His chest, now miraculously free of pain, felt a hollow ache instead. “Just… what was that, Savia?” He turned to her, his voice hoarse, the memory of those empty eyes burning. Savia, leaning against a grime-streaked pillar, scrolled through something on her wrist-mounted data-slate, her expression unreadable. “Viewers engaging. That’s what it was. Standard feedback loop. They’re called ‘Echoes.’ Harmless, mostly. A little bleed-out is expected for high-tier exposure. Means the broadcast resonated.” She flicked her fingers in dismissal, not meeting his gaze. “Look, you just got a sub-tier healing. That’s a good thing, Lerrin. The hospice needs you healthy, right?” Her words, though jarring, anchored him back to his purpose. The hospice. St. Jude’s. His sickness. He still didn’t understand, but the immediate, tangible relief of the cure was undeniable. He pocketed the vial, the metallic taste of fear still lingering. “Alright,” he conceded, the word tasting like ash. “What’s next?” Savia’s lips curved into a thin, predatory smile. “Next, we go shopping. High-end department store. Below the streets, in the Luxium Plaza. Prime real estate for a little… performance art.” The Luxium Plaza was a subterranean labyrinth of polished chromesteel and flickering holo-panes, a stark contrast to the grimy streets above. The air here was recycled, smelling faintly of synthetic perfume and fried synth-noodles. Shoppers, a mix of the city’s upper crust and ambitious strivers, drifted between boutiques, their chatter a low hum against the synthesized music. Savia led him to ‘The Gilded Reflection,’ a multi-story department store specializing in home furnishings and personal accessories. The interior was a dazzling maze of silvered panes, vanity tables, and glass vitrines. Every wall, it seemed, threw back distorted angles. The light, bouncing off a thousand surfaces, made his head ache. [Mission Alert: Terms of Service Protocol Initiated. Objective: Achieve Full Mirror Demolition. Secondary Task: Vocalize Apex Donor Registry during breakage sequence.] The robotic voice resonated directly in his mind, sharp and unwavering. [Failure to comply will result in immediate engagement debuff.] Savia pointed toward a row of ornate hand glasses. “Alright, Lerrin. Here’s the drill. You’re going to smash every silvered pane in this place. All of them. And while you do it, the System’s going to feed you names. Unpronounceable, probably. But you gotta say ‘em. Loud. Clear. Don’t miss a single one.” She handed him a small, lead-weighted hammer. It felt cold and dense in his hand, disturbingly efficient. Lerrin stared at the hammer, then at the endless duplicates of himself. “Smash… every pane? Why?” “Doesn’t matter why. It’s for the views. Trust the System, Lerrin. And trust me.” Savia’s eyes flicked around the bustling store, a calculated gleam in their depths. “Start with that one. Big, ornate, just begging for it.” She pointed to a floor-to-ceiling antique looking-glass near the entrance. He took a deep breath, the metallic taste returning. He lifted the hammer, his silhouette staring back, a ghost of his former, sick self, now healthier but far more terrified. He swung. The crack was shockingly loud, a thunderclap in the genteel store. Shards of glass exploded inwards, catching the ambient light, scattering across the plush carpet. A few shoppers gasped, some shrieked. Then, the first name flashed in his mind, an eldritch string of characters that felt alien on his tongue. He forced it out, a guttural sound that drew more stares. [Apex Donor: Xyl’ra-tho-Vek. Engagement Rising.] He moved across the tiled aisle, targeting each frame in turn. Dressing-room partitions, decorative wall mountings. Each strike rattled his forearms, each cracking noise venting pent-up horror. The store slowly filled with the sound of breaking glass and his own distorted voice, reciting names that seemed to tear at the fabric of the air itself. Shoppers scattered, some running, some frozen in horrified fascination, mobile phones already held aloft, recording the bizarre spectacle. He was halfway through a wall of cosmetic compacts when a different sound pierced the chaos: a blaring alarm, followed by heavy, rhythmic thuds. “Breskad Occult Suppression Bureau! Clear the area!” A voice boomed, amplified and distorted. Suddenly, figures in dark, armored hazmat suits, emblazoned with the coiled serpent insignia of the BOSB, poured into the plaza, their assault rifles held ready. They moved with terrifying efficiency, cordoning off sections of the mall, their visors dark and impassive. One group, moving with a chilling determination, was heading directly for The Gilded Reflection. “Ambush!” Savia’s voice was sharp, urgent. “Lerrin, we gotta move! North exit, through the service corridors, now!” She grabbed his arm, pulling him towards a staff-only door at the back of the store, away from the main entrance where the BOSB agents were making their primary push. Adrenaline surged through him. He fumbled the hammer, dropping it, the names still echoing in his mind. He glanced back, seeing the BOSB agents swarming into the store, their weapons sweeping. They weren’t looking for looters; they were hunting. He was the quarry. “They’re boxing us in, Lerrin! This way!” Savia yelled, tugging him harder. He followed, stumbling over scattered glass, his lungs burning. She was leading him through a narrow aisle between towering shelves of boxed inventory. Just ahead, the service door was slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness promising escape. Then, a BOSB agent, moving with surprising speed, burst through an array of fragile glass vases, cutting off their path. The metal fixture, already weakened by Lerrin’s earlier rampage, shuddered violently. A cascade of glass shelves, heavy decorative vases, and ornate ceramic statues began to topple directly onto the agent. He cried out, raising an arm, but he was too slow, too encumbered by his gear to react fully. Savia faltered, her grip on Lerrin’s arm tightening for a split second, then relaxing. A fleeting, almost imperceptible hesitation. Lerrin didn’t notice. His flaw, a violent blindness to anything but immediate suffering, flared. He saw the agent, a human being about to be crushed. He didn't think. He reacted. “Look out!” he yelled, shoving Savia roughly aside, tearing free of her grasp. He launched himself forward, a desperate, lunging dive. He slammed into the BOSB agent, knocking him clear of the worst of the collapsing shelves. Bone jarred against composite armor, numbness stinging Lerrin's shoulder, but the agent was dragged clear. Shards erupted across the linoleum, a deafening explosion, but the man was shielded. Savia, pushed against a wall, watched the scene unfold, a flicker of irritation crossing her face before it was replaced by a practiced look of concern. “Lerrin, what the hell?!” [Engagement Spike: 50,000 Concurrent Witnesses. Cash Drop Initiated: 10,000 Xyl-Units.] The BOSB agent, dazed, his helmet cracked but his body protected by Lerrin’s reckless intervention, groaned. He shoved Lerrin away, scrambling to his feet, his hand instinctively going for his sidearm. He ripped off his damaged helmet, revealing a young, pale face, slick with sweat and terror. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, fixed on Lerrin. “You… you damn streamer!” he gasped, his voice raw, grabbing Lerrin by the collar of his shirt. He pulled Lerrin close, his breath smelling metallic. “They’re wearing our eyes!” And then, with a wet, sickening pop, the agent’s head violently imploded, spraying a fine, crimson mist across Lerrin’s face and the fractured floor.