Sirens echoed like a metallic chorus around the building.
Red and blue lights reflected across the penthouse windows, flickering against walls still marked by shattered glass and blood.
The scene was far from over.
At the center of the devastated living room, Eric remained motionless.
At the exact moment the invisible timer of the Midas System reached zero—
The weight hit him like an unseen hammer.
His muscles lost their superhuman tension.
His enhanced senses collapsed inward.
What had been acting—
Became real.
The unconsciousness was no longer a performance.
He had pushed past the limit again.
But this time—
The collapse felt less devastating than before.
His body still responded.
Still endured.
As if it were learning to bear the cost.
Or becoming accustomed to it.
Police units stormed the apartment in tactical formation.
Flashlights cut through the fractured darkness Eric had created minutes earlier.
The scene was brutal.
Men in tactical gear scattered across the room.
Some dead from gunfire.
Others with visibly broken bones.
Weapons lying near their bodies.
"Area secure!" one officer shouted.
Paramedics followed immediately.
Eric was found among the intruders—
Barefoot.
In pajamas.
Unarmed.
"Weak pulse, but stable," one medic reported. "Likely concussion or extreme shock."
Meanwhile, on the second floor—
Elena and Lucía were found by another team.
They were hiding in the farthest bedroom.
Door locked.
Clinging to each other in the corner.
When the police announced themselves, Lucía spoke first—
Her voice steady despite the tremor.
"We live here! We're inside!"
The door was opened.
At the sight of uniforms—
Both women broke down.
The crying wasn't just fear.
It was release.
When they were escorted downstairs and saw Eric being carried on a stretcher—
The panic intensified.
"Is he dead?!" Elena cried.
"No," a paramedic replied calmly. "He's unconscious. He's alive."
Still—
The tears didn't stop.
Lucía held herself together—
But her eyes were red.
The shock was real.
Inspector Pedro Lopez arrived minutes later.
Unhurried.
Observing.
He stepped past the police tape as forensic teams began photographing bodies and marking shell casings.
Attempted invasion.
Self-defense.
Panic.
That was the narrative forming.
Lopez moved slowly through the room.
He stopped at the first body.
Two gunshot wounds to the chest.
"Friendly fire?" he asked.
"Looks like it," a technician replied. "Crossfire. We'll confirm with ballistics."
He walked to the balcony.
Looked down.
A body covered with a tarp on the street below.
"Fell during the confrontation," an officer explained. "Witnesses heard gunshots."
An accident.
Officially.
But Lopez wasn't convinced.
He returned to the room.
Analyzed the patterns.
Two dead from crossfire.
One with an exposed knee fracture.
Another with a broken arm.
Two with severe cervical trauma.
He frowned.
"This isn't just panic," he murmured.
The warehouse massacre had been different.
More brutal.
More systematic.
Bodies scattered as if a single attacker had moved through with predatory efficiency.
This—
Was different.
But there were parallels.
Lopez looked again at Eric being loaded into the ambulance.
Again.
Always present.
Always "unconscious."
A faint, crooked smile appeared.
"You like being at the center of the storm, don't you?" he muttered.
Meanwhile, Elena and Lucía were taken for preliminary questioning inside the building.
"We need you to explain what happened," an investigator said mechanically.
Elena was visibly shaken.
"They broke in… started shooting…" her voice faltered.
Lucía stepped in.
"It was an armed invasion. My client tried to protect us."
"Your client?" the officer asked.
"Eric is my client."
Lopez approached quietly.
"Was this a robbery attempt?" he asked.
"We don't know," Lucía replied. "They came armed. No warning."
Lopez studied them carefully.
Elena was the more nervous one.
Interesting.
According to hospital footage—
She had been unconscious days earlier.
Carried by Eric.
Now—
She appeared physically unharmed.
No visible injuries.
But emotionally shaken.
He noted it.
"Does Mr. Santos own a registered firearm?" Lopez asked.
"No," Lucía answered immediately.
Lopez nodded.
Looked back at the scene.
Six men break in.
Four dead.
Two severely injured.
And the "civilian"—
Unconscious at the center.
The impact patterns didn't make sense for someone untrained.
Or someone cornered.
But forensics would confirm.
For now—
The official narrative was clear:
Attempted invasion.
Internal conflict among criminals.
Civilian victim.
Lopez knew the truth was rarely that simple.
Hours later—
The penthouse was sealed.
Media began gathering.
And Eric was taken back to the hospital.
On the other side of the world—
The atmosphere was very different.
A large office.
Dark wood walls.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
Only the night city illuminating the space.
A Japanese man in his fifties stood before a discreet projection screen.
Impeccable suit.
Relaxed posture.
Sharp eyes.
On the report—
Few words:
"Class A User confirmed."
"Urban combat capability demonstrated."
"Survival without intervention."
He smiled faintly.
Not approval.
Interest.
He pressed a button on his desk phone.
The call was answered instantly.
"Yes?" a female voice replied.
The same voice that had warned Eric.
"So… he survived?" the man asked.
"Yes. Without our direct intervention."
A pause.
"Did he exceed his limit again?"
"Yes."
"And he remains functional."
Silence.
The man tilted his head slightly.
"Interesting."
"What are your orders?" the woman asked.
"Nothing… yet."
He walked toward the window.
The city below looked controlled.
Organized.
"I think it's time for a visit."
"In person?"
"Not yet."
His smile faded.
"First, I want to see how far he can go on his own."
The call ended.
The man remained still—
Watching his reflection in the glass.
There were many users in the world.
Some failed.
Some were disposable.
But a few—
Sparked real curiosity.
Eric was beginning to cross that line.
Back in the city—
The building remained sealed.
Ambulances departed.
Police cars held the perimeter.
Lopez stayed.
Watching agents.
Watching reporters gathering in the distance.
He didn't believe in coincidences.
Or civilians who survived two massacres in a row.
"I want a full financial report on him," he ordered over the radio. "And track any recent international activity."
He looked once more at the penthouse.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
And he had the unsettling feeling—
That he was only seeing the surface.
The truth had layers.
The official one.
The probable one.
And the real one.
Lopez intended to find out—
Which one Eric was hiding.