Real Dream: Infinity

One of the main streets of Solaris, illuminated by holographic advertisements, was engulfed in chaos. The animations continued their unchanging cycle, promoting luxury products and tourist destinations. Smoke rose from a burning vehicle in the middle of the asphalt, surrounded by debris and shattered storefronts. The sound of alarms and panicked screams filled the air as the local police, under the government of Aetheris, tried to contain the civilians, forming a security perimeter with their armored vehicles. But their presence faded into irrelevance with the arrival of the Reapers.

Two figures advanced through the area with meticulous precision, seemingly unaffected by the widespread panic. Their suits were dark, reinforced with panels of an iridescent material beneath that briefly shimmered upon contact with the smoke or nearby flames. At first glance, their movements appeared almost synchronized, but subtle differences in their postures and rhythms hinted at distinct personalities.

The first, Vector, was a tall man, standing at least 1.90 meters. His short, dark hair carried a bluish hue under the artificial glow of the holograms, perfectly aligned with the pristine aesthetic of his figure. His steel-gray eyes, visible through the mask, emitted a cold gleam. Vector's mask bore a symbol shaped like an incomplete circle—simple yet imposing—and every movement he made conveyed a calculated calm. His athletic build, defined but not excessively muscular, reflected both strength and agility in equal measure.

In contrast, Trace was slightly shorter, around 1.75 meters, though his presence was no less intimidating. His hair was longer, a disheveled light brown that contrasted with the precision of his armor. The edges of his mask, marked by a symbol of crisscrossing diagonal lines, bore small scratches that hinted at extensive field use. Trace had a more compact build, but his relaxed, almost nonchalant posture suggested a confidence born of experience.

Both wore geometrically designed masks, covered in patterns that emitted a faint bluish glow—a testament to the advanced technologies integrated into their equipment. These masks not only protected them but also amplified and modulated their voices, giving them a metallic, authoritative quality.

Vector's suit was immaculate, reflecting his methodical approach. His weapon, Tenebris, a short sword sheathed on his back, seemed almost like an extension of his will. The blade glimmered with a faint purple light, charged with latent energy ready to be unleashed.

Trace, in contrast, exuded a more dynamic energy. His modular rifle, Rupture, hung across his chest by a flexible strap. The weapon, a combination of elegant design and brutal efficiency, was his preferred tool for high-precision scenarios. Though Trace carried himself casually, his eyes, visible behind the mask, scanned the area with sharpness, revealing he was ready for anything.

"Vector," Trace said pragmatically, pointing to the center of the street. "It's in the system."

"Receiving the transmission," Vector responded, activating his internal visor. His voice resonated firmly, amplified by the mask. "The target is a Reaper, identified as Claude Hayes, alias Lucid. Emergent—Luminar level. Threat rating: Very High. Incident motive: personal vengeance against former convict Philip Schreiber. Elimination priority, lethal force authorized."

Trace adjusted the rifle in his hands, calibrating its firing systems in real time. "If it's possible," he added with a touch of irony. "Rupture is ready, but I doubt Lucid's going to make this easy."

Vector took a step forward, surveying the destruction around the street. "It won't be easy. But the protocol is clear: we neutralize or eliminate."

Vector's words carried confidence, grounding Trace.

They continued toward the ruined casino, crossing the perimeter set up by government officers. Their tracking system pinpointed Lucid's last known location. Their steady, controlled strides contrasted sharply with the chaos surrounding them.

Details of the incident appeared in Vector's internal display:

Motivation: Revenge for the suicide of his wife, caused by the emotional and financial fraud orchestrated by Philip Schreiber.

Outcome: Schreiber's murder and collateral damage that included multiple civilian casualties.

Vector reviewed the data projected in his visor, overlaying images of the scene. Helios Tech transmissions included records of Claude Hayes' past, now known as Lucid.

The initial images showed a vibrant young man, with short, well-groomed black hair that fell naturally yet neatly. His brown eyes gleamed with vitality, filled with curiosity and enthusiasm for the world. He exuded an almost contagious energy, his posture always upright, as if he carried the weight of life effortlessly. Clad in the standard government officer uniform, Claude had started like many others: disciplined, efficient, yet with a unique quality that made him stand out. Unlike his peers, whose focus during training was intense and stern, Claude always wore a relaxed smile, as though each day was a new opportunity to enjoy life.

The footage transitioned to Claude participating in combat simulations with an energy that was carefree yet precise. His movements were elegant and calculated, combining physical capability with a creativity that often bewildered his instructors.

One clip captured a grueling endurance test, where Claude had to navigate an obstacle course under torrential rain. While his peers pressed forward with faces strained from effort, Claude ran with a brief laugh, splashing through the water and encouraging those around him with words of support. It was evident he found joy even in the harshest moments, viewing them as personal challenges rather than mere obligations.

But then came the footage of his transition to Reaper training, where the atmosphere shifted. The training became more intense, the expectations higher, and the pressure crushing. Yet Claude retained that spark. In one clip, he wielded a prototype of a customized weapon—a dagger he later named Lumen.

In the recording, after an exhausting drill, an instructor approached him with a stern expression. Claude replied with a grin and a lighthearted remark, eliciting a rare chuckle from the rigid officer.

Vector paused for a moment.

There was something familiar about that energy, something that resonated with him. It wasn't the first time their paths had crossed. Years ago, during a routine mission, Vector had worked with Claude on a joint operation. Vector had barely registered him at the time, recalling him only as "the guy who seemed to enjoy everything." Even in a tense environment, Claude had been an anomaly—a Reaper who radiated life and optimism.

The contrast with the present was overwhelming. Now, Claude—or rather, Lucid—was at the center of a ruined casino, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of guards who had had the misfortune of standing in his way. Vector studied the images of the past, struggling to reconcile the man he had known with the shattered figure now broadcasted by the cameras.

Lucid stood amidst the wreckage, his shoulders slightly hunched, his gaze distant. It was as though everything that made him human had been consumed by the fire of tragedy. Vector understood then that the transformation wasn't just physical; the Luminar core within him had amplified every ounce of suffering he'd ever experienced.

The summary of his descent was brutal. The death of his wife, driven to suicide by the crushing debts and emotional collapse caused by Philip Schreiber's fraud, had been the breaking point. Claude had pursued vengeance, crossing lines no Emergent—and certainly no Reaper—was meant to cross. He had killed Schreiber, but the collateral damage was catastrophic: civilian casualties and an endless list of repercussions that had made him a fugitive.

Vector closed the file and exhaled. This was the result of turning a man with an indomitable spirit into something even Helios Tech could no longer control. Now, they were here to eliminate what remained of Claude Hayes.

***

When the two Reapers entered the casino, Lucid lifted his head, his posture straightening slightly.

The place was steeped in an eerie electric gloom. Neon lights flickered intermittently, casting irregular shadows across abandoned slot machines and overturned gaming tables. The mechanical hum of the still-active machines echoed faintly—a mocking contrast to the evident destruction: shattered glass, overturned furniture, and the lifeless bodies of civilians caught in the crossfire of the chaos.

"Contact," murmured Vector, his visor identifying a figure at the far end of the room.

Lucid stepped away from the guards who had attempted to stop him, positioning himself in an empty space. He had carved a path through them with brutal efficiency, but not without cost—his breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling with effort. The echoes of gunfire and screams had faded, leaving only a heavy silence, broken occasionally by the distant buzz of the slot machines.

"Damn AI," he muttered under his breath, wiping a trickle of blood from his chin. "I guess it's impossible to escape Helios' gaze. Even leaving all my equipment behind and taking advantage of a once-in-a-lifetime chance, if I hadn't acted quickly, I wouldn't have made it this far."

He turned to face Vector, who remained poised and ready to act. "Helios Tech doesn't just make machines—they make damn hunters. These things don't just see or hear. They think. They calculate every move before you even make it. All thanks to that damned omnipresent AI monitoring every corner of this world."

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough, tinged with a mix of sarcasm and sadness. "I'm not going back."

Lucid knew what being a Luminar meant. It wasn't just about physical power or the threat they posed to the world. What Helios Tech feared went far beyond brute force—it was the mental and emotional transformation that came with creating the core. Slowed aging was just the beginning. Over time, a Luminar's perspective shifted, along with their connection to society.

A Luminar could outlive ordinary humans, but managing that extended existence required constantly releasing the In stored in their core—a process that didn't just drain energy but demanded relentless control over their actions and emotions. Helios Tech enforced strict regulations to prevent any "deviations."

Vector observed how Lucid struggled to conceal the trembling in his hands as he clutched the weapon he carried: Lumen, his last remaining link to the life he had lived before succumbing to despair.

"It wasn't just about being strong," Lucid shouted, clenching his fists. "It was about becoming something that no longer fit in this world. What kind of life is that? Living forever just to follow their rules?"

The thought suffocated him. Worse still, the emptiness. There was no one left to share the burden with. He had lost his allies, his friends, and now, himself. Being a Reaper meant accepting a loneliness that stretched beyond time.

Lucid watched as they approached, each step resonating in the silence of the casino. His bitter laughter grew louder, his posture and focus sharpening as he gripped Lumen.

"You don't understand," he said, his voice cracking as he glanced toward Philip Schreiber's mutilated corpse. "You'll never understand. While that bastard carried on with his life as if nothing happened, I was trapped—controlled even more by that damn organization. I... I can't go back. Not after this."

Vector didn't respond. His gaze behind the mask was unyielding, his focus on calculating the next move. But Trace, observing the collateral damage left in Lucid's wake, furrowed his brow slightly.

"You don't have a choice, Lucid. This is the result of your actions," Trace said, though his voice lacked the coldness that typically accompanied a Reaper's judgment. "You know how this ends if you keep running."

Lucid stepped back, adjusting his stance as though preparing for one final confrontation.

"Then it ends here," he said, his voice heavy with determination and resignation.