The transport carrier hummed softly, slicing through the night air as it journeyed away from the Ayzion Mountains.

The steady thrum of its engines filled the cabin, a heavy sound that pressed against every ear like an unwelcome weight.

In the corner sat Arthur, his back straight and visor dimmed.

He barely moved, his eyes shifting slowly from one soldier to another, each face shadowed by the faint red lights overhead.

Stone's absence loomed over them like a ghost, thickening the air until it felt almost suffocating.

He leaned back in his seat, fingers brushing against the map tucked inside his coat.

Thoughts of Ravik and Caelum flickered through his mind,were they already dead? Probably. And if they weren't, they surely wished they were.

His eyes narrowed at that thought, but even it couldn't distract him from the heaviness pressing on his chest.

With a deep breath, he opened and closed his eyes before staring out at the window.

Clouds drifted past the moon, shrouding the mountains in layers of shadow while his own reflection stared back at him,unreadable and distant.

Turning again to Ethan and their comrades, each wearing expressions of sorrow,he shook his head slowly.

"I hope the rescue team can find Stone," he muttered under his breath.

But then a sudden thought struck him like lightning: a thought he wouldn't shake off.

With narrowed eyes, Arthur focused on Ethan and the others once more before leaning back in his seat and shutting his eyes tightly.

His voice echoed silently in his mind as he called out: "System."

The mechanical tone responded instantly,flat and devoid of emotion.

[Yes Host.]

Arthur hesitated for a moment; breaths came heavy as he finally asked what had been gnawing at him.

"Where do the people I buy from the System Store come from?"

The hum of the cabin seemed to swell around him as silence stretched on for an agonizingly long moment.

[They are souls,dead souls,from other worlds.]

Arthur froze in place; fingers twitched nervously against his thigh. "…Dead souls?"

[Yes. Souls burdened with hatred; souls carrying resentment too deep to fade away. They cannot pass on,they wander.]

His stomach tightened at this revelation. "And then what?"

[They are collected; their memories stripped away, their identities erased,they are given new bodies and roles before being sold as merchandise,to hosts like you.]

Arthur's breath hitched as shock washed over him like ice water poured down his spine.

He glanced around at Ethan, Gunner, Mireille, Holt, Vos, Rask, Lyra… Marek,all of them suddenly felt different.

"…So you're telling me…" His voice cracked under pressure. "…Ethan? Gunner? Mireille? They're all souls? Like me?"

[That is correct Host.]

Arthur felt his throat go dry, a tightness creeping in as he swallowed hard. "Then what separates me from them? Why am I here, and they are in your store?"

[ You transmigrated by chance. You didn't carry the heavy weight of resentment and hatred that they did. They clung to those dark emotions like a lifeline. That made them fuel, products.]

The system replied it's voice cold and chilling.

A tremor ran through Arthur's body. "…So you mean if I had died on Earth, consumed by hatred and resentment…"

"You would have become merchandise. Exactly."

His heart thundered wildly in his chest, draining color from his face as panic set in.

His hands shook violently as he bent forward, pressing his palms against his knees while nausea crashed over him like a tidal wave.

His stomach churned violently; for the first time in ages, Arthur's composure shattered.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, sweat beading on his brow.

"So Ethan, Gunner, Holt… all of them. They were once people,with lives, families, memories. Now they're hollowed out shells sold to me like goods?"

[ Yes Host!Their loyalty is not born of choice; it is the product of erasure. They are bound only to you now.]

Disgust washed over him like ice water; he felt even paler than before as the reality sank in,the system was too grotesque.

Just thinking about it made him feel queasy again; he lurched forward and vomited onto the floor with a splatter that shattered the cabin's silence.

Heads snapped toward him instantly,Gunner unbuckled with urgency, boots thudding against metal as he rushed to Arthur's side.

Ethan's hollow eyes widened in shock; life flickered back into them as he scrambled up beside Gunner. Mireille leaned forward urgently.

Holt, Vos, Lyra, Marek,they all surged toward him with alarm etched on their faces.

"Boss!" Gunner gripped Arthur's shoulder tightly. "What's wrong?"

Arthur gagged again; more bile erupted onto the steel floor beneath him.

His entire frame shook with exertion; sweat poured down his forehead like rain. Ethan grabbed hold of Arthur's arm with frantic intensity.

"Boss! Talk to me! What's happening?"

Arthur couldn't bear to look at them,couldn't meet their concerned gazes.

His stomach clenched again as he vomited harder; the sound echoed painfully through the cabin.

Mireille hovered her hand over his back nervously while Holt shouted for a med kit.

The squad's voices overlapped,a cacophony of concern and fear enveloping him like a storm.

With great effort, Arthur raised a trembling hand to weakly wave them back.

"I'm fine," he croaked out between labored breaths. "Bad stomach… just bad stomach."

"You don't look fine!" Ethan shouted, his voice cracking with concern. "You look like hell!"

Arthur coughed violently, spitting out the remnants of his struggle and wiping his mouth with the back of his glove.

He bowed his head, a weight pressing down on him. "I said I'm fine," he replied quietly, each word sharp and final.

The squad hesitated, their faces etched with worry. Slowly, almost reluctantly, they stepped back.

A few soldiers knelt down to clean up the mess, their movements quick yet awkward, like they were trying to erase a stain that would never truly fade.

Leaning against the wall, Arthur felt his chest heave as he fought for control.

His visor shielded his eyes from view, but beneath it burned an intensity that could ignite the very air around him.

He scanned their faces: Ethan's worried expression, Gunner's clenched jaw, Mireille's pale cheeks tinged with fear, Holt's trembling hands betraying his strength, Vos's narrowed eyes filled with suspicion, Rask's tightened lips holding back words unspoken, Lyra's rare frown reflecting her concern, Marek's restless stare searching for answers.

Just looking at them made Arthur feel even more nauseous.

They were just like him,souls who had once lived fiercely and fought bravely but had been stripped bare by a cruel system that turned loyalty into chains of slavery bound by death itself.

Arthur gripped his wine flask so tightly that his knuckles turned white; pain twisted in his heart while a lump formed in his throat.

As he looked at them all,his comrades, something rare flickered within him: pity. Sympathy.

But lurking beneath those feelings was something darker, a visceral disgust that sent goosebumps racing across his skin.

Not for Ethan or any of the others but for the System itself.

The sheer cruelty of it all, the cold indifference that even denied peace to the dead.

Arthur shut his eyes tightly as tremors coursed through him; he struggled to steady his breath while inside him a storm raged uncontrollably.

And for the first time, Arthur felt fear creeping in like an unwelcome shadow.

Damn you, System!

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