Transition Log — File 002 Activation
At the end of the night lies the sea.
And beyond the sea, a blaze of lights.
There stands an island that smiles — Paradise Island.
From afar, it looks like a jewel suspended above the water.
Too much light only makes the truth harder to see.
This island is called Paradise.
But paradise is merely another disguise for hell.
Paradise Island is a playground for the wealthy, and a refuge for political and business elites seeking escape.
There are four hotels on the island, each representing a different “desire.”
Buffet Hotel — affordable and accessible, a 24-hour mega supermarket and dining hub,
where visitors lose track of time amid lights and music.
Millennium Hotel — mid-tier luxury, boasting Hong Kong, Mediterranean, European, and American cuisine,
with sleepless tables and endless laughter.
The Grand Victorium Hotel — prestigious, secluded, a nexus of black gold and hidden wealth.
Here there are boutiques, exhibition halls, casinos —
and countless transactions that were never meant to be seen.
Elysian Grandeur Integrated Resort — a quiet oasis far from the dust of the world,
a masked paradise for the successful.
Residents and travelers mingle on the island.
Some run cafés and souvenir shops,
others sell intelligence in shadowed alleys.
Paradise Island belongs to no one, yet no one can leave it.
At that time, MCS had just returned from Kalsora.
The blood had not dried. The smoke of war had not cleared.
Lee Wai Hing took leave and brought his family to relax at Yeehao Resort on Paradise Island.
He laughed over the phone and said to me,
“Loke, the wind here can’t even blow pain through you.”
I replied, “Then let it blow a few more days.”
His laughter cut off in the sea wind.
That was the last time he laughed.
Inside The Grand Victorium Hotel, the lobby glittered brilliantly.
On the red carpet, Sir Fan Wai Man’s Jewelry and Masterpieces Collection Exhibition was about to open.
It was the most expensive showcase in Asia —
paintings, jewels, collections, power.
Fifteen minutes before the opening,
the hotel’s central control screens suddenly flickered.
A line of red text appeared:
“Paradise is Hell.
On October 31, we will take over everything.
Mortals have no right to monopolize beauty.
— KARAM”
Alarms blared.
The security system collapsed.
All entrances and exits were simultaneously locked down.
Sir Fan’s face turned pale.
The lobby fell into silence.
The terrorist organization — KARAM.
Ranked third on the global most-wanted list among extremist factions.
They believe “destruction is redemption.”
After the news broke, Paradise Island’s police went on full alert.
Police Commissioner Richard Fair personally reported the incident
and requested assistance from Kalsora’s Raptor.
Eagle Eye listened to the briefing and remained silent for a long time.
He knew this was no ordinary threat.
In the intercepted encrypted signal,
he saw a familiar code: ZETA-2.
It was the continuation code for “Project MORPHEUS.”
A subsystem of the Eden Protocol.
It had appeared within Paradise Island’s internal network —
which meant KARAM was not merely a terrorist organization.
They might possess dream-control technology.
Eagle Eye made a call.
“Loke Tin Kay, I need you.”
There was a second of silence on the other end.
Loke Tin Kay’s voice was low and calm. “Where?”
“Paradise Island.”
“Isn’t that a resort?”
“Hell always opens its doors in the brightest places.”
Three days later, a cargo ship approached the waters outside Paradise Island.
Five figures stood on deck.
Loke Tin Kay — calm as frost.
Cheung Man Man — sharp as a blade.
See Mun Tseng — composed, her gaze capable of piercing through hearts.
Chan Chee Yan — carrying a laptop, an unlit cigarette between his lips.
Eagle Eye — clad in Raptor tactical gear, a silver insignia gleaming on his shoulder.
The wind was cold.
Rain fell.
Thunder rolled in the distance.
Chee Yan spoke. “Sir, are you sure we’re restarting MCS?”
Loke Tin Kay did not turn around. “MCS never ended. The dream just woke slowly.”
Man Man let out a cold laugh beside him. “This time, the enemy will dream of us.”
Ahead, the island’s silhouette emerged through the mist.
The lights were soft. Music drifted gently.
Paradise Island smiled in the night —
and its smile carried the scent of blood.
That night, the All Saints Hotel’s control room lit up red once more.
The camera focused on the crystal chandelier in the lobby.
The image slowly zoomed in, each jewel refracting into flames.
At the bottom of the screen, a line appeared:
“Welcome to Paradise.
Here, everyone must atone.”