MMPS Ch. 7

Chapter 7: The Dangerous Intern

Yu An held the mechanical eagle by its talons, swinging it carelessly like a lifeless market chicken, and stuffed it into his shoulder bag with a sickening sense of detachment.

Above, a single mechanical eagle continued to circle, its search pattern aimless and broken. Under the influence of the Functional Core – Satan’s Guidance, it had lost its precision, no longer able to track the two of them, drifting in the sky like a predator that had lost its prey.

Zhao Ran dragged Yu An into a shadowy alley, pressing his wrist over the boy’s mouth with a quiet urgency. They huddled against the cold, unforgiving wall, hearts racing as they waited for the search eagle to pass by.

“Are the Underground Metro and the Perceptive Eagle Bureau in competition?” Yu An muttered through the pressure of Zhao Ran’s grip. His voice, muffled.

“No. The Perceptive Eagle Bureau is the most efficient, most impartial of them all. They know their business.” Zhao Ran replied, “You don’t need to know too much. Just remember: when you encounter anyone from their ranks, steer clear. Don’t make waves. And in an emergency, side with them—never against them. But most crucially, do not, under any circumstances, attack one of their eagles. It’s the same as taking a gun from a police officer.”

“Don’t worry. The surveillance feed has a delay. I destroyed the signal transmitter; no one will know how the eagle crashed.” Yu An paid it no mind. He picked up a piece of discarded wire from the ground and fiddled with the handcuffs, poking at them. “Do you think the Eagle Bureau will be able to save that obese patient?”

“No they won’t..”

“But you said they were capable.” 

“Because the Perceptive Eagle Bureau is a specialized unit designed to handle mutated bodies. Their jurisdiction is limited to Hongli City. Once they’re outside the city limits, even if they know where the criminals are, they can’t act—they can only report it and wait for orders. This was planned. The nurse and the guards conspired to smuggle the patient out, sabotaging the hospital’s surveillance and communications. And Guxian… Guxian’s on the far edge of Hongli City. A ten-minute drive and they’re out of range. No matter how quick the Eagles are, they’ll never catch up.”

 “Oh.” Yu An’s gaze didn’t waver from the lock. His focus was entirely consumed by the struggle of freeing his hands.

“Idiot. Give it to me.” Zhao Ran muttered, a slight edge in his tone. He yanked the wire from Yu An’s hands, his fingers nimble as he worked. The delicate task required precision, a skill honed through years of practice. He twisted the wire into the lock, feeling every shift and resistance with a calm that betrayed his inner focus.

Yu An watched, captivated by the ease with which Zhao Ran performed the task, his fingers quick but gentle. It was strange—those hands, with their leather gloves, had a sensitivity that seemed almost inhuman. Something was different about him.

“Why the gloves?” Yu An asked, his curiosity piqued.

Zhao Ran’s smile was thin, almost imperceptible. “None of your business. Just focus on your own issues.” He changed the subject effortlessly. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Which one do you want first?”

In an instant, the handcuffs clicked open, and Yu An rubbed his wrists, the skin red and raw from the tight grip: “Good news first,” he said, his voice flat.

“When I dragged you out, I had a quick look in one of the officer’s pockets. Took something for you.”

Yu An, waiting for the catch, asked: “… and the bad news?”

Zhao Ran pulled out a small, dull object and tossed it to Yu An. “Not the greatest luck. What I grabbed was your used Tier 1 Blue Goat Horn.”

It’s indeed a shame, but exchanging a Tier 2 Blue for a Tier 3 Blue was hardly a loss. Yu An tucked the core into his pocket, and fell into silence.

As the quiet silence fell between them, Zhao Ran could feel the shift in Yu An’s demeanor. He was calm, but that was always when he was scheming. Zhao Ran’s instincts screamed that trouble was lurking just beneath the surface.

The Underground Metro’s recruitment team, known as the “career recruiters,” had a notorious reputation. They were skilled at spotting potential—whether the candidates were cunning, powerful, or, in some cases, deeply disturbed individuals. One had even turned the tables on their interviewer, killing them and immediately taking their place. Such was the nature of the recruits they sought.

But interviewing newcomers was a dreaded task for the seasoned agents. Yet, Zhao Ran had volunteered for the challenge that was Yu An. And now, the boy was beginning to show his true colors; he was truly a difficult intern.

Yu An didn’t wait long before asking, his tone cutting through the quiet with unnerving clarity. “Interviewer, where’s the contract? I really need this job.”

“…” Zhao Ran raised an eyebrow, almost impressed by the boy’s directness. Slowly, he withdrew the internship agreement and a pen from his coat, holding them out to Yu An. The boy was finally catching on—but Zhao Ran still felt the sting of caution. There was something too easy about this. Too clean.

Yu An skimmed the terms quickly, and, with an almost practiced fluidity, spread the paper over Zhao Ran’s chest, using the hard muscle beneath as an impromptu writing surface. His pen scratched across the paper, his name settling in a neat scrawl.

Yu An had not stopped thinking since the moment he woke in that morgue drawer. He had pondered every detail, especially Zhao Ran’s strange expression during the interrogation.

When he heard, “There was another person in the morgue,” a strange emotion flickered in his eyes. Yu An felt it—it was a murderous intent, a kind of frantic hysteria, like someone caught in the act of committing a crime.

Even if there was someone else hiding in the morgue drawer, what difference would it make to him?

The fact that there was another person in the morgue meant that someone might have witnessed what happened in that room, and that’s why he panicked for a moment.

It was obvious now. Zhao Ran had pushed him into that drawer.

Yu An’s suspicion deepened. Zhao Ran’s intent to recruit him had been far too obvious. The man carried cigarettes in his coat pocket, but no lighter, and Yu An had found one tucked under his hospital pillow. It was that lighter that had kept him alive long enough to meet Zhao Ran.

Was it possible that Zhao Ran had been the one to take his left eye too? The pieces were beginning to fit together: they needed recruits, people to inhabit their bodies, and so they crippled them, manipulated them into becoming carriers. The ones who succeeded entered the fold, while the ones who didn’t were discarded, left to perish.

Yu An laughed softly, a low, almost disturbing sound.

Zhao Ran’s lips curved into a thin smile, though a cold tension bloomed in his chest. What was Yu An plotting now?

“Interviewer, if I join, who will train me?”

“I will.” Zhao Ran answered, his voice laced with a of resignation. “I’ll train you.”

Yu An lowered his gaze to the paper once more. The pen’s tip dragged across the surface, following the contours of Zhao Ran’s chest.

It felt electric, the pressure of the ink gliding over fabric, through skin, and straight to his heart. Zhao Ran’s breath caught, his pulse quickening, as if he could feel every motion of the pen beneath Yu An’s fingers.

When Yu An finished writing, he clicked the pen shut and, with a swift motion, lifted Zhao Ran’s shirt, pressing his finger gently to the wound on his chest. The blood seeped over his fingertip, and with a casual flick, Yu An pressed the finger onto the contract, leaving a smear of crimson in place of a signature. He licked the blood off, his eyes never leaving Zhao Ran’s.

“I’ll work hard, Interviewer.”

*

The Aberrant Core – Eagle Wing granted Yu An breathtaking speed. Within fifteen minutes, he was standing in front of his old apartment complex, the familiar skyline looming before him like a faded memory.

He perched on the rusted swing set in the park, his wings folding slowly. Zhao Ran had given him his contact details before they parted ways at the subway station.

Looking around, Yu An saw that the area had fallen into ruin. The trees were long dead, and the buildings, once filled with life, now stood empty, abandoned. The rich moved away, and a few elderly souls clung to the empty homes, but they were the last of a dying breed. The streets were silent, the world cold and hollow, like a ghost town.

As Yu An stepped into the familiar residential area, an eerie sense of recognition crept over him. It wasn’t just familiarity—it was as though something had clicked into place in his mind, a memory he hadn’t realized he was missing, flooding back. Slowly, as if guided by instinct, he moved toward the entrance of the building he knew all too well.

The security door was covered in a layer of dust, its once intricate patterns now nearly invisible beneath the grime. Without thinking, Yu An reached for the familiar inner pocket of his backpack—only to find it empty. The key was gone.

But this didn’t worry him. Not anymore. He had learned a new skill. A skill that could free him from any constraint.

From his pocket, he pulled out a piece of twisted iron wire—a discarded fragment he had found earlier. He bent it with practiced ease, inserting it into the lock and twisting it just right. The faint click of the lock disengaging echoed through the still air, and the door swung open, as though it had been waiting for him.

The moonlight poured into the apartment through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the room in a soft, almost comforting glow. It smelled like home—familiar, but tinged with a quiet, unsettling layer of dust. The furniture hadn’t been touched in years.

Yu An groped for the light switch, his fingers brushing over forgotten mementos of a life that once was. In the middle of the living room, piles of textbooks, tools, and luggage from his graduation lay scattered, untouched, as if time had frozen around them. He had never found the time to unpack. Not really.

His phone and keys rested on the coffee table, undisturbed. But as he picked up the phone, his brow furrowed. The device had reset itself. Every contact, every note, every photo—all gone. As if someone had deliberately wiped everything clean. Someone who wanted to erase the past.

He didn’t care. Not anymore.

He tapped the screen, downloading the necessary apps. He stored the interviewer’s number and sent a friend request on his social media account. Zhao Ran’s profile picture appeared—a small black cat, its eyes dark as coal, its ID name: “NSDD^[1].”

Yu An smirked: “NSDD, huh? You’re right. Sounds like something an overworked employee would say. Always having to play nice with the boss.”

His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before he added Zhao Ran to his contacts as “Boss.” The name was a double entendre. It could mean the person in charge, but in the context of a game, it also referred to the final boss—the one you had to defeat. Of course, it also hinted at the inevitable end: one day, the boss would crush him, and Yu An would be left in pieces, like any other player.

Within two minutes, a message came from Zhao Ran. 

Boss: Have you gotten home? Didn’t hit any high-voltage wires, did you?

Yu An’s fingers moved mechanically as he typed back: “1^[2].”

Tossing his phone onto the table, he headed to the bathroom, wanting to wash away the blood that clung to his skin. When he returned, the phone had another message.

Boss: Let me know if you need anything.

Yu An collapsed onto the couch, his legs thrown carelessly over the backrest, his head hanging down as if he were about to fall into a void. His fingers absently grasped the phone again, his eyes distant, unfocused.

He typed with the same lack of emotion, the words coming out without a second thought: “I need the interviewer to sleep with me.”

He didn’t care. His mind was numb, detached. The looming consequences of tomorrow didn’t concern him. In fact, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Not after everything he had been through.

Was this what it felt like to be a fugitive? To be trapped between the satisfying rush of revenge and the heavy weight of guilt? The satisfaction of survival and the growing despair as the memories returned?

When he had first emerged from that morgue drawer, his mind had been blank, his only thought—survive. But now, with his memories piecing together like broken glass, the overwhelming sense of despair had become unbearable. If humans didn’t have a brain, maybe they would be happier. Without memories, without guilt, without this endless cycle of pain.

A few minutes later, Zhao Ran replied.

Boss: Do you talk like this to strangers often?

Yu An’s brows furrowed. He had only been playing along with Zhao Ran’s teasing. Was he being reprimanded now? The complexity of workplace interactions was dizzying.

He replied without hesitation: Yes.

Yu An didn’t intend to play the game of sycophancy. If anything, he’d start by refusing to participate in the race to please those above him.

He set the phone down, staring into the empty space before him, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like a lead blanket.

And then, something caught his eye.

Across from him, under the TV cabinet, a small hole the size of a ping-pong ball seemed to shimmer in the dim light. It was barely visible from any normal angle. Only from his strange position, half upside down, could he see it clearly.

Curiosity piqued, Yu An scrambled off the couch, dropping to the floor to get a better look. He pushed aside the heavy cabinet with great effort, his movements almost frantic. And there it was—a hole that seemed too deliberate to be a mere accident. It looked like it had been drilled with purpose, a perfect hiding spot for something illicit, something hidden away.

He tried to slip his fingers into the hole, but it was too small. He could only fit two fingers, unable to reach the bottom.

Grabbing a flashlight, he illuminated the interior. The faint glow revealed a coin-operated mechanism, something like the coin slot on a children’s ride at a park. It was sealed with a locking mechanism that Yu An instantly recognized. It was a design he had used himself.

When he was younger, his father would often go through his things. In retaliation, Yu An had created a simple coin-operated lock. Only he knew the exact angle to insert a coin to unlock it. If anyone tried to force the drawer open, it would trigger a mechanism that shredded everything inside. A cruel, self-made trap.

Yu An searched his pockets. He couldn’t find a coin, but his fingers brushed against something hard. He pulled it out. It was the exhausted Tier 1 Blue Aberrant Core. It wasn’t the right size, but it would have to do.

Without a second thought, he tossed it into the hole. It clinked as it landed, and Yu An immediately retreated to a safe distance, a strange unease rising in his chest.

The sound of gears turning echoed from inside the hole, followed by a soft click. A few seconds later, something shot out of the hole, a piece of paper unfurling like toast from a toaster.

The paper was torn from a notebook, densely covered in writing:

——

Weather: Sunny

I told her: “Eat, Mom. Today is our day to celebrate.”

Mom trembled in the candlelight of the birthday cake, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and pity. She looked at me as though I were a demon, returned from some dark place.

My heart ached, so I took out the long-distance bus ticket I had bought earlier, along with The Story of My Life, a book I had read over and over, and gave them to her as gifts. This was the day we would part. She would be free—no one would hurt her anymore—and I would stay behind, guarding the endless life ahead of me.

But after Mom left, he came.

He liked to come in through the balcony, always nimble, always full of energy. Today was no different. After knocking four times on the window, he jumped inside and immediately wrapped his arms around me.

He saw the untouched birthday cake on the table and asked what kind of snack it was.

Had he never seen a birthday cake?

He asked again: “What is a birthday?”

I told him: “The day you were born.”

He seemed disappointed. He held me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, and together we mourned, “Oh… the unfortunate days. Is there no kiss today?”

He always knew how to make me laugh. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. He wasn’t very good at kissing, often scraping my tongue with his teeth, but he was passionate, and every time our chests touched, I could hear his heart pounding in excitement.

His neck was especially sensitive, turning pink from a single kiss. He liked it, asking: “Is this what it feels like, to be kissed by the sun?”

No, I thought. This is what it feels like to be consumed by the abyss. Only when a demon invades your soul do you truly understand what it means to be lost.

I confided in him. I didn’t want to go to school anymore. A jade merchant had hired me as a thug. He thought my hands were already black enough, having attacked my own father. After a few years of training, I could be trusted to control the gangs along the border.

The merchant’s words tempted me. I began to feel that the dark, decaying corners of the world were the places I was meant to be. Life had crushed my dreams, and I had finally crushed myself.

“No, go to school. After you finish, I’ll give you a job that suits you.” he urged me. He had me face him while sitting on his lap, pressing me close to him. He tried to pass his warmth onto me by firmly rubbing my hair with his wrist, softly comforting me.

Each time he tried to calm me, he gave it his all, though it wasn’t something he was good at. He always made exceptions for me.

He told me: “If spilling blood can save others, then isn’t killing a way to redeem oneself? Don’t be a villain. Be a hero.”

It felt like I was always walking in the dark. I had never seen the light. That was, until I met my “Teacher Sullivan^[3],” who gave me three days of light and a world I had never seen before.

January 22, M016

——

A sudden knock broke the silence—knock, knock, knock, knock.

Yu An looked up, and there, outside the window, was a clear face.