The woman stepped closer, fingers brushing the back of April's skull. Her touch was light, but April recoiled as if burned.
"Your Gear isn't fully awake," the woman murmured. "If it were, something would have already… grown."
April jerked back.
"Grown? What the hell does that mean?"
The woman exhaled, as though weary of explaining forbidden things.
"When a Gear reaches full activation, an appendage emerges. A mark. For you, it will bloom upward from the back of your head—taking the shape of two-angelic wings. A sigil. The sign that your Gear is awake."
April's head spun.
"A crown? Two-angelic wings? You're telling me I still have a long way to go?"
The presumed leader stepped into the light. His eyes were steady, but cold.
"Not if Ragnörak finds you first."
The name cut through her like a blade.
April's fists clenched.
"Who are they?"
The woman's voice was ice.
"A syndicate that moves beneath governments, above laws. They pull every string—wars, weapons, trade, crime. And now…" She looked April dead in her stitched eyelids.
"They're collecting Gears."
April's breath caught. "For what?"
The presumed leader didn't hesitate.
"For war."
—
Later, April sat hunched on a crate, arms wrapped tight around her knees. The warehouse was too still, too empty, its shadows pressing in like watchful eyes.
"So what do you want from me?" April asked.
The presumed leader's voice softened. Almost kind.
"We want to train you. To shape the Gear before Ragnörak does."
April shook her head. "I never asked for this."
"None of us did," the woman said, leaning on a rusted crate. Her tone was sharp, but not cruel. "But wanting a normal life doesn't mean you'll be allowed one."
April bit down hard, tasting iron. They were right.
From the moment her senses collapsed—when the nanotech fused itself to her skull—her life had been stolen, rewritten. And now hunters were after her.
If she wanted to live, there was no choice.
She exhaled slowly.
"Fine. I'll go with you. After all… I don't have anything left to lose."
The leader's expression didn't change. He simply nodded.
"Then your training begins now."
"Wait like right now, right now?," April questioned dumbly.
The presumed leader didn't waste time answering. "Yes the earlier the better. Especially for your own survival."
April at first looked like she was about to say something, but the next second an expression of acceptance took over her face.
"I-got it... but there's one thing i would like to know. And don't dare lie to me that you don't know about it!," April questioned as she stared daggers at the three individuals.
....
Silence that's how quite the warehouse was after Aprils inquirery. The presumed leader questioned her his inquiry had on a hint of pure amusement.
"And why would you believe that we are concealing something?"
To his inquiry April just shrugged her shoulders then answered him.
"Hmm i really don't know myself. I just got a strange sensation come over me the moment you finished explaining about the Gears & Ragnarök. It was a feeling like a minimum shock when one half lies."
The presumed leader and the two individuals all stood silent and the next second April felt all their eyes on her.
—
The leader stood before her, arms folded, a silhouette of authority.
"You want the truth?" he asked.
April's laugh was sharp, bitter.
"That would be nice."
The woman—April had started calling her Sharp Voice in her head—spoke before he could.
"We created the Gears."
April's head snapped toward her.
"…What?"
Sharp Voice's gaze didn't waver.
"Our organization built them. They were never meant for the world. Controlled experiments. Weapons engineered into living flesh."
April's stomach churned.
"Then why me? Why do I have one?"
The leader's jaw tightened.
"Because a shipment escaped our hands. Someone in our ranks grew greedy. The Gears were leaked into the black market. And worse—some were seized by Ragnörak."
April's breath caught.
"You… leaked them? By accident?"
Sharp Voice's smile was cold.
"Call it bureaucratic stupidity. Paperwork and bribes move faster than conscience. Once the Gears slipped out, there was no pulling them back."
The third figure—the quiet one who had first restrained her—finally spoke. His voice was low, steady, almost regretful.
"And by sheer coincidence, one of them found you. A host perfectly suited to it."
April clenched her fists.
"So if I hadn't… lost my senses? Would the Gear have just stayed dormant?"
The leader shook his head.
"No. The Gears adapt. They twist to fit their hosts. Your injuries only shaped its form. If you had been whole, it would have manifested differently."
April's thoughts whirled. The room felt smaller. The air heavier.
"And Ragnörak?" she asked. Her voice was quiet.
"They want to collect them?"
Sharp Voice's expression darkened, her eyes narrowing.
"Not collect. Enslave. They want soldiers with Gears fused into their marrow. Living weapons for a war only they can win. But if they can't enslave they get rid of them."
April's throat went dry.
"…So that means…"
The leader's gaze locked onto her stitched eyelids.
"You're already on their list."