The Recetio Family and the Night When 70% of Love City's Crimes Unfold
In the Recetio family estate, on a night when 70 percent of Love City's crimes took place, a man leaped from the fourth floor of a cathedral where a red cross blinked ominously.
Thud. It felt like he'd jumped once from the height of the second floor and once more from the first. The man—Amon—landed lightly on the ground.
Having touched down safely, Amon sighed and pulled off his hood. It had been a month since he'd planned to infiltrate the cathedral. The moment he heard that Shaunrai had been completely dismantled, he'd put the plan into action.
Slipping through the night sky with three midair steps, he'd climbed through an unlocked window. An hour later, he descended again.
Sonia approached Amon, who had finished his reconnaissance.
"How'd it go?"
Amon shook his head.
"They're smart. Looks like it's in the basement."
Amon had hoped the cult leader's quarters might be on the upper floors like in a hospital, but they were underground. A wise choice. In this world, unless you built something absurdly tall like thirty stories, putting the boss's office underground was far smarter. Not just for folks like Amon who could triple-jump, but because wall-climbers or radar-evading flyers could pop up anywhere.
At least underground, the only way in was tunneling—and tunnels usually got you caught.
This cathedral was no different. The priest here, whom Kashi's brother Owen attended, had his room below ground. He claimed it was because priests weren't meant to look down on the flock, but neither Amon nor Sonia bought that.
"So, how're we getting down there?"
Sonia asked. Amon shrugged.
"Who do you think I am?"
"Amon."
"...The guy who infiltrated the heart of Hickzen Group."
Amon had cracked the megacorp's security vulnerabilities too. Breaching a local cathedral's defenses was child's play.
Sonia, grasping his implication, shrank back.
"No way... you're not gonna cross-dress again, are you?"
She looked repulsed at first glance, but her eyes sparkled faintly. Fascination and disgust coexisted in contradiction.
But Amon, the man in question, didn't just recoil—he practically spasmed in denial.
"No. Absolutely. Not."
Once was enough for cross-dressing. Besides, the cathedral priest wasn't some womanizer like Hickzen Group's chairman's son. It wouldn't even work.
What Amon had in mind was something entirely different.
"There's a passphrase to get down. Just say it and walk right in."
Claim you were there for confession, prove you were a believer in this cathedral, and that was it. Sloppy, sure, but cults couldn't afford tight security—it scared off recruits. Amon planned to exploit that.
"Oh? I'm no good at that stuff, so you handle it."
"Leave it to me."
Amon led Sonia boldly into the cathedral. It was open twenty-four-seven to all, but being nighttime, it was mostly empty.
Amon headed for the stairs to the basement. Two armed bruisers glared at him from the entrance.
'Definitely not your average cathedral.'
Amon eyed their weapons as he approached. His and Sonia's gear was wrapped in special cloth and tucked deep in their clothes, so they looked like harmless civilians.
But the guards halted them anyway.
"What business? Prayer hall's on the second floor."
In case they were believers, the men's tone stayed polite. But their fingers hovered half on the triggers, wary of Amon.
Amon acted slightly intimidated, a touch timid.
"Um... I heard for confession, you go downstairs..."
"Who referred you?"
"Brother Owen."
"Ah, someone Brother Owen proselytized."
At Kashi's brother's name, their attitudes softened a bit. But they didn't step aside.
"So, what do you want from the priest?"
This was the passphrase-like thing Amon had mentioned. Answers like "hear my worries" or "comfort me" got you directed to the regular confessionals on the first floor. To go underground, it was "to receive revelation."
Amon had learned that by rifling through a nun's personal drawer on the fourth floor.
Amon recalled it and parted his lips.
"Reve—"
As the word began to form, the men's tension eased. Ah, this guy's one of us. Their legs already slackened to let him pass.
That was when it happened.
Crack!
Amon's uppercut shattered the first man's jaw. Clean hit. The guard's eyes rolled back as he collapsed unconscious.
Before the second could react, Amon struck his windpipe, tripped him, and snapped his neck on the fall. Total takedown.
All in under two seconds.
"..."
Sonia stared from behind, utterly baffled.
"You knew the passphrase."
"I did. I do."
"Then why?"
"Couldn't spit out that false faith with my own mouth."
"Sigh... figures."
"Let's stash these guys first. Toilet stall should work."
"Someone might notice them missing."
"That's why we came at night when it's dead. Still, let's move fast."
"Hoo..."
Sonia sighed but helped Amon drag the men to the bathroom.
Afterward, the pair descended to the basement. Amon tried acting the cultist, but he kept snapping necks instead. Cleanup was thorough, though, and with the night crowd thin, no one noticed.
They reached the cathedral's deepest sanctum. At the lowest level underground stood a massive steel door.
[Receiving Revelation! Do Not Disturb.]
Sonia eyed the steel door and its white placard with cold disdain.
"So that's where the priest vanished to."
They'd already checked his office en route—picked the lock, found it empty. They'd searched it then, uncovering files on the "revelation."
And those files held something impossible to ignore.
"Guess we have to check this revelation ourselves?"
"Yeah, no choice now we're here."
Rationally, they should've been satisfied and gone home. But the revelation's contents were too horrific.
Amon and Sonia weren't kids or self-righteous vigilantes, but leaving it be could endanger Kashi.
"I'll breach it."
At Sonia's word, Amon backed away from the door. She placed her hand on it, closed her eyes, and focused.
"awp dake dleidy doxn si he"
⟨ Divine Breach ⟩
Unfamiliar words flowed from her lips. A bright circle etched onto the door.
Amon kicked it.
Bang!
A circular chunk of steel fell away on the other side, leaving a hole big enough for both to pass.
"Let's go," Amon said, taking point. She followed.
Prayer was for the dogs long ago. No more sneaking now—they'd come to disrupt.
As they entered, eyes turned: the priest in his robes, the rest in white lab coats like scientists.
Amon and Sonia drew weapons—Amon a crossbow, Sonia a pistol. Stealth gear, not fully loaded, but enough.
Amon charged the scientists. He kicked off into the air, soaring over them, and fired at the priest in the back—both knees.
Twang! Twang!
Unlike the limp sound, the bolts pierced clean through.
"Gaaahk...!"
Kneecap destruction was pain beyond compare. He couldn't even scream, just gulped dry air.
With the priest's escape blocked, Sonia fired steadily from a stable stance.
Pop.
Amon's borrowed pistol popped like a bottle cap, nailing a scientist's wrist as he reached for the alarm.
Two more shots neutralized him. Then they methodically targeted shoulders and knees.
Amon's crossbow occasionally missed, but Sonia's aim never faltered.
Soon, all scientists were down, shoulders or knees wrecked.
"Ughhh..."
While Sonia staunched the dying groans with basic aid, Amon grabbed the priest by the nape and shoved him into a chair.
He flashed files from the office.
"Wet supercomputer. Where."
The priest, dazed by pain, jolted at the words.
"How do you... Shaunrai intel division?!"
"No."
No need to correct, but Amon wanted no ties to those scum.
"CIA?"
"No."
"Then who—"
"Get with the program. Answer the question."
No point explaining they were faith-driven vigilantes—he wouldn't buy it anyway. Time pressed; Amon prodded.
As the crossbow aimed at his groin, the priest cracked.
"The computer in the center..."
"Stay put. We'll deal with you later."
Amon left him and approached the indicated machine. The main unit was tiny. He pried off the cover.
Plain inside.
"You lied?"
"No. Lift the floor."
Amon tore up the tiles.
And "Urk... fuck..."
He cursed involuntarily.
Beneath the acrylic floor: computer parts, wires snaking to human brains floating in tanks.
Since supercomputers emerged, countless attempts used them to predict the future. Tyrants, CEOs, scientists believed vast processors and trained AIs could simulate it.
None succeeded. Human emotion was an incalculable variable.
Group trends could hit 75 percent at best, but the last 25 flipped on individual agitation or feeling.
Individuals? Down to 55 percent. Even the operators and users were emotional beasts—zero practicality.
Emotions defied AI or CPU.
Then one scientist had an idea:
— "What if we use human emotions themselves as parts?"
That flippant pitch appealed to a tyrant who valued lives less than flies. Thus, the wet supercomputer: brains, processors, AI fused.
It predicted individuals flawlessly. More brains networked, better it handled relations and emotional variables.
And here, underground, it ran as "revelation."
"You're not even worth calling a beast."
"Merc—"
Pop. Amon pulled the trigger. The priest slumped dead.
The brains' origins were obvious. In a city rife with trafficking and murder, missing worshippers raised no flags. This wouldn't even hit suspect lists.
Amon glared coldly at the tanks. Then a oddity from the priest's words struck him: "tyrant's permission."
It grated. He dove back into the files, checking internals and admin logs.
Kashi's father, Recetio president Frey Recetio, flickered in his mind.
But deeper digging erased him. Replaced by her mother.
[Directive from High Priestess Iliya received.]
Amon had thought her a cult victim. Wrong.
She wasn't a follower—she was the high priestess.
But more shocking: she wasn't dumb or delusional. Rational grounds built this cult.
[The Recetio blood is blessed by God. They are prophets who peek through the veil at future fragments.]
[But God abandoned my son. He was denied the sight of futures.]
[I am his mother. Though God, my husband, the elders forsake him, I cannot.]
She wasn't dumb. Just mad.
[The computer is nearly complete. The basement prototype goes to the priest.]
[Because it's imperfect.]
[Sorrow, joy, rage. It calculates most emotions.]
[But not love.]
[AI can't grasp what humans do for love.]
[So I'll craft the final key as a gift for my son.]
[Owen. My beloved boy. I'm always sorry I bore you so.]
[This unworthy mother has only one gift for you.]
[Flawed as I am, my love yields to none.]
[As I love you, it will give you truer revelations.]
[Don't grieve. Mommy's not dying.]
[Mommy will watch you forever.]
[All for you, my son.]
Her madness was rock-solid.