It’s nine o’clock at night. Normally, it’s the time when citizens rest to recharge for the next workday. What most people expect is a quiet atmosphere, not the constant echo of hammering and welding coming from a mechanical workshop. However, for those unlucky enough to live near businesses like that, noisy nights filled with repairs and maintenance are an everyday occurrence.

  For the residents of Neo-Aureborn, on the border between the mid-level and lower districts, there’s an extra sound added to the mix: the noise of a van pulling up in front of a workshop. The building is a square structure with a faded gray fa?ade, featuring a metal vehicle entrance and a pedestrian door beside it. Above both hangs a sign that reads GEARS AND GRIME REPAIRS, and just below it, a slogan warns: “I don’t care who broke it—only how much you’re going to pay to fix it.”

  “We need a slogan too,” says Axel Vance—the boy in the blazer—from the passenger seat.

  “Krivet, we’re here,” announces Lewis Vance—the boy with the hat and the van’s driver—into his phone.

  “Go ahead,” replies an adult male voice on the other end of the call.

  The main door lifts upward, sliding into the wall to allow entry for the Night Agency Vance vehicle. As soon as the van moves forward a few meters, the ground tilts downward at a twenty-degree angle, and the vehicle descends through a tunnel toward an underground chamber. The entrance closes behind them, plunging them into darkness until, at the end of the path, a white light comes into view.

  The Vances arrive in a space much larger than the upper level, about the size of a small parking garage, packed with cars and motorcycles of all kinds. Tables covered with parts and electronic devices stretch across the area, organized by category. Lewis parks the van in an empty spot, and the Vance brothers step out.

  A dwarf man walks toward them. He wears a dirty, worn jumpsuit, protective goggles, and blackened work gloves. His hair is cropped short, and his thick beard is ash gray.

  “Thanks for seeing us at this hour, Krivet,” says Andrew Vance, the boy in the trench coat. “There’s no other mechanic around here with such convenient hours.”

  “And at such a low price,” Lewis adds. “Good thing our businesses don’t compete.”

  “And I appreciate the publicity. Routine maintenance again?” The dwarf walks to the hood of the van and opens it, revealing a tangled mess of cables and circuits.

  “Yes. The van’s been making strange noises last weeks. Yesterday, we broke down and had to push it to a service station so they could patch the problem temporarily.”

  “Even with my knowledge, I couldn’t fix something like that,” says the voice of LENA Vance, the brothers’ AI and older sister.

  “One of those modern all-in-one places,” Krivet grumbles. “Everything’s automated, and they don’t understand what real maintenance means. Automation knows measurements, but the living know the memory of metal. A machine can restore shape, but a hand can give back the soul to something that was broken.”

  Lewis and Andrew watch with curiosity the passion the dwarf brings to his work. Axel looks at him with admiration, nodding along to every word.

  “S-so we’ll leave our vehicles with you,” Lewis says as he and his brothers move to the back of the van, where they store their hoverbike and their weapons.

  “Heading out on a job?”

  “We’re working as guards tonight,” Axel says, pulling on his leather gloves as he slides his sword into its sheath and straps it to his belt. “Someone asked us to help patrol the industrial zone.”

  “You must’ve heard the latest rumors, right?” Andrew says as he secures his twin pistols in their holsters.

  “Yeah. Theft of materials made from valuable metals. They think there’s inside help, which is why the police have started investigating.”

  “We’ll see if we can stop them—and maybe earn some fame along with the money,” Lewis says, slinging his rifle over his back. “If not, we still get paid.”

  It’s ten o’clock at night. On the outskirts of Neo-Aureborn, it’s common to find industrial complexes dedicated to the production and storage of brands of every kind. These sectors are defined by their sheer scale—square kilometers dominated by warehouses—and by being enclosed areas under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Since they are the companies’ primary source of income, security is a top priority. They also include common areas such as cafeterias, for the convenience of their employees. Many are located in free-trade zones to take advantage of tax benefits, turning them into strategic, fortified enclaves for private investment.

  A white taxi pulls up in front of the entrance to SynthMetal Works, a company specializing in the assembly of advanced vehicles, from electric cars to hoverbikes. The perimeter is enclosed by a four-meter-high fence topped with barbed wire and warning signs alerting to the danger of electrification. The entrance consists of a wide gate guarded by two tall human guards, armed with rapid-fire submachine guns.

  “Thanks,” Lewis says as he pays the agreed amount in cash.

  As soon as the three brothers step out, the taxi driver—his face pale—hurries to start the engine and speeds away. Driving three armed men around had not been the most relaxing ride of his shift.

  The guards don’t react to the Vances’ presence. They had been informed that the company hired private security to help deal with the situation. The three brothers pull out their ID cards along with a business card from their agency and hand them over.

  “What do you need us to watch?” Andrew asks.

  “The warehouses where the parts waiting to be assembled are stored,” one guard says, checking the ID numbers.

  “That’s where the thefts have been happening,” adds the other. “For some reason, no one knows how the materials are being taken. The president started suspecting everyone, so he rotates shifts every day.”

  “What about the security cameras?” Lewis asks.

  “They haven’t been tampered with, and there’s no sign they’ve been hacked. They haven’t picked up anything suspicious either.”

  “The police have been here plenty of times,” the other guard adds, “and they haven’t found anything that could explain the disappearance of the materials.”

  “I see,” Andrew says. “Your boss wants us to keep an eye on the warehouses and stay alert in case something happens.”

  “Besides that…” one of the guards begins.

  It’s past midnight. Axel and Andrew Vance, crouched inside separate warehouses, hear nothing but the whistle of the wind and the chirping of a cricket that somehow made its way into the SynthMetal Works facilities. For an hour, they’ve done nothing but stay still, waiting for the thieves to show themselves. Thanks to the light filtering in from outside, they can make out rows of bundles covered with tarps to protect them from dust. The silhouettes of car and motorcycle frames are easy to identify, lined up along the warehouse’s hundred-meter length.

  “Do you think they’re ghosts?” Axel asks through his earpiece. “They could turn invisible, pass through walls, then make whatever they want intangible when they take it.”

  “We coexist with all kinds of races, Axel,” LENA replies. “It wouldn’t surprise me if that were the case, but as of today, there’s been no confirmation of real ghosts or of any race capable of passing through solid objects.”

  “So what do you think it is?” Andrew asks over the comm channel, partly to fight off boredom.

  “Inside help,” says Lewis. Unlike his brothers, he’s outside, positioned on the roof of another building, his rifle scope trained on the area. “There’s no way to move objects that big without being detected. Someone on the inside has to be covering for them.”

  “Even so, there are cameras and sensors at every exit,” LENA says. “I was given access to their servers, and it’s true—none of them have been compromised.”

  “They have a lot of faith in an agency like ours,” Axel says.

  “If this operation goes wrong, all we’ll get is a massive lawsuit that we won’t be able to pay off in several lifetimes.”

  “The risk makes it exciting too.” Andrew laughs, sounding more energized now.

  “I’ve got another, simpler theory,” Lewis says. “LENA, there’s some information I want you to look up. Axel, Andrew—I need you two to move.”

  It’s three thirty in the morning. The industrial zone of SynthMetal Works lies in near silence and darkness, broken by the glow of streetlights scattered throughout the complex. The guards watching the entrances and all potential blind spots have been rotated out, and new men have taken their positions. From both the fresh guards and those constantly monitoring the security cameras, there’s still no news. Nothing unusual appears to be happening in most of the warehouses—except for one, where suspicious activity has just begun.

  Beneath the tarp covering a truck, a figure carrying a backpack peeks out. After making sure no one is nearby, he signals to their companions hidden behind him. When he steps into the light, his delicate features appear human—except for one crucial detail: long, pointed ears. Four more figures, also carrying backpacks, emerge after him, melting into the shadows cast by rows of car frames and motorcycles.

  “A few more and we’re done,” whispers the first figure.

  “Hey, look,” another says, pointing toward the adjacent warehouse. Its lights are on, and the sound of someone moving things can be heard.

  “That’s impossible. There shouldn’t be anyone inside the warehouses at this hour. Hide!”

  The figures retreat beneath the truck’s tarp. Minutes later, the doors of their warehouse swing wide open, allowing three people inside.

  “This is the last one,” says the security guard as he switches on the lights, giving Axel and Andrew better visibility.

  “Thanks,” replies the younger of the Vance brothers. “According to Lewis, the criminals might already be hiding inside. If there’s merchandise that hasn’t been moved in a long time, it’s the perfect hiding spot.”

  “May we?” Axel asks, uncertain.

  “Go ahead—as long as you don’t damage the materials.”

  Under the guard’s watchful eye, the brothers begin removing the tarps from the largest vehicles. They leave the others untouched, since there’s no room beneath them to hide anyone. For several minutes, Axel and Andrew search every corner, crouching to inspect beneath the trucks, until Axel spots something unusual.

  “There’s something here,” he announces.

  Andrew approaches and kneels beside him. Beneath the chassis of a truck, a tarp lies on the floor.

  “Well, he was right. Guard, help us move this.”

  The three men push the truck aside.

  “Why is there a tarp on the floor?” the guard asks. “Products aren’t protected from underneath.”

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  Axel pulls the plastic away, revealing a narrow tunnel—a meter in diameter—crudely and unprofessionally dug through the concrete. The discovery leaves them stunned, though the Vances had expected something like this.

  “They hid the tunnel so it wouldn’t look suspicious during patrols,” Andrew says. “How ironic.”

  “It’s true.” The guard says pulls out his phone to report the discovery. “We never checked the warehouses one by one. We always focused on the entrances and exits of the complex.”

  “If products were stolen from multiple warehouses, that means there are several tunnels like this. Guard, order inspections of all affected warehouses. We’ll see where this one leads.” Andrew activates his phone’s flashlight.

  “Lewis, it’s just like you said,” Axel comments through his earpiece, pulling out his own phone to take photos. “Too bad they weren’t ghosts.” He lets out a disappointed sigh.

  Before entering the tunnel, the brothers notice one last detail on the floor and the discarded tarp.

  “That was the only way they could infiltrate without being detected by security.” Lewis rises from his position and walks to the edge of the roof to climb down. “We need to find where it starts. I’ll move ahead, in case my other suspicions are right.”

  “Perimeter secured, Lewis,” LENA announces through the brothers’ earpieces.

  “This is pretty claustrophobic,” Axel says as he squeezes sideways through the tunnel. At least, given the height, he doesn’t have to worry about hitting his head.

  “I’ll admit, whoever did this was very dedicated.” Andrew illuminates the walls and ceiling with his phone. “I just hope it doesn’t collapse on us.”

  Fortunately for the Vances, the excavation isn’t very deep. They had to descend about ten meters, and the temperature barely increased. Still, the air feels stifling—especially under the weight of their clothing.

  “Judging by the size of the industrial zone and how these were dug, these tunnels can’t be very old,” Andrew says. “It’ll take us a few minutes to get out.”

  “If the police had investigated more, they would’ve found those tarps on the floor sooner or later,” Axel says, wiping sweat from his face with the sleeve of his blazer. “It was a short-term operation.”

  Andrew sweeps his phone’s light along the walls, catching another important detail.

  “Marks. It couldn’t have been easy to drag vehicle parts through spaces this narrow.”

  It’s four o’clock in the morning. Moonlight is the only thing illuminating a natural clearing, scattered with the debris of ancient structures. Thick vegetation has swallowed the remains of a failed civilization: a handful of single-story houses that, centuries ago, were meant to be a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Neo-Aureborn.

  Inside one of the ruins, tall bushes rustle. A young elf, dressed in black, pushes the branches aside as he emerges from the tunnel. He’s breathing hard, his face marked by exhaustion and frustration.

  “They weren’t supposed to find the tunnels this fast.”

  “What do we do?” asks another of the figures, shaken.

  “What we’ve already stored is enough. Let’s lie low for a while, and when things calm down, we’ll move on to the next site and steal more merchandise.”

  The five figures hurry out of the abandoned house—except for one, who stays behind, keeping watch over the tunnel entrance.

  “They’re following us! Run!” he shouts after spotting a light sweeping the area.

  They all sprint toward a small electric truck hidden in the crumbling garage of a nearby house. They jump inside, and the driver starts the engine in near-total silence.

  Axel and Andrew burst out of the tunnel with their weapons in hand. The moment they heard footsteps, they rushed to exit so they wouldn’t lose the criminals’ trail. As they reach the surface, they see the truck speeding toward what remains of the road, straight toward the city.

  “Stop!” Andrew shouts, aiming his twin pistols. He and his brother step into the truck’s path.

  Instead of stopping, the driver floors the accelerator. Axel, who had anticipated the move, activates his sword. A glow of digital magic races along the blade in seconds. The Vance brothers leap in opposite directions to avoid the impact. Using the momentum, Axel stretches out his arm and slashes the front left tire. The rubber bursts, and the truck swerves violently, spinning out of control.

  “Why didn’t they go the other way?” Axel says, running to stop the criminals before they can escape on foot.

  “It’s open terrain,” Andrew replies, running alongside him. “It would’ve been easy to track them, with the police already on the way. In the city, they’d disappear.”

  The five occupants scramble out of the wrecked truck and scatter. Besides the leader with pointed ears, one of them stands out—his hands end in enormous claws.

  “They tried to run us over. This is self-defense,” Andrew fires both pistols. His laser beams strike near the criminals’ feet, hoping to scare them off. Once again, the strategy fails.

  Andrew fires again, aiming to hit before they leave the effective range of his weapons. The beams strike their backs; electromagnetic pulses surge through their nervous systems, numbing muscles and sabotaging movement. The criminals, bracing for a direct fight, channel digital magic into their limbs.

  “There’s only two of them!” the elf shouts. “Take them out and let’s go!”

  Andrew keeps firing, but the criminals now shield themselves with their arms. Digital magic reduces the impact of the beams. They charge toward the brothers, ready to strike. Axel swings his sword through the air in a powerful, threatening arc. The attackers hesitate for a split second—then resume their assault.

  Andrew switches the mode of his pistols, transforming them into solid-energy blades. He lunges at the first attacker and executes a double slash. His opponent—a young adult human—blocks the attack with bare hands, stopping the incorporeal blades as if they’d struck an invisible shield.

  “Not bad control of digital magic.” Andrew sweeps a low kick into the man’s leg, forcing him to crouch in pain, then follows up with another incorporeal slash across the chest. The blow catches him off guard and sends him crashing to the ground.

  Before Andrew can catch his breath, he sees the one with the massive claws—each over thirty centimeters long—leap at him. He retreats just in time to stay out of reach. No need to test it—his physical strength is no match for this opponent. As moonlight reveals the creature’s features, everything clicks.

  “An anthropomorphic mole. No wonder they dug those tunnels so fast.”

  “You’ll pay for sticking your noses where they don’t belong,” the mole snarls, spinning into a wide, circular attack.

  Andrew dodges. Blocking something like that without suffering serious injury is impossible. The mole keeps lunging and spinning at high speed, a whirlwind of claws. One solid hit would be enough to take him out.

  Meanwhile, Axel is dealing with the two remaining humans, who fire blue bursts from their palms. He holds his sword horizontally to block. The impacts don’t move him a millimeter, and he notices his opponents being pushed back by the recoil of their own attacks.

  “They’re trying to run again,” Axel mutters. He drops his guard and launches himself forward in a long, horizontal leap, closing the distance.

  The two criminals keep firing until their breathing turns ragged and pain clamps down on their hands. One collapses, unable to go on. The other tries to flee, using digital magic in his feet to boost each stride. He doesn’t make it ten meters before exhaustion forces him to brace himself against the ground. As he tries to stand, he feels Axel’s hand grip his shoulder.

  “That’s enough. If you keep using digital magic without control, you’ll end up with serious damage to your body. Remember—there’s a cost every time you use it.”

  Absorbed in their respective battles, Axel and Andrew couldn’t stop the leader from slipping away. Now, the elf remains hidden behind the wall of another crumbling structure. In the distance, the lights of Neo-Aureborn’s skyscrapers gleam like his objective. He no longer cares about the failed theft, the wrecked vehicle, or the fate of his companions. His sole desire is to escape from those two boys, unsure whether they’re agents of SynthMetal Works or a rival crew after the same loot.

  The elf straightens after catching his breath and walks briskly toward the road leading to the city.

  “Wait.”

  A male voice calls out, making the criminal spin around, searching for its source.

  “There’s no point… in running. I’ve already… logged your face.”

  The voice sounds exhausted, as if the speaker has been running nonstop for kilometers. The elf turns and makes out a silhouette—a young man in a hat, holding a rifle, leaning on his knees to keep from collapsing. The only thing stopping him from fleeing is the possibility that the stranger might shoot him in the back.

  “Are you a cop or something?”

  “I don’t have… the energy… to talk,” Lewis Vance says, still gasping for air. “Just… surrender.”

  The young elf doesn’t answer. His hands glow with the blue light of digital magic. With no desire to argue, Lewis raises his weapon. The elf points with his index finger, firing a thin, lightning-fast beam straight at Lewis’s forehead. Lewis tilts his head just in time to dodge as the bracelet on his right wrist lights up.

  The elf charges. Lewis reacts by deploying a circular solid-energy shield from his bracelet, about a meter in diameter. At close range, the elf brings the fingers of his right hand together, turning them into a thrust of pure energy. When it slams into the shield, the impact sends Lewis sliding back a few centimeters, though he manages to steady himself.

  “That couldn’t have been just physical strength,” Lewis says, shrinking the shield to half its size to conserve energy. “Your race is known for refined control over digital magic.”

  Another violent collision forces the human to retreat again.

  “There’s no way your group could’ve pulled car and motorcycle parts through such a narrow tunnel. The burn marks Axel and Andrew found on the tarp and the ground prove someone had to cut those parts down to size. For someone with optimal digital magic control, that wouldn’t be a problem. What was the tool?”

  The elf pulls a small object from his pocket: a grip with a circular saw blade five centimeters in diameter.

  “You know too much, human. If I let you live, you’ll become a problem later.”

  “You think you’re walking away from this?” Lewis steps back and fires several laser beams from his rifle, holding it one-handed with his left.

  The elf dodges and counters with precise beams aimed at Lewis’s forehead. Lewis manages to cover himself with the shield. Suddenly, his opponent activates the saw. It begins to hum and glow, aiming to sever Lewis’s bracelet. Lewis jerks his arm away and drives a sharp kick into the elf’s abdomen. The elf blocks with his forearms.

  Lewis catches the look on his face and slams forward with the shield. With no room to retreat and already hurting from the blow, the elf braces and blocks the charge, ready to counterattack the moment the human creates distance to shoot. Just as he predicted, Lewis leaps backward.

  The criminal goes for the kill—only to realize Lewis is holding the rifle overhead like a hammer. At the last second, the weapon flares with reinforced digital magic. The strike lands squarely on the elf’s forearms, producing a sickening crack and a grimace of agony.

  Without giving him a chance to recover, Lewis retreats just far enough to grip the rifle with both hands. A precise laser beam hits the elf in the forehead, knocking him down and leaving him semi-conscious.

  “Optimal digital magic control, but poor physical endurance. That’s one of the elves’ weaknesses in combat…” Lewis collapses with a weary expression and sits on the ground, still holding his rifle.

  “The same could be said about you, Lewis,” LENA says through his earpiece. “We need to work on that stamina.”

  “What about… Axel and… Andrew…?” he asks between ragged breaths.

  The younger Vance brother dodges another spinning charge from the anthropomorphic mole, who doesn’t seem dizzy after so many rotations. The same can’t be said for Andrew. The young Vance looks exhausted after being forced to jump from side to side without rest. The mole comes to an abrupt stop and, just as it prepares to spin again, a laser beam hits it square in the chest. The initial effect is minimal, but before it can recover, a sustained burst strikes the same spot, knocking it flat on his back.

  “It took me longer than I expected, but I finally calculated his reaction time. I had to move around a lot to figure out the right moment to fire and take advantage of the element of surprise. If I’d missed, it would’ve been much more complicated. It would’ve gone on full alert with his digital magic.”

  Axel moves closer to cover his brother, just in case the anthropomorph decides to resume the fight. The opponents Axel defeated earlier barely have enough strength left to stay conscious.

  “Now comes the hardest part,” Andrew says with an exasperated sigh. “Getting these guys out of here. If anything serious happens to them beyond combat injuries, we’ll be the ones facing legal trouble.”

  “LENA just told me Lewis caught the elf who tried to escape.” Axel slides his sword back into its sheath.

  “Lewis is exhausted,” says the brothers’ AI sister. “You’ll need to help him too.”

  “I feel relieved and annoyed at the same time,” Andrew says with another sigh. “Of all days, this had to be the one we left the van at Krivet’s shop.”

  It’s five thirty in the morning. With the help of SynthMetal Works’ guards, the Vance Night Agency escorts the five criminals to the main entrance. They now wait for the police, their hands bound behind their backs under the authority of a citizen’s arrest. The guards didn’t take any chances with the anthropomorphic mole and used reinforced wire to immobilize it. Other group of guards stands watch with weapons ready, while another briefs the company’s executives over the phone.

  “These are the ones responsible for the warehouse thefts.” A guard records the detainees’ faces. “They were using a network of tunnels to come and go undetected. I understand, sir.” He ends the call. “The lawsuit coming their way will keep them in prison for a long time. Thank you for your help.” The guard looks at the three boys—one of them on the verge of passing out, supported by the other two. “As agreed, the boss will transfer the full payment. Since there was no material damage, there won’t be any deductions.”

  “We’ll be expecting it. It was a pleasure working for your company,” Andrew says. Together with Axel, he hoists their older brother up by the shoulders and starts the walk back.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to wait for the taxi?” LENA asks.

  “The sun’s about to come up,” Axel replies. “The closer we get to the city before one picks us up, the better.”

  “LENA, what did Lewis ask you to look into?” Andrew asks. “I’d rather not have him answer—there’s a real risk he’ll throw up.”

  “He asked me to investigate the companies that commissioned and manufactured their products with this firm, in case someone more powerful is involved behind the thefts.”

  “That sounds like trouble.”

  “It was a precaution. Once the police have profiles on the suspects, I’ll look into them to see if there were interests beyond stealing and selling on the black market.”

  “Will there ever be a case that doesn’t hint at something bigger?” Axel asks. Both LENA and Andrew silently agree.

  The Vance brothers keep walking as the sky begins to lighten. Their work shift is over, and a long rest awaits them before the city—now waking up—falls asleep once again.

  “So, are we picking up the vehicles from Krivet’s repair shop?”

  “We don’t want you driving half asleep. We’ll go tonight,” Andrew replies to Axel.