—Hundreds of kilometers away from Valen's house—
"Field Commander, we just lost track of one nightmare. It dissipated from the radar. We suspect another fissure has opened into reality."
Anthony's forehead creased deeply as the report came in.
"A fissure? Which nightmare disappeared?"
"When MVL Team 3 patrolled near the red line, something... bizarre occurred. The Level 1 anomaly—code-named Child Swing—began to shows arising in negative value on the detector. Then it neutralized—abruptly—before reaching peak instability."
The officer continued, voice low.
"We believe it engaged with another nightmare anomaly within the red line. The clash may have caused a fissure to rupture into our side."
Anthony's expression darkened—equal parts frustration and dread.
"Maharlika Vanguard Lakson Team? So what you're telling me is that— another city's anomaly crossed over—in our jurisdiction?"
"Y-Yes, sir..." the anomaly reporter answered, visibly tense.
Anthony slammed his fist into the command console.
"Deploy all MVD T immediately. If a fissure really formed here, demotion would be the least of my concerns. I won't allow a nightmare to trigger a catastrophe on my watch."
Despite his tone, his fear wasn't for his rank—it was for the lives of the people.
—Maharlika Vanguard Mobilization
All seven Lucid teams assembled within minutes, loading into dark red armored vehicles—almost black under low light. Engines growled, muffled and cold.
"Scour every street near the coordinates. Find any trace of the anomaly. If a fissure is confirmed, secure evacuation zones immediately."
"Yes, Commander!"
The squads moved out with eerie precision, their vehicles rolling quietly through the narrow, shadowed alleys.
Travel to the suspected site would take fifteen hours, even at full operational pace.
This wasn't the normal world.
Here, the wrong pace of speed attracted death.
Too fast, and you drew in the hunting patterns of nightmares.
Too loud, and you awakened entities best left buried.
So the battalion advanced in a creeping silence. Every shadow a threat. Every sound a signal.
Back at Valen's House...
Valen stood frozen, hand still on the door.
He had expected something unspeakable outside.
Instead, there it was—reality.
No flickering lights. No humming static. No eerie wind.
Just the noise of a poor neighborhood at night: dogs barking, babies crying, mufflers popping, distant arguments, and the familiar, grim stench of sweat, oil, and hopelessness.
"Take it already! I've been knocking forever. I still have rounds to make!"
It was a water company utility worker, irritated, handing over the bill.
"S-Sorry, I was in the bathroom," Valen muttered, still dazed, accepting the folded paper.
His eyes widened.
The water usage ratio had spiked—dramatically.
He needed money. Fast.
Everything in his home—the things he thought were gone—had returned.
Without hesitation, he packed the items and rushed to sell them to a nearby junkshop.
Before leaving, he looked at the coffee still in his hand and downed it all in one gulp.
"Making money comes first... before being scared."
To his relief, the heart-tightening sensation from before didn't return when he stepped outside.
It was noisy now.
Smelly.
But tolerable.
After selling his things, he gathered total of 869 pesos, not a lot if he has to depend on himself forever.
Survival Math (A note for readers)
—In Maharlika, a budget meal costs about ₱40.
—Three meals a day = ₱120/day minimum.
—Valen currently has ₱869, but lives on less.
—His water bill alone is ₱450, due by week's end.
Valen's solution?
Street food.
He had an old, rusted LPG tank. Empty.
But he could refuel it, build a homemade cart, and peddle fried snacks: fishballs, squidballs, hotdogs, and anything else cheap enough to sell.
It wasn't ideal. It was desperate.
But it was survival.
He spent nearly every peso preparing—buying oil, ingredients, wood, tape, nails. By 1 a.m., everything was done.
The cart stood there, shaky but functional.
He finally rested his back against the wall, exhausted.
"I dropped out of school.
Cleaned the entire house.
Got pulled into some nightmare dimension.
Built a damn business.
All in one day. I'm... so tired."
He stared at the ceiling. His eyes fluttered.
But something shifted. Something cold.
The air turned still.
And then it came again.
That crawling, pressing, unnatural sensation.
No... no no no...
He was crossing again.