one you might associate with a Viking rather than a modern man. For a split second, I thought to myself: A dwarf if dwarves were tall?
Then came the surprise.
"Ciaro?" he said, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "What are you doing here?!"
The name hit me like a slap, but I didn't react outwardly. I didn't recognize him at all. Ciaro was another of my fake names taken as a Freelancer.
My silence must've betrayed my confusion because he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"I thought you were gone for good after we killed UltraMan."
Oh. Ohhh.
The pieces clicked. A name popped into my head, along with a faint smile across my lips.
"MIKE?" I said, letting the name fly out with a casual confidence I didn't entirely feel.
He sighed, shaking his head. "Connor," he corrected, though his tone was far from insistent.
"Sure, Mike."
It didn't really matter what his name was. What mattered was that we had history—a shared past I'd rather not dig too deeply into at the moment. And now, he was here, dredging it up.
Connor—Mike—whatever he wanted to call himself, didn't let up. "So, what are you doing in Concord?" he asked again, leaning in like he wasn't going to let me squirm out of answering.
I shrugged. "Just lingering. Didn't have much of a plan."
He frowned slightly, but then his expression softened. "Huh. Lingering, huh? Could've fooled me. But whatever. Why're you here at a bar like this?"
I decided to turn the tables. "What about you? What brings you here?"
His face shifted into something bittersweet, the weight of his life settling into his features. He took a long sip from his drink before answering.
"I wanted to retire, y'know? Live on a nice little farm, away from all this." He gestured vaguely, probably at the chaos of the city or maybe the world itself. "But my daughter... she doesn't want to come with me."
"Why not?" I asked, genuinely curious now.
Connor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "She says she's got her own life now. That she's made her own choices. She's got a boyfriend, apparently. Won't even answer my calls anymore."
I raised an eyebrow. "What happened? Why's she acting like that?"
He hesitated, staring into his drink like it held answers he couldn't face. "I couldn't be there for her. Had her stay in a dorm while I was... working." His voice lowered on the last word. We both knew what "work" meant for people like us.
"But I paid for her tuition, made sure she was safe all these years," he continued. His voice cracked slightly, frustration bleeding through. "Now she says I'm not needed. Says I'm... obsolete."
He looked at me, his expression a strange mix of hurt and anger. "Is that fair? After all I've done for her, is it right that I'm treated like this?"
I didn't answer right away, and he kept going, his voice softening.
"You're too young to understand, Ciaro," he said. "But having a child... it's a beautiful thing. You'd do anything for them. Even if it means sacrificing your own life."
The way he said it made me pause. There was regret in his tone, sure, but there was also an undeniable love. It was a rare thing to hear from someone like him. Maybe that's why it stuck.
You can't just dwell on it forever" I say. What has it been? 2 months? It's time to move on already. "
He grits his teeth saying that you can't simply move on from your child.
I sighed.
" You know, it won't help her in any way if you linger at a bar every night. If you want to help her than I have an idea. "
He then asked me what was my point.
" This city will get destroyed unless you help me fight it's destruction. "
Connor stared at me, his expression skeptical but curious. "Why would you even care about this city?"
I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "I found someone I care about," I said. It sounded more intimate than I intended, but it wasn't about Alice, nor was it about UltraMan. It was about something far more pressing—something Connor didn't need to fully understand just yet.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. "You're not making much sense," he said, leaning back against the barstool.
I sighed. "Look, it's complicated. Let's just say that if we don't act, this city—and a lot of people in it—are going to be in serious danger."
Connor frowned, skepticism written all over his face. "And you think I can help with that? I'm just a washed-up mercenary who couldn't even keep his daughter in his life."
"That's exactly why you should help," I countered. "You can't change the past, Connor, but you can still make a difference now. Sitting in this bar every night isn't going to do anyone any good—not you, not your daughter, and certainly not this city."
He gritted his teeth, his hand tightening around the empty glass in front of him. I could see the conflict in his eyes—the part of him that wanted to keep wallowing in regret, and the part that wanted to do something meaningful again.
I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. "This place is too crowded for this conversation. Let's step outside. I'll explain more there."
Connor stared at me for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Fine. But this better not be some wild goose chase."
Together, we pushed through the noisy crowd and stepped out into the cool night air. The street was quiet, the hum of distant traffic the only sound as we walked a short distance away from the bar.
I stopped and turned to face him. "Here's the deal," I began. "This city is in danger. There are people—dangerous people—working to destroy it. And if they succeed, your daughter won't be safe, no matter where she is."
His eyes narrowed. "What kind of danger are we talking about? Don't give me vague answers."
I met his gaze, my tone steady. "UltraMan. He's going to resurrect. And when he does, the fallout will destroy this place—and everyone in it."
Connor's jaw tightened, his expression darkening. "UltraMan? That's impossible. We killed him."
"I thought so too," I admitted. "But he's coming back. And if we don't stop it, your daughter—everyone—will pay the price."
He was silent for a long moment, processing what I'd just told him. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "What do you need me to do?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "First, we need to find out who's behind this. I have a lead, but I'll need your help to follow it. After that... we'll figure it out."
Connor exhaled heavily, running a hand through his thick beard. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll help you. But if you're lying to me..."
"I'm not," I said firmly. "And you won't regret this." Well that was no guarantee.
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DATE:19th of July, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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We spent the next few days observing the bar for any of the agents. I would need to stay close to the guests with the phone so that Emily could scan them. Despite our effort, we didn't find anyone with tachyons on them.
I don't really get why she was even searching for that. Weren't they supposed to be related to time?
Anyway, Friday came and Mike offered take me to his cabin to rest as he got bored of scanning them. I wanted to disagree, but In truth I was also bored. I asked him why retire at a farm if he had the cabin.
"I used to live at that cabin with my family, before...." He didn't finish. Whatever it was, it meant too much to mention.
Connor had always been a man of few words, but the way his voice trailed off told me everything I needed to know. Whatever had happened in that cabin wasn't something he was ready to relive, not yet.
"Alright," I said, trying to keep the mood light. "Let's go. Beats sitting here watching strangers drink themselves into oblivion."
He gave me a faint smirk, the kind that said he appreciated the gesture but wasn't quite ready to laugh.
The drive to the cabin was quiet. Emily stayed silent in the phone, likely calculating or sulking about the abrupt change in plans. I stared out the window, watching the city fade into the wilderness. The transition felt symbolic—like we were leaving behind the chaos of the city for something quieter, more personal.
When we arrived, I stepped out of the car and took a deep breath. The cabin was small but sturdy, nestled among tall pine trees. It had an air of simplicity, of a life left behind. Connor unlocked the door and motioned for me to follow him inside.
The interior was cozy, with wooden walls and furniture that looked hand-carved. A stone fireplace dominated one side of the room, and family photos hung on the walls—some faded with time. Connor glanced at them briefly before looking away.
"Place hasn't changed much," he muttered, almost to himself.
I set my bag down and looked around. "It's nice," I said. "Quiet."
"Too quiet," he replied. He gestured toward the kitchen. "You hungry? I've got some canned stuff. Not much, but it'll do."
As he rummaged through the cabinets, I found myself drawn to the photos. There was one of a woman, smiling warmly, holding a little girl. Connor stood beside them, younger, happier. The sight of it felt intrusive, like I was peeking into a life I had no right to see.
"She's grown a lot," Connor said behind me, his voice softer than usual.
I turned to see him holding two cans of soup. He nodded toward the photo. "My daughter. She used to love this place. Thought it was magical. Now she won't even answer my calls."
I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded.
"Guess that's life," he added, setting the cans down on the counter. "People grow up, move on. Leave you behind."
His words hung in the air, heavy with regret.
"You're still trying," I said finally. "That counts for something."
Connor shook his head. "Trying's not enough."
We ate in near silence, the crackling fire the only sound. Afterward, I stepped outside to get some air. The stars were out, brighter than they ever were in the city. The quiet was unsettling, yet oddly comforting.
Connor joined me after a while, leaning against the porch railing. "You ever think about what comes next?" he asked.
"All the time," I said honestly.
He nodded, as if that was the answer he expected. "I'm not sure I've got a 'next.' But if stopping whatever's coming means my daughter gets to keep her life... I'll fight. I just hope it's enough."
"It will be," I said, though I wasn't sure I believed it myself.
The cabin had a rough charm, nestled among towering trees, the kind of place that seemed untouched by time. Mike gave me the guest room on the second floor to use for this weekend. I put my stuff from the hotel there as Mike gave me a sign to go out. The logs creaked underfoot as I followed Mike out the door, the scent of burning wood lingering in the crisp air.
Mike led me to the stone basement, which was partially hidden behind the cabin, beneath a small overhang. The stone was weathered, the dark gray of the walls blending into the forest floor, but there was a sturdy feel to it. A place built for the long haul. Mike's hand gripped the door handle, creaking it open. I could see the outline of the hunting rifle, leaning against the far wall. It wasn't a fancy piece of equipment—wooden stock, worn barrel—but it looked like it had history. I wasn't the kind of guy who had much nostalgia for old guns, but I could tell it meant something to Mike.
He grabbed it without hesitation, and I followed him back to the front of the cabin, where his truck was parked. The truck was a relic—rough around the edges but indestructible. The paint was faded, and the bed was dented from years of hard use, but the engine was purring like it had just rolled off the assembly line. Mike had a way of taking care of things, even if he didn't want to admit it.
"You know how to handle one of these?" Mike asked as he checked the rifle, his fingers moving over it with a practiced ease. His eyes flicked to me, looking for an answer.
"I did fire that sniper rifle no?" Was he joking?.
He gave a satisfied grunt and tossed me a small pack, then slid into the driver's seat. The truck's engine roared to life, cutting through the silence of the forest. As we pulled away from the cabin, I couldn't help but glance out the window at the thick trees that seemed to envelop everything. The sky was slowly darkening, casting long shadows that stretched across the forest floor. There was something unnerving about the wilderness. It felt alive, like everything out here had a purpose—and nothing was safe.
The road was little more than a dirt trail, twisting and turning through the trees. It felt like we were heading into the heart of nowhere. Mike didn't seem to mind; his hands were steady on the wheel, eyes scanning the landscape as if looking for something specific. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the only sounds were the rumble of the engine and the occasional birdcall.
"You ever hunt like this before?" Mike asked, breaking the silence. His voice was casual, but I could hear the underlying weight of something—maybe the years of experience, or the fact that this kind of hunting wasn't just about the kill for him.
"A few times," I said, glancing at the rifle resting on the dashboard. "But not much in places like this. Not a lot of boars around where I'm from."
Mike nodded. "Boars are different. They're smarter than people think. It's not just about pulling the trigger." His eyes hardened as if the thought of a boar was as dangerous as any enemy he'd ever faced. "You have to track 'em, wait for the right moment."
"Sounds like a lot of patience," I said, more to keep the conversation going than anything.
"Patience is part of it," Mike replied, his tone slightly distant now, like he was lost in thought. "But it's also about respect. You respect the hunt, or it'll bite you in the ass."
I stayed quiet, considering his words. There was something in the way he spoke that hinted at a deeper connection to this place, to hunting. Like it was a part of him, something that had kept him grounded through all the shit he'd been through.
The truck bounced over a particularly rough patch of road, and we emerged into a small clearing. The forest opened up just enough to give way to a view of rolling hills in the distance. It felt like a different world out here—untouched, ancient.
Mike parked the truck and killed the engine. We sat there for a moment, the stillness of the woods settling over us.
"You ever been to Terra Incognita?" I asked, glancing over at him.
He looked at me like I was asking about a distant, mythical place. "No. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious," I said, not wanting to explain.
Mike nodded, got out of the truck, and gestured for me to follow him. He moved with the precision of someone who had spent decades in the wild. The rifle slung over his shoulder was an extension of him, as natural as his own hands.
The hunt had begun.-*-*-*-*-*