Hossen pulled Wang Yanfei into the silver-white capsule.
Wang Yanfei had assumed it was just some kind of hover vehicle. But the moment he stepped inside, he realized how wrong he was.
From the outside it looked no bigger than a cargo pod, yet the interior opened into an entirely different space.
The walls curved inward in smooth black metal, and a ring of faint blue particles drifted lazily around the cabin, like quiet fireflies circling the two of them.
Wang Yanfei couldn't help giving the place another look.
"First time seeing one?"
As Hossen shut the door, he chuckled. "Perfectly normal."
He pointed at the particles.
"This is from the Psion Church. A psionic transfer module. The name sounds fancy, but this is what they churn out by the dozen."
"Psion Church?" Wang Yanfei raised a brow.
"Yeah."
Hossen settled into the main console and began adjusting settings.
"Big organization. Expensive toys. Worth every credit."
He patted the control panel.
"This thing cost me a fortune. Whenever I'm too lazy to walk, I just hop in and jump straight to where I need to be."
"I see. Learned something new," Wang Yanfei said, keeping his tone light.
He didn't ask how it worked. Here, asking too many questions only made things worse.
Once the calibration finished, Hossen slid his finger across the hovering panel.
The blue particles shivered, pulled inward by an invisible force, gathering quickly around them.
Wang Yanfei felt them brushing against his skin—like countless thin needles gliding across the surface. Not painful, just cold. Strangely cold.
Hossen didn't even blink.
"Don't move. It'll finish in a second."
Blue light flashed.
Something tugged at the world.
When he opened his eyes again—
The ground beneath him was solid metal. Overhead stretched a curved ceiling packed with beams and pipes, like a refurbished underground bunker.
The air carried a faint metallic tang mixed with moisture.
This was probably the venue for the Restart Ceremony.
Lighting was dim. Shadows stirred in the distance—groups of people gathering, whispering, their voices swallowed by the heavy space until only a low hum lingered near the ear.
It was easily the most crowded place he had seen since arriving in Lighthouse City.
Normally, finding someone willing to say even a single "oh" was rare. Now dozens of people were squeezed together, talking.
Hossen tugged him toward another door and pushed it open.
Inside was a theater.
Rows of seats rose in arcs toward the back. A worn red curtain hung at the front, patched and re-patched over the years.
Hossen found a seat near the front with practiced familiarity, and Wang Yanfei sat beside him.
They exchanged small talk while waiting. More people filtered in—some in black robes, some in normal clothes—but excitement glimmered on every face.
The room filled up.
Until—
THUD!!!
A heavy impact blasted from the center of the stage.
All chatter snapped off. Everyone turned toward the front.
The red curtain slowly pulled open.
An old man sat at center stage.
Gray-white hair, a loose cloak over his shoulders—he looked more like a retired professor than the head of a clandestine group.
"Old friends, new friends."
His voice wasn't loud, yet it seemed to sound right beside every person's ear.
"Welcome to our once-a-month… Restart Ceremony."
As he spoke, the space behind him wavered slightly, and a chalkboard materialized out of thin air.
He lifted a teaching rod and tapped the board with a sharp crack.
"We have suffered under the Tower long enough."
"They grind people down, treating them like tools built only to repeat tasks. No—worse than tools."
He lifted his head, gaze sweeping the crowd.
"At least when a machine breaks, someone bothers to fix it."
Quiet murmurs rose. Anger, frustration, agreement.
The old man lifted a hand.
Silence fell instantly.
"Alright. You're all sick of my monthly complaints, so let's get to today's theme: expansion."
"In the past five years, we've successfully converted one percent of the city."
"But they've noticed us."
New images flickered onto the chalkboard blurred surveillance captures.
"In these past weeks, several of our actions were intercepted. We lost many brothers and sisters."
The room bristled, though few dared to speak.
"We reflected," the old man said. "We tried prioritizing the Board level. Unfortunately… limited progress."
"But—"
His teaching rod paused mid-air.
He tapped the chalkboard gently.
"We've received word from our informants."
"In the near future, a Board member will travel to the outer ring."
"This is the best opportunity we've had in five years."
"If we persuade this person…"
His gaze swept across the room.
"And when that happens…"
"We won't have to skulk around like this anymore."
The reaction was immediate. The crowd ignited some people even shot to their feet.
Beside him, Hossen trembled with near-fanatical devotion.
Meanwhile, Wang Yanfei stayed calm.
How had this organization lasted this long?
No structure. No ideology. Rough as sandpaper. And yet here, these sloppy lines were enough to ignite everyone like dry tinder.
Maybe after endless mechanical labor, any scrap of emotional resonance felt like a drug.
The old man kept talking, breaking the plan into branches external coordination, decentralized actions, staged accidents…
People kept raising their hands, and he answered every question with patient ease.
From this, Wang Yanfei gathered that the old man was the leader of the Restart Society.
But after a while, he tuned out.
He glanced at Hossen.
This "manager" had already asked three questions, each one painfully earnest.
If Wang Yanfei hadn't seen him carry a severed head earlier today, the scene might've been funny.
Considering most of the audience were skins or tied to skins, it made a twisted sort of sense.
A weight settled in his chest.
He suddenly lifted his gaze to the old man on stage.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Every line the old man spoke looked ordinary, but each one struck precisely at the hearts of the crowd, pulling their emotions into perfect rhythm, like invisible hands tugging countless puppets.
This was not a speech.
This was a stage play.
And the old man… was its director.