Endzone: Simulated Apocalypse

Cyanide, now with a new goal in mind, returned to the R&D floor and entered the chamber. Narrowing his eyes at the metal racks lining the left wall, he recalled what he had seen on the map and walked closer towards them. Then, setting his hands on their side, he pulled them out of the way, revealing a new, hidden door behind.

"… I can't believe I didn't notice this before. My skills have declined."

"Really, Cyanide… you're too hard on yourself," Luna said with a sigh, as if she was used to situations like this happening. "No one would've been able to tell something was behind that rack unless they knew about a secret room being here. Don't blame yourself."

Cyanide didn't respond, and instead merely calmly placed his hand on the handle of the door. Then, just to be safe, he used [Radar].

Only one energy signature popped up, and it was a little deeper inside. However, strangely, whereas all the other energy signatures he had seen before on his radar were red, marking hostility, this one was… grey. Representing neutrality.

"… Luna. What does a grey dot mean on my radar?"

"It means they are neutral," Luna replied, just as expected. "It is safe to approach, but if you anger them or say something they don't like, they will become hostile."

"… They can understand my speech?" Cyanide raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Normal mutants, no. But mutants Stage Three and higher possess intelligence rivaling or surpassing that of a human's." After a few seconds, Luna continued exasperatedly. "Yes, Cyanide. I see that question in your eyes. They can be turned into allies, if you are good at negotiation."

Negotiation hadn't exactly been part of his professional assassin training, and he never was one for talking—especially not to strangers. But from his current knowledge, the Stage Three mutant inside this private lab was a very important character with tremendous knowledge. If possible, Cyanide wanted to recruit him into his ranks as a loyal companion.

The only problem was… he had no way to ensure the mutant's loyalty. Even if the mutant did want to stay loyal, there was always a chance it went haywire or got corrupted somehow, like those mutants being controlled by the Scowling Sawblade Blood Baron.

Still, it was worth a shot.

Taking a deep breath, Cyanide opened the door handle… only to find it was locked. By an electronic lock, no less. Even if he had a lockpick, it wouldn't work. It appeared to be a numerical passcode, but Cyanide had no idea what the sequence could be. 6 numbers 0-9, assuming digits could be repeated, meant 1,000,000 possible combinations. In percentage form, the probability of getting the right combination was 0.0001%. He couldn't recall any clues as to what the passcode might be either…

'… Oh, wait,' he thought. 'Could it be…?'

After some thought, he inputted the following digits on the lock:

122669

BEEP.

The light on the keypad flashed green, and a clicking sound could be heard. Cyanide snorted.

"Should've known."

"That's… the date of the apocalypse?" Luna murmured in surprise.

Indeed, it was. 12/26/2069, with the year being shortened to just 69. But if that truly is the case, then that meant the mutant in there changed the password to this after the apocalypse struck. That left only one question—why?

Cyanide wasn't going to get any answers by just standing here, so after pushing the door open, he found himself staring at a long, narrow hallway, illuminated by white lights that shared the emergency backup power supply of the building. It had no decor, no windows. Just a hallway, leading to another door at the end of it.

Slowly, cautiously, he entered, keeping an eye out for any traps all around him, especially on top. His now-deceased teacher, Anthrax, had once taught him to always check the ceiling, since that's where most rookies forget about and end up killed because of it. By nature, humans instinctively only focus on their linear surroundings, not bothering to look up or down unless forced to. However, after years of training, checking what was above and below him along with his linear surroundings had become habit for Cyanide already.

After a few seconds, he made it to the end of the hallway. There weren't any traps—or he just didn't set them off. Either way, things were good so far.

The doors at the end of the corridor opened on their own as Cyanide got close, revealing a pristine white chamber within that looked like the very definition of a science lab. A transparent observation deck was placed before a sealed chamber for experimental purposes, and various desks and computers were spread around.

And then, Cyanide saw HIM. He wore a white lab coat, deranged glasses, and had unkept grey hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in ages. However, the nameplate on his breast pocket said it all.

"As expected…" Cyanide folded his arms. "… Doctor Finch."

"So… another batch?" The old doctor laughed slightly with a hint of craziness in his haggard voice.

Cyanide narrowed his eyes. "Another batch…? What?"

But rather than answering his questions, Doctor Finch merely waved his hand a little, as if shooing Cyanide away.

"… Leave. I'll give you credit for figuring out the passcode, but you're far too young to understand anything. Came here in pursuit of money, have you? In pursuit of power? Ha… you aren't ready."

"Actually… Cyanide here entered this world in search of self-actualization. Money and power mean little to him—he already has both," Luna said, answering in Cyanide's stead.

Hearing this, Doctor Finch narrowed his eyes. Not because of what Luna said, but because of Luna's very existence.

"… You're not like the others. Did those bastards change it up this year? No… they would never…" Doctor Finch then set his gaze on Cyanide, and growled. "Boy. What did you do to your Assistant?"

"Deleted it," Cyanide replied honestly, as calm as ever. "Then, replaced it with my own."

After a full minute of utter silence, Doctor Finch let out a low chuckle.

"… Hah. I take back what I said, kid… you're different from anyone I've seen before. You want answers, yes? I will provide them, in return for this amusement you've granted me today."

Cyanide could feel it. Judging from his tone, Doctor Finch knew about the simulation, the survival game advertised in the world Cyanide was form. But… how?

And just what, really, was this entire game? Questions were raised. Answers were needed.

And Cyanide would find them.