The narrow corridor stretched forward under dim, sterile lights, their pale flicker reflecting off the brushed steel walls.
The hum of subterranean generators thrummed beneath their feet as Howard walked beside the Lupo woman in silence—her heels sharp against the polished floor, his steps deliberate.
Neither of them spoke at first, but the tension between them pulsed like static, vibrating through the air with every step.
Then, casually, Howard broke the quiet. "So... when do you plan to stop pretending?"
The Lupo's ear twitched.
"Pretending?"
Howard turned slightly, just enough to catch her reaction.
"The tail—wrong curve. The bone structure around your eyes—it's too flat for a pure Lupo. Even the gait is slightly off. And then there's your reaction time—far too slow for a lupo."
"You've have been unable to react to my body languange. That's abnormal. Especially for them."
She kept walking, but slower now. Her amber eyes flicked toward him, colder.
"I'll give you credit," Howard continued, smiling.
"You're good. Very good. But you can't fool someone like me. See, my job's about understanding people I face ... and you?"
He chuckled lightly. "You're no Lupo."
She halted.
Howard's gaze sharpened.
"You're Damazti, aren't you?"
Silence fell like a dropped blade.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then, with movement too fast for even his eyes to fully track, she pulled a concealed gun from beneath her coat and aimed it straight at his heart.
Her hand was steady. Eyes unreadable.
"How," she whispered, "how did you know?"
Howard's hands remained by his side, unshaken.
"Like I said. It's my job. And more than that… you couldn't replicate what matters most."
He tapped his temple lightly.
"Emotion. Presence. The little things that make someone feel real." He took a step closer.
"You borrowed her memories, didn't you? Maybe her voice. But you couldn't fake the way she feels.
"The warmth in her eyes when she talks about her research. The fire in her soul. You're missing it."
Her grip on the weapon didn't waver, but her expression cracked—just a little.
Then, slowly, she lowered the gun. Her gaze turned distant, tired.
"So what now?" she asked.
"Are you planning to kill me?"
Howard snorted. "I'm not suicidal."
He passed her, continuing down the corridor.
"But I do want to know what your kind is doing here. Because if I had to guess…"
He stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"…we might both be standing on a bomb."
Her eyes widened slightly—just slightly—but it was enough.
She followed without a word.
They walked on until the hall widened. Security doors hissed and parted, revealing a massive, sunken chamber. Cold mist lingered in the air.
The walls were lined with towering tubes—each filled with a luminescent fluid and a figure suspended within.
Howard stepped forward, his breath catching.
People.
No... copies. Mutations. Some looked normal, others twisted, malformed. There were hundreds.
Thousands. Silent, floating. Breathing.
Damazti said nothing, standing beside him with arms folded.
"This is what they were hiding," Howard murmured.
"Test subjects… an entire facility dedicated to them."
He turned to her, his voice low.
"Why?"
Damazti didn't speak for a long moment.
Her gaze lingered on the glass chambers ahead—on the twitching fingers of a barely formed hand inside one of the tanks, on the flickering machinery keeping everything frozen in false serenity.
Then her voice came. Quiet. Bitter.
"To secure advantage against the upcoming war against Ursus…"
Howard turned to look at her. Her arms were crossed, lips tight, and jaw clenched.
"We received a notice to investigate an increasing disappearance of the Sarkaz."
His brow furrowed.
"At a high rate," she continued.
"Hundreds—maybe thousands. Disguised as asylum seekers. Refugees. Mercenaries. And then they vanish. Because they're not recruiting them…"
She looked at him, and there was fury in her eyes.
"They're using them. As ingredients."
Howard's face darkened.
Damazti gestured to the massive tubes.
A terrible silence stretched between them. The soft bubbling of fluid in the tanks was the only sound.
Howard's voice, when it came, was cold.
"They're making chimera soldiers. Using Sarkaz biology as the base. Graham was one of the few who survived. His body was… compatible."
Damazti nodded grimly.
"He was one of the early batches. He wasn't supposed to last a month."
Howard stared up at the rows of sealed lives, fists clenched at his side.
"So this… this is what Yan Yansheng sold his soul for?"
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
Howard inhaled deeply, then turned away from the tanks. His voice was quieter now, distant.
"I've seen evil dressed in a thousand forms. But this one… is something else."
He looked at Damazti.
Damazti lowered her gaze, brushing a hand through her faux-silver hair.
"You misunderstand, Howard," she said quietly.
"I'm not here to fight. I was sent to observe. Investigate. Report back to the main body."
Howard exhaled through his nose, half in frustration, half in grim understanding.
"And I'm not exactly in a position to light this place up either," he muttered.
He turned to face her fully, his tone shifting.
"But what I can do," he said, "is work with you."
Damazti tilted her head.
"We have overlapping goals," he continued.
"You want the truth reported. I want this place gone. Let's do both."
A long pause. Then, after a beat, she offered a slow, reluctant nod.
"Fine. But this doesn't mean I trust you."
"Would've been worried if you did."
They both turned, footsteps echoing against the sterile floor as they walked back toward the lift.
When they arrived, the guards and casters still stood, tense and alert. One of them raised their rifle at Howard, but Damazti simply raised her hand.
"They're cleared," she said.
"Lower your weapons."
There was a brief murmur of confusion, but the trained soldiers obeyed.
One by one, guns lowered, and the crowd dispersed, returning to their posts like machines told to stand down.
Hoshiguma, Graham, and Yan Yansheng came into view as the tension evaporated from the corridor.
Howard stepped beside Hoshiguma, casually leaning toward her as if commenting on the weather.
"We'll reach the main server room soon," he whispered just loud enough for her to hear.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "And then?"
He gave her a small flash of a grin.
"Then you do what we came here for. Plug in the USB and collect everything. Quietly."
She nodded once.
"And take him with you," Howard added, nodding toward Yan Yansheng.
"He's our key for access."
They continued forward, their steps syncing with the cold artificial rhythm of the facility, each one bringing them closer to the core of a secret empire built.
***
Ch'en's car rushed on the deserted Lungmen street, the neon glow of the city casting long shadows as she approached Hoshiguma's apartment.
Her heart pounded, a gnawing worry clawing at her mind.
Two days. Two days and not a single word from Hoshiguma or Howard.
This isn't like them. Hoshiguma's too stubborn to ghost me, and Howard would never disappear like this.
What if they've been taken?
The silence from her colleagues, coupled with Swire's prolonged absence from their shared apartment, set her nerves on edge.
At Hoshiguma's door, she knocked sharply, the sound swallowed by the hum of the city.
No answer.
Her dragon tail twitched, impatience overriding protocol.
With a glance around to ensure no prying eyes, Ch'en drew her blade, Chi Xiao, and expertly jimmied the lock, the door creaking open to reveal a dimly lit room.
Inside, the air was stale, papers were scattered across the floor, and Hoshiguma's massive shield lay propped against a wall, untouched.
This isn't right. She'd never leave her gear like this.
Her grip tightened on her sword as she scanned for signs of a struggle—or worse, clues of a kidnapping.
A faint, metallic scent hit her nose, and her eyes narrowed, zeroing in on a small, dark stain on the rug.
Blood?
Her pulse quickened as she stepped deeper into the apartment, ready to face whatever truth awaited.
Ch'en moved methodically through Hoshiguma's apartment, her sharp eyes scanning every corner for answers.
The faint metallic scent lingered, but the bloodstain yielded no further clues—just a small, dried patch, too vague to confirm a fight.
If there was a struggle, they covered it well.
Too well. She rifled through the scattered papers, finding only mundane reports and a half-eaten rice cake on the counter, its wrapper crinkled as if abandoned mid-bite.
Hoshiguma, you better not be pulling some stunt.
Her search of the bedroom and kitchen turned up nothing—no signs of forced entry, no hidden messages, just the eerie stillness of a life paused.
Frustration gnawed at her, but as she returned to the living room, her gaze caught on a single slip of paper on the table, overlooked in her initial sweep.
Hoshiguma's unmistakable bold handwriting was an address.
No context, no explanation. Ch'en's mind raced.
Her worry sharpened into resolve.
Tucking the paper into her coat, she checked her sword and headed for the door, the weight of the unknown pressing heavier with each step.
Whatever had happened to Hoshiguma—and possibly Howard —she'd find the truth at that address.