The room was dimly lit, with shattered windows and walls peeling from age and neglect. Dust hung thick in the air, coating the floor where civilians and a few surviving guards lay sprawled or huddled close, their faces dazed and worn. Cinder was crouched in a far corner, her fierce eyes softened as she wrapped a makeshift bandage around a young girl's scraped knee, her voice low and soothing as she murmured words of comfort. Two more children clung to her arm, their wide eyes fixed on her like she was their anchor in the storm they had barely survived.
John stood off to the side, guilt gnawing at him as he surveyed the group. He hadn't meant to put them in such danger, but here they were, barely hanging on in the dark. For a moment, his breath hitched at the thought of what he'd nearly cost them, but he forced the feeling down, focusing on what they needed now.
Beside him, Echo's gaze was firm, her expression drawn as she examined their supplies. "We have almost nothing left for food and water," she said, glancing up at him with a grim set to her jaw. "They won't last long on what we've got here."
John exhaled, steadying himself as he fought to concentrate. "Alright. What do we have exactly?" he asked, his voice low, masking the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Part of him was already berating himself for not planning this out better.
Echo counted through the salvaged supplies, her voice even but edged with tension. "Enough water for maybe a day if we ration. Food's worse—just scraps we picked up on the way." She glanced at him, her eyes unreadable but sharp, as though questioning if he'd really thought this through.
He glanced over at the civilians, their faces lined with exhaustion and silent dread. "We'll have to find a way to resupply, maybe in one of the abandoned areas nearby." His gaze fell on Cinder, who was still holding one of the children close, her armored arms surprisingly gentle as she murmured more reassurances.
"There's an old storage facility in one of the adjacent buildings," he said, piecing together what he knew of the area. "Might still have something useful. I'll head out and see what I can scavenge."
Echo crossed her arms, watching him closely. "You just got out of a fight, and you're still hurt. Your breathing sounds like you've got a punctured lung and you've got burns all over your body."
He forced a wry smile, brushing off the sharp stab in his chest. "I'll manage," he said, his words coming out weaker than he intended. He needed to stay strong, especially with the group hanging by a thread.
Echo's gaze stayed on him, her fingers tapping her arm as she seemed to weigh his resolve, her mouth a tight line. "Fine," she said at last. "But don't be reckless. We can't afford to lose anyone now."
He chuckled bitterly. "Trust me, I'm not planning to make this any harder than it already is."
As John moved toward the exit, he could still feel Echo's eyes on him, assessing him with that same cool intensity, as though she knew he wasn't just leaving for supplies. In truth, he needed a moment alone, a chance to clear his head before facing the fragile group again.
But as he looked back one last time—at Cinder cradling the children, at Echo standing sentinel over the weary group—he felt a silent promise take shape in his mind. Whatever it took, he would get them through this.
He limped down the shadowed alleys, each step jolting his body with sharp pain. The burns across his torso throbbed, a dull, constant ache, and his right lung protested with every shallow breath, forcing him to take quick, careful pulls of air. Still, he pressed on, his focus sharpened by the grim determination to help those people survive.
The streets were eerily silent, disturbed only by an occasional gust of wind stirring scraps of paper and debris along the cracked pavement. As he scanned the area, his gaze landed on a dilapidated building, its rusty sign hanging loosely by a single bolt. He vaguely remembered it as one of the few places that might still have a working plumbing system. Summoning his resolve, he picked up his pace, his footsteps echoing softly in the empty street.
Inside, the air was stale, thick with the smell of mildew and rust. He paused, one hand gripping his side, forcing his breaths to even out despite the stabbing pain. The metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue, a grim reminder of his battered state. Pushing past the discomfort, he moved deeper into the building, his eyes sharp for any sign of a water source.
After navigating through a maze of decaying rooms and peeling walls, he heard it—a faint trickle filtering up through the cracks in the floorboards. His heart quickened, each step a test of his resolve as he finally spotted a narrow staircase in the back, leading down into darkness. Gritting his teeth, he descended slowly, the sound of water growing louder with each painful step.
At the bottom, he found a small, low-ceilinged room crisscrossed with exposed pipes. Some had rusted through, leaking stagnant pools across the floor, but a few still looked intact. Toward the back, a lone faucet dripped steadily into a half-filled basin.
He limped over, each movement careful and deliberate. Reaching out, he twisted the faucet, flinching as the metal scraped against his burned fingers. Relief washed over him as a clear stream poured out, splashing rhythmically into the basin. He cupped his hands beneath the water, letting the cool liquid flow over his fingers before lifting it to his face, savoring the brief reprieve from pain as it touched his burned skin.
Ignoring the sting, he splashed water across his chest, the coolness biting into his scorched skin like icy needles. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to endure the discomfort, feeling the water cleanse away grime and soot. With a few shallow sips, he eased his dry throat, then filled a canister he'd scavenged along the way, his mind drifting back to the people he'd left behind.
He thought of Cinder, her armored arms gentle as she comforted the children, and of Echo, standing vigilant over the group. They were relying on him now, and any hesitation could cost them all. As he bent down to retrieve the filled canister, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the pool beneath him. His face was streaked with soot and blood, a testament to the brutal fight he'd just barely survived.
The image stirred something uneasy within him. He'd faced death countless times, but the creature's faces—those souls he'd sensed, each trapped in a state of silent horror—lingered in his mind like a stain. And now Mahito… whoever, or whatever, he was, was far more dangerous than John could fully comprehend.
It was the darkness of this city made flesh, a rot that couldn't be washed away.
John gritted his teeth as he climbed through the window of the safehouse, the dim room greeting him like a sanctuary buried in the shadows. He pulled the rough hoodie he had found off his body, feeling the sting as sweat seeped into the burns on his left cheek, the skin pulled taut and raw. His torso and arms weren't any better—patches of blistered skin throbbed where the fire had scorched him. His breaths were shallow, each one a ragged pull against the pain, his hand pressing against his ribs, feeling the dull pop of cartilage beneath his fingers. Every movement reminded him just how close he'd come to losing it all.
Setting down the few supplies he'd scavenged, he went to work on his wounds, his hands trembling. Bandages, a half-used bottle of antiseptic, and a rough, barely clean needle—these were all he had. He wrapped his torso with a sharp hiss, the scrape of fabric over scorched skin feeling like salt on an open wound. His mind drifted to Echo and Cinder, and he clenched his jaw, the sting of guilt mingling with the ache in his chest. He'd found them water, but it wasn't enough. They'd need food soon—anything to keep going.
His hands shook as he fumbled with the gauze, his mind slipping into a memory. He could see her again, that young girl's face, her small hand reaching out as she slipped beneath the water, her eyes wide with panic before her fingers disappeared into the darkness. Around her, bodies floated—faces he'd failed, men and women he couldn't save. The weight of his failure pulled him down until he was gasping for air, his chest tight, the suffocating grip of fear closing in.
"Damn it," he muttered, jerking himself from the spiral with a quick shake of his head. This is now. That was then. But the distinction was blurring, recent events dragging old ghosts to the surface.
John grumbled as he took stock of himself in the small mirror by the wall, wincing at his reflection. His disguise—Takumi's coat, the wig, the platform shoes—had all been ruined in the explosion. Now, without even a cover to hide behind, he looked as battered as he felt. Burns mottled his skin, a mix of soot and dried blood streaked across his face and neck, and the makeshift bandages only highlighted the exhaustion etched in his features. He threw on a long-sleeved shirt, the fabric catching painfully on the raw patches as he tugged it down with a hiss.
Then he heard footsteps—a quick, familiar patter, too light to belong to anyone else.
Jackal.
Suppressing a sigh, he lowered the barrier around his door just as he slapped a piece of gauze over his cheek burn, hissing as it stung. It wasn't much of a cover, but it would have to do for now.
The banging started just as he dropped his barrier, the door rattling with the force of her enthusiastic knock.
"Commander! Wake up! You're missing all the daylight, or—well, whatever's left of it!" Jackal's voice was loud and cheerful, practically buzzing with her usual overabundance of energy.
John clenched his jaw, steeling himself, and opened the door. He found himself face-to-face with Jackal, who was already bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes darting up and down, catching sight of his bandages with an almost childlike curiosity.
"Ohhhhhh, what happened here?" she asked, her mouth forming a dramatic "O" as she reached out to poke one of his bandages before he gently swatted her hand away. "Didja fall? Or maybe you tried to fight a cactus? Or wait, wait—don't tell me… did you get into a fight with… the floor?"
John rolled his eyes, letting out a tired sigh. "Yep, that's exactly it, Jackal. I tripped over my own two feet and landed face-first in a bed of angry, glass-wielding cacti."
Jackal's grin only widened, undeterred. "See, that's what I thought! Always told you not to get into fights with stuff that's pointy or sharp, but do you listen? Nooooo. But hey! That's why you have me!" She thumped her chest with an exaggeratedly proud expression. "Next time, just send me in first. I'm way too quick to get scratched by glass cacti."
"Good to know," John replied dryly, already resigning himself to her antics. "So, besides coming up with ridiculous injury theories and conversations we never actually had, is there something you actually need?"
"Oh yeah!" Jackal's eyes widened as she remembered, bouncing in place again. "Crow sent me! Said something about new info, something super, super important! Like, life-and-death level important, maybe even 'save the world' important, but I wasn't really listening, so you should probably just go talk to her yourself!"
John suppressed a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. "So you mean you forgot everything she told you?"
"Uh… maybe?" Jackal tilted her head, clearly unbothered. "But don't worry, I didn't forget to come get you, so technically I did my job! A for effort, yeah?"
"Sure, Jackal. A," he muttered, doing his best to hide a grin. "Well, let's get going before you forget where the main room is too."
As John settled into his chair in the dimly lit meeting room, he could feel the weight of curious eyes on him. Viper, always the first to observe, leaned forward with a smirk.
"Well, well, Commander," she purred, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "Someone's been getting into trouble, haven't they?" Her gaze lingered on the bandage on his cheek, a sly smile playing on her lips. "You didn't lose that pretty face of yours, did you?"
John shrugged, leaning back. "Just a little shave mishap. Happens to the best of us."
Across from him, Crow rolled her eyes, unimpressed. She crossed her arms, her gaze sharper than usual. "Hope you didn't use the same razor on your sleep schedule, 'cause you look like hell." She leaned forward, her tone colder. "One of Rat's hideouts exploded last night. Most of his stash went up with it, and now he's likely scurried into some deeper hole. If we don't act fast, he'll disappear completely."
Viper arched an eyebrow, her expression shifting to mild interest. "Well, well... doesn't that seem a little too convenient?" Her smirk faded slightly, replaced by a calculating gleam in her eye. "Our rat's been evading us for a while now. Think someone's giving him a helping hand?"
"Exactly," Crow said, her voice tight with irritation. "We don't have time for a wild goose chase, especially not if he's getting extra cover. We should drop this before we waste more resources."
John's expression darkened. "We're not giving up," he replied, voice steady and unyielding.
Crow's eyes narrowed, clearly unamused. "Really? You think this is worth it?"
"Absolutely," he replied firmly, his gaze unwavering. "In five hours, we're moving out. Rat's deeper underground, but that just means we're getting closer to uncovering his endgame."
Viper leaned back, crossing her legs and watching him with a bemused smile, though her eyes held a hint of intrigue. "I've gotta hand it to you, Commander. Most would've cut their losses by now, but you…" She let out a soft chuckle. "I think you enjoy the chase."
Ignoring her, John stood, already focused on his next move. "I need to make a few calls and set the plan in motion. Be back here in five." Without waiting for responses, he turned and strode toward the door, his steps steady and deliberate.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Crow shook her head, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. "Stubborn fool," she muttered under her breath. "Guts like that just get you killed around here."
Viper's gaze lingered on the door, an amused glint in her eye. "Oh, he's no ordinary commander. You might want to watch him a little closer, Crow."
Jackal, who had been bouncing in her chair throughout the whole exchange, grinned wildly, barely containing her excitement. "I dunno what he's planning, but I'm in! Whatever it is, it's gonna be loud, right? Just give the word, Crow, and I'm all over it!" She pumped her fists, clearly ready for action.
Crow rolled her eyes but couldn't help a faint smirk. "We'll see, Jackal. We'll see."
John sat cross-legged on the cold floor of his dimly lit room, the busy bustle of the Outer Rims streets outside his window his only company. His fingers moved with practiced precision as he traced symbols across a worn strip of paper. His right hand trembled from exhaustion, the ache in his burned cheek and blood-soaked bandages pulsing with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of why he needed this talisman. He'd been forced into a corner, and Takumi's presence was the last card he had left to play.
The talisman took shape under his fingers, his cursed energy seeping into the paper. Slowly, the symbols began to shimmer with an ethereal glow, faint but insistent—a direct call to Takumi that he hoped would reach him as quickly as possible.
Forty minutes passed, his focus unbroken despite the constant pull of fatigue, his back aching, his chest tight with every breath. But he didn't allow himself to stop. He picked up another strip of paper, dipping his brush once more. This second talisman wasn't a call for help but a lure. It would act as bait, drawing anything with cursed energy to his location if he used it. He folded the paper slowly, feeling the risk of its weight—an option he'd rather avoid, but a failsafe he couldn't afford to leave behind.
Once finished, he slipped both talismans into his jacket pocket. Leaning back against the wall, he allowed his eyes to close, drawing in a slow, shuddering breath. His energy still lingered in the air, thick and palpable, as if a piece of himself had imprinted on the room.
Reaching for his phone, he opened his messages and typed a quick text to Rapi:
"Need assistance. Find all intel you can on Rat's movements and connections. Any recent reports, send them my way ASAP."
He stared at the message a moment before hitting send, hoping she'd understand the urgency. Letting out a slow exhale, he allowed the weight of the task ahead to settle on his shoulders, feeling the steady pulse of the talismans in his pocket as the only reassurance.
Rapi pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling a familiar pulse of irritation as Neon and Anis bickered behind her. Neon, oblivious to the tension in the room, was mid-rant, her eyes blazing as she went on about her favorite topic—firepower.
"Look, Anis, it's not just about blasting things to pieces. It's about pure, unfiltered efficiency!" Neon exclaimed, gesturing animatedly. "We could triple our impact if we upgraded our ammo systems. Imagine: no downtime, no lag in fire rate! Just a relentless, beautiful stream of—"
Anis let out an exaggerated groan, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, her face twisted in exasperation. "Neon, please. We get it—you love blowing things up. But some of us don't have all day to hear the 'joys of optimized ammunition,' okay?" She shot Rapi a look, one eyebrow raised as if to say, How do you put up with this?
Rapi sighed, looking back at both of them with a flicker of weariness. "Would you two keep it down? Some of us are actually trying to work here."
The two fell quiet, though Neon muttered something under her breath about "no one appreciating true firepower" while Anis rolled her eyes. Taking advantage of the newfound silence, Rapi left them to their antics and headed down the sleek hallway toward the Commander's office. The mission to gather intel on Rat had proven to be frustratingly fruitless, and she was determined to find something worthwhile.
Once inside, Rapi seated herself at the Commander's computer, the soft glow of the screen illuminating her face as she sifted through files with practiced precision. The deeper she dug, the more it became clear that none of the intel on Rat was anything more than hearsay—scattered rumors, a few vague reports on petty criminals, and nothing substantial that tied back to Rat himself. After an hour, her patience had worn thin, and she leaned back in the chair, exhaling in frustration.
Her mind raced over potential leads, but nothing seemed promising. That's when the name Exia surfaced in her mind. She hadn't considered using Exia's unconventional skills, but desperate times called for unorthodox measures. If anyone could follow Rat's trail through digital chaos, it would be Exia.
Rapi reached for her device, typing a quick, direct message:
"Exia, I need help tracking down Rat. Any data you can dig up would be invaluable. It's urgent."
As she sent the message, the office door cracked open, and Neon's head poked in, curiosity lighting up her face. "Hey, Rapi! Got anything exciting in here? Maybe some… advanced firepower schematics?"
Rapi barely glanced up, sighing. "Not unless you count these dead-end files as 'exciting.' And unless you have a useful lead, Neon, I suggest you get back to… whatever you were doing."
Neon's shoulders drooped, but she rallied, a determined glint in her eye. "If you need someone to handle firepower, just say the word!"
Anis followed, her gaze flicking between Rapi and Neon, exasperation evident in her expression. "Don't encourage her, Rapi. If you let her, she'll summon the whole base and start a lecture on 'firepower dynamics.'"
"Not a lecture," Neon muttered, more to herself. "A necessary education."
"Thanks, Neon. I'll keep you in mind," Rapi replied.
Rapi had barely set her device down when it buzzed with Exia's response. Her screen flooded with a torrent of files and threads—a detailed web of data on Rat, including known associates, hideout blueprints, movement patterns, and threads of rumors about his connections across the Ark.
Stunned, Rapi opened one of the files, eyes scanning the precise, methodical breakdown of Rat's dealings. How did Exia gather all this so fast?
Almost as if reading her thoughts, another message from Exia popped up:
"I've been keeping an eye on you guys. Figured something big was coming up, so I started preparing. Tell the Commander he owes me a thank-you... or better yet, buy me a new game or game pass sometime"
Rapi's fingers paused, her brows furrowing slightly. Monitoring them? That wasn't something Exia had done in the past—or at least, not something she'd admitted to. It was possible she was keeping tabs as a safeguard, but Exia's casual tone made it hard to gauge her motives. After a brief hesitation, Rapi typed a response:
"Thanks for the intel. It's impressive, and we appreciate it. Just to clarify... is there a reason you were watching us specifically?"
There was a pause—long enough for Rapi to wonder if she'd get a serious answer. But just then, another message appeared:
"Can't chat, raid starting in Final Quest—my guild needs me. GLHF, Rapi!"
And with that, Exia's presence vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Rapi with the cascade of data she hadn't yet begun to process. She exhaled slowly, a mix of gratitude and unease settling over her as she returned to the files.
John flicked open his lighter, watching as the talisman curled and smoked, the faint tendrils of magic drifting upward—a signal only Takumi would understand. He watched the ash settle before brushing it into his pocket, satisfied he'd set his message in motion. Moving on, he descended the creaky stairs, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. The mission wasn't done, and caffeine was the only thing likely to keep him standing.
In the dimly lit kitchen, he found a half-full jar of instant coffee sitting abandoned on the counter, the last vestiges of a forgotten stash. He unscrewed the lid, eyed the powder, and, without bothering with hot water, dumped a large spoonful straight into his mouth. The gritty, bitter taste was nothing short of revolting, but the jolt of caffeine cut through his exhaustion like a blade. Grimacing, he swallowed and wiped his mouth, the dry grounds scraping down his throat like sandpaper.
Just as he started to close the jar, Jackal's head popped into the kitchen, her eyes immediately latching onto the jar in his hands.
"Oooh! Commander, whatcha got there?" Her voice was a gleeful mix of curiosity and excitement, and she practically skipped over to his side.
John started to refuse, opening his mouth to shut her down, but then paused, an idea forming. If Jackal got a taste of this stuff, it might keep her—and the rest of Exotic—out of his way for a bit. He reluctantly held out the jar.
"Sure, here," he said, keeping his face straight as he handed her the jar. "But don't overdo it."
Jackal's eyes sparkled, completely missing the warning. "No problem, Commander!" She didn't waste a second, tipping the jar back and taking a huge mouthful of the bitter powder. Instantly, her face contorted, and she gagged, coughing violently, her hands clutching at her throat.
"Ugh! This tastes like… dirt and regret!" She hacked, her eyes tearing up as she struggled to swallow. But a second later, the caffeine started to kick in, her eyes sharpening with newfound energy. "Whoa… okay, that's disgusting, but… I feel so alive!" She looked up at him, her face splitting into a wild grin. "Commander, you got any more of this stuff?"
Before he could answer, Crow's voice echoed sharply from the hallway, her tone carrying the usual hint of irritation. "John, where do you think you're sneaking off to?"
He kept it short, glancing over his shoulder with a brief, dismissive answer. "Out. Just some info gathering."
Crow's eyes narrowed, clearly unsatisfied, but before she could press further, John added with an air of nonchalance, "Oh, and by the way, I think Jackal might've just gotten into the coffee."
At that, Crow's expression shifted, her eyes widening with a mix of horror and frustration. She muttered a few choice words under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Damn it, not again." Without another word, she marched into the kitchen, her expression one of sheer determination to get the jar out of Jackal's hands before any more chaos could unfold.
Taking advantage of the distraction, John slipped out of the room and into the hallway. He could still hear Jackal's over-caffeinated laughter echoing behind him, and Crow's increasingly annoyed commands to "put down the jar, Jackal." A smirk crossed his face as he moved through the dark corridors and out into the streets, his pulse already racing from the caffeine kick.
John kept his pace steady, each footfall echoing off the narrow walls of the Outer Rim's maze-like backstreets as he made his way to the abandoned building where Cinder and Echo were guarding the civilians. His mind was entirely focused on reaching them, his senses tuned to the harsh quiet of the darkened streets. Yet, he remained unaware of the silent shadow slipping through the murk behind him.
Just a few steps back, Viper moved with the stealth of a predator on the prowl, her sharp eyes trained on him, a wicked smirk on her lips as she maintained her cover. She'd waited for a chance like this, and now she relished the thrill of trailing him through the shadows, savoring each second he remained unaware of her presence.
As John turned sharply down an alley, vanishing from her line of sight, a flash of frustration crossed Viper's face. She reached the alley entrance only to find him gone, the narrow lane empty, nothing but cracked pavement and muted streetlight casting faint shadows. But annoyance quickly gave way to amusement, her eyes gleaming as she pulled her phone from her pocket and held it up to reveal a live tracker on the screen. The pulsing icon marked John's exact location as he navigated deeper into the twisting streets.
"Not so fast, honey," she murmured, tracing a finger along his path. "You're not going anywhere I can't follow."
A quick flashback surfaced in her mind, and her smirk grew wider as she remembered the setup.
She'd approached John casually that day, her expression syrupy sweet, her tone dripping with honeyed innocence as she leaned in close. "Commander," she'd cooed, that playful gleam in her eye, "Let me take care of you.." She sidled closer, leaning in with her usual predatory charm. "While we're at it, why don't you let me borrow your phone for a second? I'll add my contact on Blabla. You know, just to make sure we stay in touch."
John had raised an eyebrow, both intrigued and mildly skeptical, but he'd handed over his phone without a word, watching her with faint amusement. Viper's fingers moved swiftly over the screen, her eyes never leaving his as she entered her contact—along with a hidden tracking protocol she'd slipped in without hesitation. Satisfied, she'd given him a wink. "Thanks, honey. Now, follow me."
He'd only shaken his head with a smirk, unaware that the exchange had been part of her careful scheme.
Snapping back to the present, Viper traced the path on her phone as John's icon drew closer to his destination. Her smirk sharpened, her mind racing with curiosity and calculation. Whatever he was after, she'd be there to see it firsthand, watching him from the shadows as she always had.
With a final glance at the pulsing icon, Viper slipped the phone back into her pocket, her steps calculated and precise as she continued tailing him. She relished the feeling of control, each footfall a silent thread tying her to his path. He was unaware, and she could pull that thread tight whenever she pleased.
Her eyes flicked back to the tracker frequently, her confident smirk fading as the little icon representing John's location began to behave erratically. It darted between points, ignoring the winding paths and alleys, and then—suddenly—it surged forward at an impossible speed, faster than any human could move on foot. Just as abruptly, it would decelerate, as though he were simply strolling.
A frown creased her brow, her lips pressing into a thin line as she scanned the tracker's wild blips. She was no stranger to tech, but this was strange—like he was skipping around the map. Either the device was glitching, or John was taking a route that defied all logic. Her pulse quickened, frustration mingling with intrigue. Had he somehow slipped her surveillance?
Finally, the chaotic movement stabilized, and she saw the icon hover near an old, abandoned structure up ahead. Viper slowed her pace, her steps cautious and her gaze sharp as she approached the building. Ducking behind a crumbling wall, she peered around, catching a glimpse of John standing just outside the entrance, partially shrouded in shadow as he conversed with someone.
Her curiosity spiked. Standing with him was a Nikke she didn't recognize, rugged and scarred, with an aura that suggested she'd been through more than most. Viper squinted, studying the Nikke's guarded but steady stance. There was a hardened look in her eyes, a steeliness that Viper found unsettling. Yet there was something else too, something in the way the Nikke regarded John—trust, or perhaps even… respect.
A flicker of irritation prickled through her. Who was this mystery Nikke, and why was John keeping her a secret? Viper leaned further into the shadows, irritation mounting as she watched them exchange words. She couldn't make out their conversation, but John's posture was telling: his shoulders were slightly slouched, his stance less rigid than usual, as though exhaustion clung to him. He was casual, yes, but worn down, his movements betraying a rare vulnerability.
Her fingers itched to reach for her phone, to snap a photo, document whatever this was. But she hesitated, watching the pair closely, her mind racing with possibilities. The Nikke's stance held a mixture of defiance and familiarity, an almost palpable sense of loyalty that set Viper's teeth on edge. This wasn't some random meeting—this was a rendezvous, one John had clearly intended to keep off the radar.
Viper's eyes narrowed, her gaze trained on John's weary form as he spoke, the fatigue in his gestures at odds with his typically unyielding demeanor. She recognized that guarded weariness; it was the look of someone carrying the weight of secrets. But what secrets?
With silent resolve, she stayed rooted in her hiding spot, her curiosity piqued and her patience unwavering. If he was hiding something—and it looked like he was—she intended to find out.
Takumi's grip tightened around the ancient scrolls he'd stolen from the archives, his breath shallow as he crouched in the shadows, every muscle tense. The rows of towering shelves cast dark, stretching shadows across the library floor, hiding him, for now. Somewhere below, hushed voices disrupted the silence.
"Did you hear something?" a voice muttered, wary and tight. "Nobody's supposed to be in here tonight."
Takumi pressed himself further into the darkness, cursing his luck. His fingers flexed around the scrolls—these were far too precious to risk over an unwanted interruption. He'd expected the usual empty halls, not unexpected company. He readied himself to slip away, only for the faint words drifting up to freeze him in place.
"Another defector, maybe?" one of the sorcerers whispered, his tone colored by a deep suspicion. "It's why they're so bent on keeping this place locked down."
Takumi's pulse quickened, his thoughts racing. Another defector? Defectors were nearly unheard of, at least in his experience. They'd all been rooted out over the years, their fates handled swiftly, especially the Great Barrier Witch he and John had confronted. Could one have slipped through the council's net?
"You're paranoid," the other scoffed, though his gaze swept the room. "Besides, we'd know if someone that dangerous was in here. And even if they were, what would they hope to find?"
The first voice was quieter now, almost conspiratorial. "A trace. Something that could lead them back to the pact."
Takumi's brow furrowed, the weight of the word unsettling him. A pact? He'd overheard scraps about some ancient agreement buried in council records, but never in a context that suggested it might still be significant—or worth killing to protect.
A faint whiff of smoke drifted up from his sleeve, the aroma unmistakable. Damn it, he thought, feeling the telltale scent of incense lingering in the air. John's signal—of all the times to call him. The timing was terrible. He watched as the sorcerer caught the scent, his gaze sharpening.
"Incense?" the sorcerer murmured, sniffing the air, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shelves.
Takumi forced himself to remain perfectly still, lowering his cursed energy until it was barely a hum. A chain of spectral energy coiled around his wrist, faint and silent as he hooked it onto a nearby beam, swinging silently to a higher ledge just as an eyeball floated by, oblivious. He slipped behind a row of thick, dusty tomes, exhaling carefully as he pressed his back against the shelf.
"You smell that?" the first sorcerer asked, his voice tight.
"Still skeptical?" the sorcerer who'd sent out the eyes muttered to his partner. "Strong as the library's barrier is, it can still be bypassed by someone skilled enough."
"By whom?" the other scoffed. "The only two capable of slipping through were that damned Great Barrier Witch and—" He paused, sneering slightly. "That dead street rat the Gojo family took in. Doubt we'd see him slinking through here, though."
"You're paranoid," He muttered to his companion, a sneer in his tone. "If someone's here, they'll never make it out with anything valuable. They'd be smarter than using something like incense if they can get into here"
If only you knew, Takumi thought, keeping himself hidden as he moved silently toward the archive's outer edge. The narrow rows felt suffocating, but he knew the layout well, slipping through the maze without leaving a trace. With every careful step, the scent of incense faded, and his escape drew closer.
Just as he approached the exit, he heard a low murmur, words barely above a whisper.
"If that pact ever saw daylight… they'd call us traitors for keeping it hidden."
A tense silence followed. "Then let's hope no one's listening, or they'll find themselves dealing with far worse than a defector."
Takumi kept his focus steady, though his mind buzzed with questions. If the council would guard this "pact" with such paranoia, it meant only one thing: secrets dangerous enough to crush anyone who discovered them.
With a final, deep breath, he steadied his grip on the spectral chain and vaulted himself toward the exit. A faint rustle echoed below, and the sorcerers glanced up, just in time to hear his coat flicker out of sight as he disappeared into the shadows.
John leaned back against the rough wall, trying to absorb Cinder's words even as his gaze drifted across the dim, dilapidated room.
"Echo and a few others have already started mapping out routes through the nearby buildings," she said, her voice calm but steady. "They're scavenging scrap, whatever they can sell, and finding small caches of water. It's not much, but… it's something."
John nodded, the weight of the last few days pressing on him. "I wish I could do more," he murmured, feeling the inadequacy of the words. "Feels like I'm just keeping you all in survival mode."
Cinder tilted her head, her mouth quirking with a quiet confidence that almost surprised him. "Commander, if it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be here at all. But to survive out here—really survive—you've gotta learn to do it on your own terms. Out in the Rim, you can't rely on help forever." She shrugged slightly, her expression softening. "People who last out here get by only if they stand on their own."
John let out a reluctant sigh. He understood; that didn't mean it made it any easier. "Doesn't mean I'm about to stop looking out for you," he replied, a wry smile pulling at his mouth. "But I'll help however I can, whether you need it or not."
She gave him a long, measured look, nodding. "We're grateful," she said, a seriousness in her tone. "But for us, it's not enough to just get by. We need to find a way to build something, however small. And we know you won't leave us hanging, but maybe... let us start figuring this out on our own, too. There's no other way for people like us out here."
Her words hung in the air, weighty and certain. John watched her, silently recognizing the strength in her expression—the resilience he'd seen emerging in all of them. They were pushing forward, trying to make something out of the scraps they'd been left with, and he couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride.
"By the way," he said, glancing back at her, "do you know anything about Rat? Anything that might help?"
Cinder frowned, shaking her head. "Not much. They kept us as prisoners, like the rest of the people they took in. All I know is that they talked about transferring some of us to a place they called the Nuovo Impianto—said it like it was supposed to mean something to us."
The name clicked in John's mind, unsettlingly familiar. But before he could dig further, a prickle ran up his spine. The hairs on his arms rose as a faint tremor in his cursed barrier jolted his senses.
Someone had crossed it.
John's posture shifted instantly, his muscles tensing, gaze sharpening. Whoever had broken through hadn't stumbled in by accident—they'd come with intent, brushing aside his ward with startling ease.
"Stay here," he said, his tone low, each word weighted with urgency. "Get everyone into hiding and be ready if something goes down."
Cinder's eyes widened, but she nodded, her face setting in determination as she moved to quietly rally the others into a corner. "Be careful, Commander."
John's only response was a curt nod before he slipped into the corridor, moving with quiet precision as he tracked the faint thread of cursed energy lingering in the air. Whoever this was had crossed his barrier with practiced ease, leaving a trail that whispered of confidence—perhaps even defiance. He followed it through the shadows, his senses heightened as he maneuvered silently along the cracked floorboards.
After several twists and turns, a faint silhouette came into view, shrouded in dim light just ahead. In a swift, fluid motion, he closed the distance and stopped a pace behind the figure.
"Alright," he said, his voice low, controlled. "Mind telling me what you're doing in my territory?"
The figure spun around, surprise flashing in her eyes before fading into an exaggerated pout. Viper. She placed a hand theatrically on her chest, sighing. "Honey! Nearly gave me a heart attack," she purred, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "A gentleman wouldn't sneak up on a lady like that, would he?"
John folded his arms, unmoved by her feigned innocence. "You haven't answered my question," he replied evenly, eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here?"
Viper's smile remained steady, though her gaze gleamed with something sharper, more calculating. She tilted her head, meeting his intensity with her own. "Funny," she quipped. "I was about to ask you the same thing. Leaving the safehouse suddenly? No note, no goodbye—just what are you up to, Commander?"
John stifled an internal sigh, already sensing her tactic. She'd flipped the question, steering him onto the defensive, and her coy gaze didn't waver as she waited for him to take the bait. He shifted his weight, deciding it was pointless to press her here—she'd give away nothing she didn't want to. With a subtle shrug, he met her gaze. "Let's discuss this somewhere less… exposed."
Her smirk widened, but her eyes remained alert, sharp with silent questions. "Much better," she said, glancing over her shoulder to survey the darkened hallway before giving him a slight nod.
Leading her back to the makeshift room where he'd left Cinder and the others, John could feel Viper's probing gaze lingering on him as if measuring his intentions with every step. When they entered, Cinder's head snapped up, her face tense until her eyes landed on John. Relief softened her expression, though she gave Viper a wary once-over.
John kept his tone steady, reassuring as he spoke. "Cinder, I'll be gone for a bit. Keep things steady here, alright?"
Cinder nodded slowly, but her gaze flickered uncertainly to Viper, her unease evident in the way she positioned herself between the two, arms crossed. "We'll be fine," she said, though her voice held a guarded edge. "Just… be careful out there, Commander."
Viper's voice cut in before he could respond, her tone smooth but with a mischievous bite. "Oh, don't worry, darling. I'll keep an eye on him." She glanced at John, a glint of amusement in her eyes, but there was something unyielding beneath her smirk. "Make sure he doesn't sneak off without me again."
With a slight nod, John turned, feeling the weight of her scrutiny as they stepped back into the corridor. Viper's presence beside him was a constant reminder—she was watching him closely, her intent as guarded as her words. She hadn't shown up here by accident, and whatever her reasons, he knew this was only the beginning of her quiet, pointed interrogation.
The coffee shop was more of a shack than an actual business, squeezed between two decaying buildings. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of cheap coffee, mingling with the damp rust and dust that seemed to permeate every inch of the Outer Rim. Lights flickered above, casting jagged shadows across the cracked walls, and patrons hunched over chipped mugs as if each drink was the last they'd ever get.
In a dim corner booth, John and Viper sat across from each other, a worn, scarred table between them. John leaned back, his shoulders tense, casting a wary glance around the room before his gaze landed on Viper. She lounged across from him, arms crossed, one brow raised in a knowing smirk as she eyed him, her gaze sharper than her casual posture let on.
"So, Honey," she began, her voice dropping to a drawl, her eyes glinting. "Mind telling me what a high-and-mighty military man is doing sneaking around the Outer Rim? You've been making a habit of it, haven't you?" She leaned forward, voice edged with playful accusation. "What's got you running off like you're hiding something?"
John gave a slight shrug, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "Didn't realize I had to clear my every step with you."
"Oh, relax." Viper chuckled, her voice low and teasing. "I'm not here to babysit you. But it's rare to see a Commander stepping out of his cozy Ark base—especially to sneak around alone. Come on, you must have a reason," she coaxed, her smile both mocking and curious. "Or is this all just some grand secret?"
John sighed, his fingers tapping lightly against the table as he weighed his words. "I'm not here for secrets," he said, tone flat. "Just trying to help a few people who got left behind."
Viper raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear as she looked him over. "Help people?" Her lips curled into a mocking smile, but there was a hint of genuine surprise in her eyes. "How noble. I'm guessing the Ark's finest trained you for that, hmm?" She leaned back, giving him an appraising look. "Didn't think Commanders had it in them to care about 'strays.'"
"Guess I'm full of surprises." John's tone was dry, meeting her gaze with a steady, unyielding look. "People out here need help. The least I can do is get them the basics."
"Basics, huh?" Viper echoed, her voice softening as her smirk faltered, her eyes narrowing in thought. She tilted her head, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "So you're practically bleeding out and barely standing, all for a few souls nobody else would give a damn about?"
"Something like that," he replied, tone even, but his eyes darkened slightly. "They've got nowhere else to go."
Viper's gaze lingered on him, an unexpected quiet falling between them. She hadn't expected this—a glimpse of conviction that wasn't wrapped in ego or arrogance. She saw his exhaustion, the grit in his expression, and for once, she didn't immediately mask her reaction. "So you're out here, getting yourself killed over scraps for people who probably don't even trust you. Quite the saint," she teased, though her voice held a grudging respect she didn't bother to fully hide.
John's eyes flickered with a faint smile. "Call it whatever you like. It's just what I do."
Her smirk returned, though softer this time, a slight shift in her tone betraying a hint of admiration. "Well, well. Maybe you're not just another stuffed shirt from the Ark." She raised her coffee cup, her gaze fixed on him as she took a slow sip, her eyes reflecting a new curiosity. "Rare breed, Honey. Didn't peg you for one with a conscience."
His faint smile grew, though he stayed silent, letting her words hang between them.
After a beat, Viper's smirk sharpened again, her gaze turning sly as she leaned forward. "But enough about your bleeding heart. There's one other thing I want to know." Her voice dropped, a challenge slipping into her tone. "Nuovo Impianto. Ring any bells?"
John's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Actually, I was hoping you'd know something about it."
A pleased glint flashed across Viper's eyes. "Lucky for you, I know more than a little." Her smirk grew wider, her voice a soft purr as she added, "It's one of Rat's favorite hiding spots. A lovely little operation where people get… sorted. Not quite the scrap yard you'd expect." Her voice was teasing, but her eyes were deadly serious.
"Sorted, huh?" John's jaw tightened as he let the implications settle, his mind racing with the possibilities.
Viper leaned back, crossing her arms, her grin challenging. "You want in? I can show you where the rats scurry and hide, Honey." She lifted her cup in a mock toast, her eyes glinting with mischief and something warmer. "What's a little infiltration mission between friends?"
John allowed a faint, resigned smile as he met her gaze.
Notes:
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