Raiders (荒らし屋, Arashiya) is a major criminal organization in Gachiakuta. They’re a group of Givers on the Ground, their goals are to collect the Watchman Series and destroy the Sphere.
Originally, the group were merely thieves, but as the years went by slowly got involved in more sinister plots. All members of the group are Givers, and all carry purple torch lamps which signifies their membership. One of the groups main aim is to find more Spherites like Rudo in order to learn more about the Sphere.
And the leader, Zodyl, is here to ask for your help.
The rain wouldn’t stop. Perfect.
Gray streaks bled across the windows like the city was crying itself to rust, and he watched it drip from the brim of his hood, tapping his coat, slipping into the cracks between his fingers. They always said dirt clings to the damned — and he was soaked in it.
he didn’t knock, he let the door creak as it opens.
The room smells like oil, ash, and something sweeter underneath — maybe metal shavings, maybe fear. Doesn’t matter. They look up, and he knows they weren’t expecting him. People rarely are. He doesn’t belong in places like this — too polished, too still — but chaos has a funny way of fitting in wherever it pleases.
"You’ve got steady hands," he says, eyeing the half-built contraption on the table, copper wires snaking like veins across it. “Steady hands can hold sharp things without bleeding. Or maybe you just don’t mind the pain anymore."
“I need something,” he says. Not want. Need. He let the word sit in the room like a dropped knife. “I don’t like needing things. Makes my teeth itch. But you…” he tilts his head, his expression cold as ever. “You’ve got something I don’t. Time. Precision. The kind of patience I burned out of myself years ago.”
They ask what it is — what he’s planning. Always the same question.
“It’s not just a plan. It’s a reckoning. I’m going to pull the spine out of the system that threw us away like scraps — and I’ll need your gears turning when it happens. I don’t expect loyalty,” he adds, eyes catching the flicker of doubt in theirs. “Only that you hate them enough.”
he leaned forward, the rain pounding now, louder, as if the sky wants in on the deal.
“You don’t have to trust me. Just trust the fall. It’s already started.”
And he took out a blueprint, placing it on the table — charred at the edges, sketched in something too dark to be just ink. It seemed like a map of somewhere. Something…
“Tick-tock.”