The elevator doors slid open with a quiet hiss, and John stepped inside, his movements stiff, each step like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back. Takumi followed, his eyes immediately catching the subtle drag in John's left leg. It was small, nearly imperceptible to anyone else, but Takumi knew better. He could see the exhaustion, the way John's body tried to fight through the strain, the pain that still lingered from the injuries he'd sustained.
John's eyes remained fixed on the elevator's control panel, fingers stiff as they hovered over the button. Takumi didn't say anything, letting him do it, but his gaze was fixed on John, watching the faint ripple in the air—the way cursed energy flowed, reinforcing his body, sealing up the fractures. It wasn't a full, controlled wave of power, just enough to keep his legs from trembling, enough to stop them from giving out under the weight of his exhaustion. It was a temporary fix, but for John, it was necessary.
The tension in the confined space thickened as John fought to stay upright, leaning slightly against the railing. Takumi resisted the impulse to step closer, knowing full well that John wouldn't want or accept help. So he stood a few feet away, silently observing, the quiet hum of the elevator the only sound between them.
John's body shuddered as the elevator began its ascent. He shifted his weight, and the cursed energy flared once more, wrapping around his legs, stabilizing his stance for a moment before the tremors returned. Takumi's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. It was the only thing keeping John upright. Takumi knew it wasn't enough.
"You don't have to do this alone," Takumi said quietly, his voice low but firm, as he stepped a little closer, his gaze searching John's face for any sign that he might listen.
John's jaw clenched, and without a word, he straightened, his back stiffening as if Takumi's words had struck a nerve. The cursed energy around John intensified, and the glow around his body pulsed visibly in the dim light of the elevator. It was stronger now—fighting against the fatigue, pushing his body forward with the force of someone who wasn't broken. Not yet.
Takumi hesitated, watching as John's movements became more calculated, more rigid. The faint pulse of cursed energy surrounded him like armor, but Takumi could feel the strain beneath it, see the subtle cracks forming. It wasn't going to hold for much longer.
"You're going to break yourself down if you keep this up," Takumi added, voice gentle but insistent.
John didn't answer. He kept his eyes forward, his posture stiff, as though the suggestion alone was an offense. The cursed energy surged again, more pronounced now, locking his muscles into place with a force that could almost be mistaken for strength. Almost.
Takumi took another step closer, his concern slipping through. "John—"
But John's hand shot out to steady himself, grabbing the railing as he forced his leg forward. His body trembled under the strain, but he pushed through it, pulling with everything he had. Takumi saw the effort in his movements, the strain in his arms, the way he was fighting against his own limits.
The elevator doors opened, and without hesitation, John stepped out, his movements stiff and calculated, as though he was forcing himself to keep moving. Takumi lingered for a moment, watching him, before he followed. He couldn't help but feel a surge of worry. John was pushing himself too far, and it was only a matter of time before it caught up with him.
As they moved out of the elevator, Takumi kept his distance, his eyes flicking to John's back, noting the tension in his shoulders, the subtle way his steps faltered.
They stepped out onto the streets of the outpost, and there at the foot of the road Rapi stood, her gaze sharp as it landed on John. She took in his stiff posture, the way his movements lacked the fluidity she was used to seeing. Takumi noticed the subtle shift in her expression—a tightening of her lips, a furrow of her brow. She stepped forward without a word, her eyes scanning him carefully.
"Commander," she said, her voice neutral, though there was something beneath it—an edge of concern, barely concealed. "Looks like you're on your feet."
John chuckled dryly, the sound bitter and faint. "Guess I'm not as good at staying down as you think."
Rapi's eyes softened ever so slightly, but her words remained firm. "Don't push yourself."
John shrugged, his posture rigid as he made a conscious effort to stand taller, trying to ignore the pain creeping in. "I'm fine. Just need to get to the command center. No need for a babysitter."
Rapi's lips parted as if to argue, but Takumi's voice interrupted, calm and measured. "I'll take my leave for now." His tone didn't waver, but there was a weight to it—he wasn't about to engage in the argument. "I've got errands for the Gojo clan, and I need to start planning the next phase of the investigation into Nuovo Impianto. I'll meet with you tonight, though, and we can go over the results of my findings in the archives."
John nodded, his gaze momentarily meeting Takumi's. "Good. I'll expect you." His voice softened with a finality that made it clear the conversation was over. "We'll talk then."
Takumi gave a brief nod, his gaze lingering for just a second longer before he turned and walked away. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, each one measured and purposeful as he left them behind.
John gestured ahead, his voice low. "Let's move." He began walking, though each step felt heavier than the last. The weariness from his injuries crept back in, his movements slow, calculated. Before he could fully continue, he stopped. His breath hitched.
The light of the outpost's artificial sky lit everything in a bright glow, casting long shadows along the streets. John's mind drifted, consumed by the conversation with Takumi, the weight of what was to come. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself.
Rapi glanced over, her expression unreadable. "You alright?"
John took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. Just needed a second." He shook his head slightly, pressing a hand against the wall for support before pushing forward. "Let's go."
They walked in silence, the streets of the outpost stretching out before them. It was a strange mix of old and new: the industrial, military feel of the facility clashing with the new signs of life. John's steps faltered slightly as they passed a café with a cartoonish coffee cup logo, a strange incongruity in this place. He squinted at the sight, confusion flickering in his mind.
"What the hell?" he muttered, pausing to take in the sight of laughter and voices spilling from inside.
Rapi didn't say anything, but John's thoughts began to race. This place—once a desolate skeleton—had shifted in just a month. Now, it felt almost like a town, albeit one built on the edges of an unstable foundation. Small cafés, a toy store, even a convenience store. The outpost was transforming into something resembling a community. It felt surreal to John, almost like an illusion.
He continued walking, his body aching with every step. Despite the physical toll, he kept his pace steady, unwilling to show weakness. His hand brushed against the railing as a group of Nikkes passed by. The ease in their movements caught his attention. They weren't just soldiers—they were people. There was something in the way they interacted with each other, something undeniably human in their presence.
They passed a small field where a few of the mass-produced Nikkes were kicking a football back and forth. The sound of their laughter cut through the air, light and easy. A young Nikke darted after the ball, her movements swift, her joy palpable as the ball rolled to a stop near John's feet. But then she froze, her eyes locking onto John. The fear was immediate, her body rigid with hesitation.
John stopped, his breath caught in his chest. Her fear wasn't for him—it was for his title, the weight of the Commander's role. He wasn't just a person to them. He was a figure of authority. He nudged the ball back toward her with a gentle tap, a simple gesture. Her hesitation lasted just a moment before she scrambled to join the game again, the fear slipping away with the reassurance of his quiet act.
Rapi, still beside him, didn't comment. She didn't need to. She understood. They continued walking, passing by the scattered remnants of the outpost's growth.
John broke the silence after a moment, his voice rough from exertion. "How long have they been here? These Nikkes... how many came after the spots opened up?"
Rapi's gaze flicked briefly to him before returning to the path ahead. "Not long. Some came looking for a place to be treated like more than weapons. Others were sent to reinforce security, but most volunteered after the first squads opened up. They wanted to belong somewhere. Not just in service, but in life."
The weight of her words settled heavily in his chest. These Nikkes weren't just soldiers—they were people, trying to carve out a space for themselves, to be seen as something more than tools. The idea struck him harder than expected. He had always seen them as human, but the realization of what they had been through—their need for recognition, for community—made him pause.
As they passed the café, a few Nikkes were sitting outside, chatting and laughing. The sight felt alien. These weren't the faceless soldiers he'd grown accustomed to. They were living, not just fighting.
"You ever think about what they're really after?" John asked quietly. "The ones who volunteered?"
Rapi's eyes flicked toward him, her expression unreadable. She didn't respond immediately, as if considering the question. "They want what everyone wants," she said softly. "A chance to be more than what they were made to be. To feel human."
John nodded slowly, his mind still swirling. The weight of his own doubts was palpable now. He had never questioned the humanity of the Nikkes, but the idea that they had to fight for recognition, to carve out a place for themselves in a world that still saw them as tools—it stung.
They reached the command center, and John paused at the entrance, looking around as if trying to process everything. The weight of his injuries began to pull at him again. Every step felt like an effort, and his body was protesting in ways he couldn't ignore.
Rapi looked at him with the barest flicker of concern in her eyes. "You need rest, Commander."
John shook his head stubbornly. "I'll be fine."
John and Rapi stepped into the command center, the door sliding shut softly behind them. As their footsteps echoed through the dark room, a sense of unease crept over him. The usual hum of the systems, the steady flicker of the overhead lights—none of that was there. The silence was almost suffocating, as if something was deliberately off. His senses sharpened, and an unshakable feeling of paranoia tightened in his chest.
The darkness felt heavy, oppressive. John's breath hitched, his body tensing instinctively. Something wasn't right.
His hand moved reflexively to his side, where his cursed energy surged upward, instinctively pushing past his fatigue. Ruinous Gambit. His vision sharpened almost instantly, the shadows of the room growing darker, the edges of objects now defined and precise. His body shifted into a combat stance, muscles coiling as his senses took in every detail of the room.
He could almost hear his own pulse pounding in the quiet, the stillness pressing in on him. His hand flexed at his side, barely contained power waiting to be unleashed, his mind running through scenarios—who was here? What was waiting?
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the tension broke. The lights flickered back on, and the hum of the systems roared to life.
"Welcome back!" Neon's voice rang out, light and cheerful, almost startling in its suddenness. She stood in the center of the room, holding up a warm, golden-brown apple pie with a message written in frosting: "Welcome back."
Anis stood beside her, arms crossed, her lips curved into a rare smile. "We thought we'd give you a little surprise. Time for something sweet."
John blinked, his muscles still coiled, his heart still pounding from the sudden rush of adrenaline. The combat stance suddenly felt absurd. He straightened quickly, forcing himself to relax as his pulse began to steady. The warmth of the pie, the smiles on their faces—it was such a stark contrast to the tension that had gripped him only a moment before.
Neon, brimming with her usual energy, added, "Happy birthday!" before popping off a small party popper, sending a tiny burst of confetti into the air. The cheeriness of the moment collided with the unease John had just been feeling.
John felt a wave of embarrassment sweep over him. His reaction had been too much. He'd let his guard slip over something so trivial as the room being dark. He exhaled, a faint smile trying to form on his lips as he stretched, feeling the ache in his hamstring. "Ah, no, no... Sorry. I just wasn't expecting this. Long day," he muttered, trying to shrug off the tension.
Anis raised an eyebrow, noticing the slight limp in his step. "You sure you're alright, Commander?" she asked, her voice carrying an edge of concern.
John nodded, pushing the soreness aside. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got caught off guard." He smiled more genuinely this time, the weight of the surprise easing some of the tension in his chest. "Thanks. I appreciate it. Really."
The room hummed with the soft flicker of the lights and the pleasant aroma of pie. Neon's poppers littered the table as they settled into a quieter moment. John sat, trying to ease the pressure on his hamstring. His expression was unreadable, though his mind was still partially distracted by the weight of the upcoming mission. Anis toyed with her fork, Neon still beaming, and Rapi watched John, her expression as unreadable as ever.
Finally, John set his fork down with a quiet clink, drawing their attention. He leaned forward slightly, his tone steady but with an underlying tension. "I appreciate the welcome," he said, meeting their eyes. "But there's something I need to tell you."
Anis's fork froze mid-air. "What, no speech about how grateful you are for our heartfelt efforts? I even made Neon stop at three poppers instead of five."
John's lips twitched at the jab, but he didn't smile. "It's about our next mission."
The room fell silent. Rapi's posture stiffened, her brow furrowing as she processed his words. Neon's smile faltered, her usual energy dimming with surprise. Anis set her fork down with a low whistle. "Mission?" she repeated slowly. "You just got out of the hospital. You're saying we're heading out already?"
John met her gaze with a steady look. "In two days. We're heading north."
The room was still. Rapi's gaze narrowed, her mind already turning over the implications. Neon blinked, confusion flickering across her face. Anis let out a low whistle, shaking her head.
"Two days?" Rapi's voice cut through the silence, sharp and firm. "Commander, you're still recovering. That's not enough time for you to be mission-ready, let alone leading us."
John's jaw tightened, but he held firm. "I'll manage. This mission is critical. We don't have the luxury of waiting."
Anis leaned forward, her voice laced with disbelief. "What's so important that it can't wait for you to be back at full strength?"
John hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. "I'll brief you tomorrow. For now, just know it's urgent."
Rapi's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing for a long moment, her mind calculating. Finally, her voice was cold but even. "You're putting this mission above your recovery, then. Fine. But don't expect us to be okay with this."
Neon frowned, the brightness in her eyes dimming. "Commander, are you sure this can't wait? I mean, we all want to get back out there, but not at the cost of you breaking yourself even more. We need your firepower intact."
John met her gaze, exhaling slowly. "I wouldn't ask this of any of you if it wasn't absolutely necessary. I need you to trust me on this."
Anis threw her hands up in frustration. "Trust you? Sure. But maybe trust us enough to let us know before dropping a bomb like this. Two days isn't exactly a lot of prep time."
John's shoulders slumped, the weight of their reactions pressing on him. "You'll know everything tomorrow. For now, just be ready."
The tension lingered, unspoken but heavy. Rapi finally broke the silence, her voice softer. "We'll follow your lead, Commander. Just… don't forget you're part of this team, too. We need you as much as the Ark does."
John nodded, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, though it didn't fully ease the tension in his posture. He picked up his fork again, cutting a small piece of pie. He took a bite, savoring the flavor, but something about it felt... dulled. The sweetness didn't hit him the way it used to. He chewed slowly, his eyes distant, staring at the plate.
Anis watched him quietly before sighing. "Well, here's to a relaxing two days," she muttered, her tone dry, but the concern was still there.
John lay in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. The faint hum of the outpost's generators, the occasional creak of the structure, and every little sound around him seemed to amplify. Each noise, no matter how small, sent a shiver through him, igniting a quiet panic in the back of his mind. His body felt like it was caught in a perpetual state of readiness, as though waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. Sleep felt out of reach.
The meeting with Takumi replayed in his head, each word etched vividly into his memory.
They sat in John's dimly lit office. The only light came from a single desk lamp, casting long shadows across the room. Takumi slid a thick folder across the table, the pages yellowed with age, brittle at the edges. It felt like a relic from a time better left forgotten, but John's hands instinctively reached for it, compelled to know what it held. The cover bore a single, ominous label: Project Genesis.
"Most of this is redacted," Takumi's voice was low, cautious, but steady. "But what remains is enough to make your skin crawl."
John flipped through the pages. The text was hard to decipher, faded and incomplete, but the implications were still clear. An experiment, something far worse than just a simple project. The merger of cursed techniques with humans without techniques. With Nikkes.
"'Subjects unsuitable for curse engraving terminated,'" John muttered, his voice devoid of any emotion. His hand tightened around the pages, but the grip was not to steady himself—it was to control the anger and sickness roiling in his stomach. "How many?"
Takumi's expression hardened, a quiet disgust in his eyes. "Too many. They were desperate. Entire large groups of Humans. Nikkes. Children. They thought young, developing brains would be more adaptable."
John's throat tightened. He wasn't surprised, but he hated that he wasn't surprised. These weren't just failures—they were lives lost. Lives used.
John's stomach churned as he flipped to another page. The ink was faded, but the words engraving process and viability of cursed energy infusion stood out starkly. "How far did they get with this?"
"Hard to say," Takumi admitted. "What's here is barely legible, and most of it's blacked out. But it's clear they saw this as a long-term project to help combat raptures."
John's throat tightened. The implications were chilling. "They didn't care how many people they killed to get there."
"Clearly not," Takumi replied, his voice heavy with disgust. He flipped to the last page of the file, pointing to a signature scrawled at the bottom. "But this is where it gets interesting."
John squinted at the name. "'Atsutada Gojo.'" He leaned back, the name unfamiliar to him. "Why does that matter?"
Takumi crossed his arms, leaning slightly forward. "Atsutada Gojo was the head of the Gojo Clan at the time this project was authorized. But here's the catch—he was a kid. Barely into his teens. He died young, somewhere in his late teens. The clan was under a regency while he was alive, led by Yuta Okkotsu."
John froze at the name, his gaze sharpening. "Yuta Okkotsu? One of the last Special Grade sorcerers?"
Takumi nodded, his expression grim. "Exactly. And if you know anything about Okkotsu—and clearly, you don't, since you apparently slept through your history classes—you'd know he'd never sign off on something like this. Everything we know about him points to a man who valued life and detested senseless cruelty. This project reeks of the opposite."
John's mind raced, his thoughts colliding with one another. "So why would his name be attached to this? Was it a cover?"
"Maybe," Takumi replied. "Or maybe someone else in the clan was pulling the strings while he was distracted—or worse. Either way, this doesn't align with what we know of him."
John leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "So, we're looking at a conspiracy within the Gojo Clan, or at least someone with enough knowledge of the internals of the Gojo clan."
"Looks that way," Takumi said, his tone steady. John's eyes flicked back to the folder. The faded words and fragmented reports felt like a weight pressing against his chest. "This… Project Genesis. Do you think it's still active?"
Takumi's jaw tightened. "Hard to say. The files I found are over a century old, but the techniques they were experimenting with... let's just say, they're not impossible to reproduce."
John lay in his bed, his body restless, mind spinning with the weight of what he had just learned. The conversation with Takumi kept looping in his head. He tried to shake it off, but the knowledge that something like Project Genesis could still be out there, still possibly alive and festering, made him sick to his core.
The stillness of the outpost only seemed to magnify the anxiety crawling under his skin. He could feel the hum of the generators as though they were vibrations in his bones. The creaks of the old building, the occasional groan of steel and stone shifting, sent waves of unease through him.
What if it's still happening? he thought, his breath hitching.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts aside. Stop thinking about it. He had to. He couldn't focus on this now. Two days until the mission. There was no time to dwell on ghosts from the past.
But it didn't work. The thoughts wouldn't let him go. They clawed at his mind like an itch he couldn't reach. Two days. Two days to move forward. But in his head, Project Genesis loomed like a shadow, and sleep was a distant dream.