Global Awakening: This VR System is Tyrannical!

"Chairwoman, our ride has arrived," one of the elite team members said, stepping aside to let Carla Mislaine enter the vehicle first.

The speaker was Cross Morgan, the lead investigator dispatched to the Baek Empire to look into the mercenary group’s very first mission failure since establishing Babylon’s global hegemony. She was a woman in her mid-twenties with short black hair and a curvier, more voluptuous build than Mislaine herself.

Standing beside her were Eliss Kassandra—a woman of similar age with a smaller, delicate frame and an exquisite face—and Reyes Viktor, a man in his early thirties with a sharp, modern undercut and dark hair. Standing at 189 cm, Viktor was easily the tallest of the four.

Once all four were seated inside, Morgan tapped the dashboard, prompting the driver to follow the navigation route displayed on his smartphone.

Mislaine, meanwhile, found herself quietly amused by their driver. Crossing her arms, she turned toward Morgan.

"Where did you source this driver?" Mislaine inquired.

"He’s from MK Transportation and Cleaning Services," Morgan explained concisely. "They’re a relatively new firm, established roughly two years ago. Their operational integrity is solid, and many of our field mercenaries frequently hire them for post-operation crime scene cleanups."

"I see," Mislaine murmured, intrigued. "Look into negotiating a corporate rate if we set up an annual partnership with them."

"Understood, Chairwoman," Morgan noted, filing the directive away to execute once they settled at their base.

What had caught Mislaine’s attention was the driver’s condition: he was completely deaf and mute.

To someone in her position, that meant seamless transport without the risk of loose lips, eavesdropping, or useless small talk. It was, in her eyes, the peak of passenger comfort and operational efficiency.

And if their transport standards were this well-thought-out, she was already holding high expectations for their cleanup services as well.

The sleek black sedan pulled into the underground parking garage of a nondescript corporate high-rise. Minutes later, the group stepped out into the building’s penthouse suite.

Viktor emerged from the vehicle first, hauling two mid-sized tactical cases up to the penthouse. Kassandra followed, adjusting her sunglasses as she swept her eyes over their surroundings with a satisfied look.

Mislaine stepped out last after Morgan held the door for her. The moment they cleared the vehicle, the driver pulled away without a single word or exchanged pleasantry.

Inside the penthouse, the four settled into their respective rooms before gathering in the living room. They relaxed into the luxurious furniture, flipping on the TV and taking in the midnight cityscape view.

Looking at them now, none of the four resembled high-stakes mercenaries; they looked more like a wealthy group enjoying a private vacation.

And in truth, that wasn’t far from the case. The investigation wasn’t a high-risk combat operation, so there was no need for unnecessary tension. They could take things at ease. Slowly but surely.

"Just do whatever you want and whatever is necessary to uncover what happened to that failed team," Mislaine stated, leaning back against the sofa. "No need for frequent status reports, but I expect a detailed breakdown whenever you hit a crucial lead. As for the operational plan, handle it yourselves."

"Yes, Chairwoman," Morgan acknowledged.

"Drop the title and just call me Miss Carla," Mislaine corrected smoothly. "Anytime, anywhere, so long as we’re here. For all intents and purposes, we’re on a break."

Morgan, Kassandra, and Viktor exchanged subtle glances and nodded in unspoken agreement.

There was simply no reason for excessive concern. They were completely confident that the Baek Empire would see them as nothing more than ordinary civilians visiting from the Starfall Federation.

As for the state authorities investigating them, it wasn’t even a consideration. Those mercenaries who had been captured knew absolutely nothing about Babylon’s internal structure.

Simply put, they couldn’t leak what they didn’t know.

After all, the identities of higher-ups and elite teams within Babylon were strictly classified.

To maintain absolute professionalism, many of them didn’t know each other’s personal details, nor did they have any intention of sharing their private lives.

As for the captured mercenaries, they weren’t the team’s concern either. Ultimate authority rested strictly with the higher-ups and Mislaine herself. Since no extraction orders had been issued, they felt zero obligation to organize a prison break or secure their release.

"Let’s see... what’s the most entertaining thing to do in this city with my free time?" Mislaine mused nonchalantly, lounging on the sofa while scrolling through her smartphone. Her thumb eventually paused over a viral social media post about Origins VR Cafe that Irene had shared some time ago.

While another storm quietly brewed in the shadows, life in S City proceeded peacefully. Upper-class factions like the Baek Family worked to recover their standing, while ordinary civilians went about their monotonous daily routines.

Inside the shop, Donape was rarely seen around the front counter these days. Having recently been promoted to a First-Grade disciple in The Path of Heavenly Martial Arts, he spent most of his time roaming between the southern sects, deeply absorbed in his pursuit of higher martial arts, cultivation, and specialized breathing techniques.

With Donape busy grinding in VR, Ga-Eun handled most of the daily operations, comfortably managing the afternoon-to-night shifts.

Meanwhile, after wrapping up their daily VR sessions, Zerke and Jong-Kook spent their remaining free hours over at One Bullet, the premier private shooting range owned by Zerke.

The distinctive, heavy THUNG-THUNG-THUNG of high-caliber pistol fire echoed through the range’s soundproofed walls.

"Alright, boss," laughed Jong-Un, a longtime member and retired police officer who frequented the facility. "Target at 15 meters. Standard paper silhouette. Ten rounds rapid fire. The loser buys dinner for the entire floor."

"Make it 25 meters," Zerke countered with a calm, mischievous grin, resting a hand on his hip. "And double the bet."

The surrounding members burst out laughing.

"Twenty-five meters? Rapid fire?" another member taunted lightheartedly. "Director Stygan, you usually start pulling your shots low-left after round three!"

"Well? Do you dare or not?" Zerke replied, shrugging his shoulders with a thoroughly smug expression.

The lighthearted mood shifted as the members took the challenge seriously—all except Jong-Kook, who merely chuckled in the back.

"Hey now, Director Stygan! No need to get cocky," Jong-Un chuckled, stepping up. "I respect your gun knowledge, but when it comes to trigger time, I can’t back down."

"I’m in!"

"Count me in too! I’m putting my money on Jong-Un—sorry, Director!"

As Zerke and Jong-Un prepared themselves at their respective lanes, member after member jumped in to place their bets. But when Jong-Kook casually stepped forward and laid down a massive stack of cash on Zerke, the entire room went silent in shock.

"What the hell? Big bro, are you seriously betting that much on Director Stygan?"

"Alright, alright, no need to get worked up," another member chimed in. "Jong-Kook’s just trying to make the Director feel a bit better so he doesn’t feel completely alone up there. It’s just a friendly match, guys. Chill out."

Following the initial shock, a few members voiced their skepticism over Jong-Kook’s reckless wager, while others simply assumed it was a kindhearted gesture to spare Zerke’s ego.

Jong-Kook ignored their chatter completely. Catching Zerke’s eye, he gave a quiet, knowing nod.

At lane 4, Zerke picked up a standard-issue 9mm semi-automatic pistol. Prior to visiting Origins VR Cafe, he had been nothing more than a range owner—a gearhead who knew firearms, ballistics, and maintenance inside and out, but possessed thoroughly average marksmanship.

None of that mattered now.

Zerke locked his gaze onto the target, assumed a textbook isosceles stance, and racked the slide.

The instant his fingers gripped the frame, something inside his brain clicked. Weeks of brutal, hyper-realistic gunfights in Counter-Injustice—where a fraction-of-a-millimeter error meant instant death—flooded his body with ingrained muscle memory.

To his refined vision, the distant 25-meter silhouette looked ridiculously large. The hyper-sharp peripheral awareness he had forged while dodging flashbangs and clearing corners in VR made his real-world surroundings feel calm, clear, and perfectly under control.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

In under three seconds, Zerke emptied the entire ten-round magazine.

There was zero wasted motion. No violent muzzle flip. His wrists remained rock-solid, absorbing the mechanical recoil with effortless efficiency.

The entire shooting range fell dead silent.

When the automated track pulled the paper target back to the lane counter, the crowd rushed forward—and gasped.

Right in the absolute center of the target’s chest, inside the tightest X-ring group imaginable, sat a single, ragged hole no wider than a coin. All ten rounds had punched through virtually the exact same spot.

"What the...?" Jong-Un’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

Standing at the back, Jong-Kook folded his arms and chuckled softly, shaking his head.

’They actually thought they could beat the current Director Stygan? Ha! How laughable.’

Winning a mountain of cash off the bet was sweet, but watching the smug arrogance evaporate from everyone’s faces? That was the ultimate reward.

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