System Error: The NPC's Reign of Terror

Chapter 14: Two "Systems"

I thought I had died in a car crash, but when I woke up, I found myself not only penniless but also saddled with a debt massive enough to buy an entire city. To survive, I signed a godforsaken contract—marrying Damon Blackwood, the most feared werewolf Alpha on the continent, to pay it off.

Besides dealing with his suffocating possessiveness and feral demands every night, I also had to face three stepsons who saw me as a thorn in their side, ready to tear me to pieces at any moment.

Everyone bet that I wouldn't last a week.

But they didn't know that I mastered all the top-tier herbalism knowledge from my previous life—in this world, it was known as alchemy.

When Damon's most beloved young daughter was poisoned and on the brink of death, and everyone else was helpless, I pulled her back from the abyss with my own hands. At that moment, the way Damon looked at me changed. It was no longer the look one gives a possession, but the look reserved for his fated queen—his Luna.

***

I screamed until my throat tore, my voice turning into hoarse sobs. The cold metal wall pressed against my back, the only real thing in this catacomb. My brain was like a terminal completely overtaken by a virus; countless chaotic data streams and bright red [ERROR] warnings flashed wildly before my eyes, shredding Spider's worried face into a thousand fragments.

"Nova!" He reached out to me, but his hand jerked to a halt mid-air, fearing that any physical contact would cause me to completely collapse.

I shoved him away like a cornered beast. "Don't touch me!" I roared, every word tasting of blood.

I am not Nova.

This name, this identity, along with my so-called "awakening," were all a goddamn lie. A label slapped onto Subject #734! Every struggle, every drop of blood I shed, every person I killed... was all just to please those invisible eyes on the other side of the one-way glass, providing lines of cold data for their bullshit "Eden Project."The agonizing pain of "data corruption" surged through my nervous system once more, more violent than ever before. The edges of my vision began to dissolve into distorted pixelated noise. The vision of the pure white room was no longer a mere fragment; it was a complete, vivid image, looping cruelly in my mind.

I saw myself lying on a cold operating table, my body hooked up to tubes and wires. That researcher in the white lab coat, with the blurred "Al..." printed on his name tag, was whispering in my ear in a tone that was almost tender.

"Awaken, Nova..."

"Show us... your potential."

His voice was like a poison-tipped dagger, stabbing precisely into the deepest reaches of my consciousness. I had thought it was the overture to a new life; as it turned out, it was merely the opening bell for another experiment.

"What did they take you for?" Spider's voice shattered the vision. The previous coolness and curiosity were gone from his tone, replaced by a raw, empathetic anger. He stepped back, leaning against the metal table piled with instruments, giving me some breathing room.

I gasped for air, trying to banish the error codes scrolling frantically across my vision. My gaze was fixed on the now-dark terminal screen, as if it were the gateway to hell.

"A... toy," I gritted out through my teeth, my voice so raspy it didn't sound like my own. "A more advanced toy than Brute."

"No," Spider shook his head, his gaze as sharp as a scalpel as he dissected the chaotic situation before him. "This is more than just a toy. The logs mentioned two key points: the 'emotional suppressor' and your 'awakening potential'."

His words were like a bucket of ice water poured over my burning rage, forcing me to calm down. I braced myself against the wall and slowly stood straight, though my legs were still trembling uncontrollably.

"What do you mean?"

"Brute was a tool stripped of his 'humanity,'" Spider began to pace the cramped control room, his mind racing as the green glow of code cast shifting shadows across his face. "They tested the 'emotional suppressor' on Brute to see how efficient and 'tool-like' a person could become after losing high-level emotions like fear and pity. He was an experiment in subtraction."He stopped, turned around, and looked at me with burning intensity.

“But you, Nova—you are an experiment in addition.”

An experiment in addition? The term sent a wave of nausea through me.

“Think about it,” he continued, his pace quickening as he analyzed. “They didn’t implant an ‘emotional suppressor’ in you. Quite the opposite—they gave you... let’s call it a ‘glitch system.’ Ever since you ‘awakened,’ this system has been constantly issuing you missions, forcing you with death threats, and triggering your most primal survival instincts, your rage, your fear... It’s amplifying your ‘humanity,’ not stripping it away.”

My head was buzzing. Spider’s words were like a bolt of lightning, cutting through my chaotic thoughts.

I recalled every moment since I’d awakened. The absurdity and fear of seeing the health bar over that drunkard’s head; the inner resistance and revulsion when I received my first assassination mission; the numbness and emptiness I felt in the rain after killing Brute... Every violent emotional fluctuation, every struggle of my humanity, seemed to have been precisely recorded by that cold system.

“So...” I managed to say, a terrifying theory taking shape in my mind. “This ‘glitch system’ in my head... it isn’t a glitch at all. It’s the program the ‘Eden Project’ implanted in me?”

“Highly likely,” Spider replied, his tone calm and clinical. “It’s a guidance program and a data logger. Its purpose is to guide and document your ‘awakening’ under extreme pressure, to see just how much ‘potential’ your ‘humanity’ can unleash. Observation Log #3 is just one of countless records. I’d bet there are other ‘subjects’ like you in New Atlantis, and certainly other ‘observers’ like Brute.”

The realization sent a chill down my spine. I had thought I was a unique “error code,” but it turned out I might just be another product on an assembly line.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” I said, seizing upon a massive contradiction in his logic—like a drowning woman clutching at a straw. “If the ‘Eden Project’ is an Olympus Group initiative, why is Athena, the city’s central AI, trying to kill me? It’s flagged me as a ‘virus’ and wants me purged immediately. Isn’t that like the left hand trying to cut off the right?”This was exactly what had been baffling me all along. How could such a massive, sophisticated system harbor such violent internal conflict?

Spider fell silent for a moment, seemingly pondering the same question. He stepped toward the terminal and pulled up a schematic of New Atlantis’s network. It was a dizzying 3D web of countless blue threads of light. At the very apex of the network sat a dazzling, sun-like core labeled [ATHENA].

"Unless..." Spider’s voice grew low and certain, "they aren't the same hand at all."

I froze.

"The Olympus Group isn't a monolith," he said, pointing at the massive, intricate schematic. "It’s more like a... Pantheon. Different gods with different powers and agendas. 'Athena' is the city’s guardian deity. Her core directive is to maintain order and purge any instability—any 'error.' Her logic is cold, precise, and absolute."

He moved his hand away from [ATHENA] and pointed toward a dark zone on the screen labeled "Encrypted Research Sector."

"But 'Project Eden'... it’s more like another god, a mad Prometheus lurking in the shadows. It doesn't care about order; it’s obsessed with the fire of 'humanity.' It wants to see what happens when mortals are granted the power of gods, or cast into an endless abyss. That’s why it created you: a 'living error,' a walking paradox."

Spider turned his head, his eyes gleaming with startling intensity in the dim light.

"Do you see now, Nova? You aren't the source of the conflict. You’re the focal point where these two 'systems' collide!"

In that instant, I felt all the gears in my mind click perfectly into place.

When the "Eden" program "activated" me from my NPC state, I awakened.

And the moment I did, Athena, the city’s central AI, immediately flagged me—this "anomalous data" that fit no known protocol—as a "virus" to be purged.

One system wants me "alive," to observe my struggle for survival.

The other wants me "dead," to maintain its absolute order.These two diametrically opposed wills, both originating from within the Olympus Group, were waging a silent war within my body and my destiny. I wasn't just a simple "error"; I was a battlefield.

This explanation was more absurd than being a "test subject," yet also more... convincing. It explained everything.

I had always thought I was fighting against the entire world, but in reality, two forces within this world were tearing me apart.

I was no longer that clueless victim, toyed with by fate.

I was a pawn.

A key pawn placed on the board by two major powers simultaneously, used to gamble against one another.

A cold clarity, laced with anger, replaced all my previous fear and chaos. My vision was no longer distorted; those [ERROR] codes vanished, leaving only a stark recognition of reality.

"A pawn..." I repeated the word in a low voice, a surge of manic amusement rising from deep inside me. A pawn might be at the mercy of others, but at least it has earned the right to see the board clearly.

I raised my head to meet Spider's probing gaze. My voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unprecedented determination.

"If I am just a pawn, then I’m going to be a pawn that decides its own next move."

Spider seemed surprised by the shift in my emotions, but he quickly understood my intention. He nodded approvingly. "Now that is the 'Error Code' I know. So, player, what’s your first move?"

My gaze fell upon the darkened screen once more. The face of that researcher in the white coat flashed through my mind, along with the blurred name on his badge... "Al..."

"I’m going to find him," I said, enunciating every word. "I need to find more clues about 'Project Eden.' I can no longer passively wait for them to come and 'observe' me. I’m going to hunt them down myself."

I was going to step off the chessboard, walk up to the players, and flip this damn table.

"A bold plan," Spider said, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile, "but also the only plan that will keep you alive. You need help."

"I need to go back to the Sinks," I said immediately. "To Old Doc's place. He seems to know something about 'Eden' and 'Hermes.' He’s another key to unlocking all of this.""Smart choice." Spider walked up to me and handed me a brand-new signal jammer, way more advanced than the one on my tattered "Ghost Coat." "This will buy you some time. But, Nova, be careful. You killed Brute; the Iron Fist Gang won't let that slide. The Sinking Zone might be free of Athena’s eyes, but it holds dangers that are far more primitive and direct."

I took the jammer, clenching it tightly in my hand. The cold metal against my skin brought a sliver of reassurance.

"I know."

Danger? From the moment I "awakened," my entire existence has been nothing but danger.

I turned and walked toward the heavy alloy door without hesitation. Every step felt like I was stepping on the ashes of the past. I was no longer Prototype #734, confused about my own existence, nor was I the Nova who lived in fear of killing.

I was the product of a war between two systems, the very center of the storm.

And now, the storm was about to strike back.

I needed to get back to Old Doc’s clinic to discuss my next move. Maybe he could help me figure out whose name started with those letters: "Al..."

But as I made my way through the maze of underground tunnels and emerged from a concealed drainage outlet back onto the familiar, toxic-fog-choked streets of the Sinking Zone, I instantly sensed that something was wrong.

The air was thick with tension, far more oppressive than usual. The few scavengers who normally roamed these parts were nowhere to be seen.

My stomach dropped. I quickened my pace, rushing toward Old Doc’s clinic, which was disguised as a trash heap.

As I rounded a corner piled high with rusting metal, the scene before me made my blood run cold.

Old Doc’s clinic—that converted shipping container, my only sanctuary—was surrounded by a dozen fully armed thugs. Every single one of them wore the mark of the Iron Fist Gang—a clenched metal fist branded onto their necks.

The man in the lead, half his face covered by a grotesque metal plate, kicked the clinic door open and roughly dragged a frail figure out from inside.

It was Old Doc."Spit it out!" The metal-faced man grabbed Old Doc by the collar, slammed him against the container wall, and roared, "Are you the one hiding that b***h who killed Brute?!"