Chapter 3

Ina grabbed a threadbare towel and scrubbed the water from her hair. She walked out of the bathroom, her bare feet leaving damp prints on the dusty floorboards.

She entered the bedroom. The smell of mold and old sweat was overpowering. She grabbed the stained sheets and yanked them off the bed, throwing them into a corner. She wasn't sleeping in that filth.

She sat down on the bare mattress. She closed her eyes.

"Arno," she commanded. "Access all memory files regarding identity and exile."

The data dump hit her like a hammer. Images flashed behind her eyelids. A life of luxury. A sprawling mansion on the capital planet. Endless parties. And through it all, a face. A smiling, innocent face with wide eyes and a soft voice.

Debera Paul. Her cousin. The "true" princess.

Ina watched the memory unfold. A party. Debera handing her a glass of wine, her smile sweet. "Drink up, cousin. It's your favorite." The taste of bitter almonds. The sudden surge of uncontrollable energy. The screaming. The destruction. The scandal.

Ina opened her eyes. Her gaze was cold. It was a setup. A classic frame job. Debera had drugged her, caused her to lose control, and then used the incident to strip her of her title and exile her to this rock.

"Target: Debera Paul," Arno displayed. "Status: Imperial Princess. Ability: S-Class Mental Purification. Public Approval: 92%."

Ina scoffed. A white lotus. The most dangerous kind of enemy. She had dealt with them in the wasteland. They smiled while they stabbed you in the back.

"Current host status," she asked.

"Ability: Suppressed (Unranked). Assets: 150 Star Coins. Debt: 3 million Star Coins (Black Soil City Underground Bank)."

Three million. Ina let out a breath. The original owner wasn't just a monster; she was a degenerate gambler. They were broke. They were in debt. And they were trapped on a garbage planet.

She stood up and walked to the window. She pulled back the heavy curtain. Sunlight flooded the room, along with the acrid smell of industrial smoke.

Black Soil City. It was a dump. The streets were cracked and filled with trash. In the distance, she could see the towering walls of the Hunting Zone, separating the city from the wilderness beyond.

This wasn't the capital. There were no laws here, only power. And right now, she had none.

She turned back to the room. She needed a plan. Step one: Regain combat capability. Step two: Make money. Step three: Go back to the capital and settle the score.

She walked to the closet. It was filled with trash. Garish dresses, neon colors, fabrics so cheap they looked like plastic. She pushed them aside, digging deeper.

Finally, at the bottom, she found a pair of black cargo pants and an oversized grey hoodie. They were plain, durable. They would do. Beneath the clothes, her fingers brushed against cold, heavy steel. She pulled it out-an old-model electromagnetic pistol. The original owner had likely bought it for show, a prop for her twisted games, but Ina quickly checked the energy pack. The indicator flashed a solid green. Still fully charged. She checked the grip, testing the weight of it in her palm, feeling a familiar comfort wash over her. She tucked the weapon securely into the waistband of her new pants. A useful tool in a world like this.

She dressed, pulling her damp hair back into a tight ponytail. She looked in the mirror. Her face was still round, her body still heavy, but the way she carried herself had changed. She stood straight. Her eyes were sharp.

She opened the bedroom door and walked down the hall. The spot where Angel had been was empty. Only a dried pool of blood and the empty water bottle remained.

She followed the faint scent of blood down the stairs to the first floor. She needed food. Real food, not the synthetic trash the original owner lived on.

She walked into the kitchen. It was a disaster. The sink was overflowing with moldy dishes. The fridge was bare except for a few vials of cheap, expired nutrient fluid.

Ina picked one up. "Industrial synthetic sweetener," she read on the label. She threw it in the trash. That garbage would only slow down her body's recovery.

She checked her pocket. 150 Star Coins. It wasn't enough to buy a fresh apple, let alone the high-energy food she needed.

"Novice Quest triggered," Arno announced. "Objective: Acquire first pot of gold. Suggested method: Collect low-level materials in the Level 4 Hunting Zone periphery."

The Hunting Zone. Ina felt a familiar thrill. This was her territory. Killing and scavenging were what she did best.

But she looked down at her hands. They were still clumsy. Her body was still slow. Going into the zone alone in this condition was suicide.

She needed backup. And the only backup available was the men in this house.

She closed her eyes, searching the original owner's memories. A dark, damp image surfaced. A basement. The hum of machinery. A cold room. And inside, a figure curled up on the floor, scales dull and eyes empty.

Harlan Wright. The snake.

The memory showed the original owner turning the temperature down, laughing as the cold-blooded man shivered and begged. She had kept him in the cryo pod for weeks.

Ina's heart skipped a beat. Harlan was an SS-class potential. He was dangerous. He was lethal. And he probably wanted her dead.

But if she could tame him, he would be her sword. If she failed, he would be her executioner.

Ina walked to the counter. She pulled open a drawer and took out a boning knife. The blade was dull but sturdy. She tested the edge against her thumb. It would cut.

She slid the knife into her sleeve. She took a deep breath, steadying her racing heart. She was about to walk into a cage with a starving predator.

She turned and walked toward the hidden door that led to the basement.