The stagnant air of the abandoned sewer hung thick, each step Mahito took echoing faintly against the damp, grimy walls. Water dripped somewhere in the distance, each drop punctuating the oppressive silence. It wasn't much of a distraction from the thoughts swirling in his mind.
"Yuji Itadori," he murmured, the name curling off his tongue with a mix of disdain and fascination. The memory of their final battle lingered vividly. He could still feel the relentless force of Yuji's will, the unyielding fury in every strike. It wasn't just the physical pain that stayed with him—it was the unfamiliar sensation that had crept into his core during that fight.
Fear.
He had felt it, sharp and undeniable. Fear wasn't foreign to curses; they were born of humanity's fears, after all. But for him to feel it, to be reduced to that state by a human, was almost incomprehensible. And then there was Kenjaku. Mahito's smirk faltered as he recalled the moment he was absorbed, stripped of his will and turned into nothing more than a tool. That helplessness had cut deeper than any physical wound, yet it had also sharpened his understanding of himself. Even a curse was not immune to weakness.
Mahito paused by a shallow, murky pool of water. His distorted reflection shimmered on the surface, and he studied it with idle curiosity, as if searching for answers in the fractured image. Slowly, his fingers traced the air, as though reaching for his fleeting likeness.
"What am I?" he mused softly. "What is my true nature?"
His mind turned to Jogo, Dagon, and Hanami. For a moment, his smirk softened, his gaze distant. He had walked with them, fought beside them, shared a vision of a world where curses could thrive unbound by human hypocrisy. They weren't just allies; they were reflections of the same truth he embodied.
"I want them back," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The thought settled in his mind with a clarity that felt almost instinctive. Jogo's fiery resolve, Dagon's quiet strength, Hanami's steadfast determination—without them, something felt incomplete.
Why did he want their return so badly? As a curse, wasn't he supposed to thrive in solitude, in chaos and destruction? Yet, the idea of their rebirth felt right. It didn't weaken him or contradict his nature—it clarified it.
Mahito's grin sharpened, his confidence growing as he pieced it together. "It's not a contradiction," he said, the words firm. "It's who I am."
Curses reflected humanity's ugliest truths—fear, malice, desire. Just as humans sought connection and validation, perhaps curses did too. Wanting his comrades beside him wasn't weakness. It was a fundamental part of his being, an extension of the chaos and unity curses represented. To see them reborn, to stand together again, wasn't just a wish. It was the essence of his existence.
"If it feels right," he murmured, "it must be true."
Straightening, Mahito slid his hands into his pockets, his gaze shifting toward the darkened corridor ahead. The sewer seemed to darken further around him, the flickering lights casting his figure in distorted shadows. He began walking, his voice carrying faintly as he vanished into the gloom.
"I'll see you again soon," he said, an ominous promise lingering in the air. "This time, we'll finish what we started."
His laughter echoed softly, fading into the distance. Whatever lay ahead, Mahito would embrace it without hesitation. Not as a man, not as a monster, but as a curse—pure, unrelenting, and utterly true to himself.
The outpost was silent, save for the faint hum of distant machinery. John woke abruptly, a sharp prickle running down his spine. Something was off. The unease settled in his chest like a weight. He sat up, his senses on high alert. The barrier at the elevator—breached. He could feel it.
Rubbing his eyes, John swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the cold floor. The attacks were becoming more frequent, more calculated. Each new group adapted, forcing him to anticipate and counter their every move. He rose quietly, pulling on his boots with practiced efficiency, and stepped out of his quarters.
The dim glow of monitors in the command center cast flickering shadows across the walls. John moved soundlessly, his gaze sweeping over the room. Unseen behind him, a pair of red eyes glinted faintly in the darkness. They didn't blink, the concern within them almost tangible, but their owner stayed silent, watching as John slipped into the night.
Outside, the air was crisp, the artificial lights casting fractured beams across the empty streets. John's steps were light, his instincts sharp as he made his way toward the elevator. Each intrusion had been more precise than the last, and tonight felt no different. His jaw tightened as he approached the looming structure.
The elevator platform groaned as it descended, the mechanical hum echoing in the stillness. John's sharp gaze locked onto it, waiting for the platform to reach the top. The hiss of the stopping mechanism cut through the silence, and the doors slid open—revealing nothing but emptiness.
His unease deepened. The platform was devoid of occupants. His mind raced, piecing together the possibilities. The realization came swiftly. They got off mid-ascent.
Moving to the side of the elevator shaft, John leaned over the edge. Below him, the abyss stretched endlessly, the faint glow of emergency lights outlining the structure's framework. He spotted a service hatch ajar several hundred meters down, the dents around its edges a clear sign of forced entry.
Without hesitation, John began to descend. His hands gripped the cold steel, his movements precise and deliberate as he scaled the wall. The occasional clang of shifting metal echoed around him, blending with the hum of the elevator's inner workings. As he reached the hatch, he dropped onto a narrow ledge, crouching to peer inside.
A spiraling metal staircase led downward into a maintenance pathway. Faint scuff marks on the floor confirmed his suspicion—someone had passed through here recently. He moved carefully, his gaze lifting toward the darkness beyond the hatch.
Through the dim glow of emergency lighting, he spotted movement in the distance. Headlamps flickered faintly as a group of figures—both human and Nikke soldiers—scaled the cliffside beside the elevator shaft. Their climbing gear glinted in the light, their movements precise and coordinated. Each soldier covered an angle, their ascent methodical.
John crouched in the shadows, his sharp eyes tracking their progress. These weren't amateurs. Their discipline and synchronization spoke of careful planning, their equipment designed for the exact scenario they were executing.
He glanced downward, the abyss below a stark reminder of the stakes. Shaking off the vertigo, he focused upward again. The climb would be grueling, but it was familiar terrain for him.
With a steadying breath, John began to move again, his fingers finding purchase on the rough surface of the wall.
The group of human and Nikke soldiers continued their ascent, their movements methodical and efficient. At the head of the line, a mass-produced Nikke served as the anchor, her mechanical arms easily driving pitons into the rock and securing the climbing ropes for the others to follow. The others moved in a synchronized rhythm, pulling themselves upward, their gear clinking faintly against the rock.
Then the line jerked taut.
The Nikke leading the group froze, her head snapping downward as the tension in the rope reverberated through her system. The radio on her shoulder crackled as she called into it, her voice clipped and professional. "Unit two, report. What happened?"
Her radio crackled again, but no response came. Instead, the line shuddered violently once more, the vibration rattling through the group. Another figure fell, their muffled scream fading as they disappeared into the void. The Nikke's hands tightened on her tools, her voice rising with urgency. "Unit four, respond!"
The line shook again. The Nikke's optics darted toward the reflection in the climbing hook she was holding. At first, all she saw was the faint glint of her team's scattered lights against the rock. Then something else appeared. A shadow. A figure, moving closer.
The hook's reflection distorted as the figure drew near, its outline sharp and fast. The Nikke's brain struggled to process what she was seeing. Her head began to turn, her voice faltering as she started to call out.
Before she could finish, her head slammed into the rock wall with a sickening crunch.
The force of the impact echoed faintly in the void, her body jerking violently before going limp. Her hand loosened its grip on the climbing hook, which clattered against the rock as she hung limp from her harness.
John gripped the last soldier's harness with one hand, their limp bodies swaying against the rock face as he hauled them upward. His other hand clung to a jagged metal edge of the elevator shaft, his fingers aching from the strain. The added weight of the unconscious group tested even his well-honed strength, his muscles burning with the effort. Every movement had to be calculated; the smallest mistake would send them all plummeting into the endless void below.
The climb stretched on, the rhythmic clang of his boots against the structure's framework the only sound accompanying his ragged breaths. At one point, his grip faltered. His foot slipped on a slick patch of metal, sending his body jolting downward. He caught himself at the last second, his heart pounding as the edge of the ledge dug into his fingers and cut his skin. Gritting his teeth, he steadied himself and resumed the climb, the cold wind biting at his skin.
After what felt like an eternity, the top of the outpost's elevator shaft came into view. With a final, determined heave, he pulled himself and the captured group over the edge, collapsing onto the solid ground. The cold metal floor pressed against his back as he lay there for a moment, catching his breath. The faint hum of the outpost's systems surrounded him, a reminder that he had made it.
He pushed himself upright, his shoulders heaving as he took in the dimly lit space. The soldiers were limp, their climbing gear tangled together like a lifeless cluster of marionettes. Reaching for the rope he'd brought along, he prepared to secure them before calling for backup.
Then he felt it.
A presence.
His instincts flared, sharp and immediate. He whirled around, his body tensed, ready for an attack. His sharp gaze scanned the area, his heart still pounding from the climb.
There, in the shadows, stood a figure.
For a moment, his mind raced with possibilities, adrenaline surging. But as the figure stepped into the dim light, his tension eased slightly. It was Marian.
Her red eyes glinted faintly, their expression soft yet concerned as she approached. She paused a few steps away, her gaze shifting between him and the unconscious group. "You're hurt," she said, her voice quiet but steady.
John exhaled slowly, his heart beginning to slow as he let the rope fall loosely from his hand. "It's nothing," he replied, brushing off her concern with a weary wave. "Just a few scrapes."
Marian's gaze lingered on him, her brows furrowed slightly. She didn't press him, but her presence alone carried an unspoken weight. For a moment, the tension in the air eased, though the exhaustion in John's posture remained evident.
"Why are you out here?" he asked, his voice softening slightly.
Marian hesitated, her crimson eyes flicking briefly to the unconscious group sprawled nearby. The shadows under John's eyes were hard to ignore, and his movements carried the weight of someone running on fumes. "You're exhausted," she said finally, her voice tinged with guilt. "It's because of them, isn't it? These groups keep coming... because of me."
John frowned but didn't immediately reply, turning to inspect the climbing gear strewn around the unconscious soldiers. Marian continued, her voice low and hesitant. "My body... it's a fusion of Nikke and Rapture tech. It's why they're here, isn't it? They're trying to secure me. I'm the reason you're dealing with this."
"You don't know that," John said, his tone dismissive. He crouched to untangle a length of rope, deliberately avoiding her gaze. "They could be here for anything."
"They're here for me," Marian insisted, her hands clenching at her sides. "And because of that, you're barely sleeping, barely holding it together. You're trying to keep us all safe, and I'm just—"
"Stop." John's voice cut through the still air, sharper than he intended. He turned to face her fully, his expression unreadable but firm. "Don't even think about finishing that sentence."
Marian flinched slightly but didn't look away. "You're running yourself ragged, John. If they want me so badly... maybe I should let them take me. If it means—"
"Absolutely not," John interrupted, his voice hardening. He stepped closer, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. "You don't solve problems by giving up. And you're not a burden, Marian. Not to me, not to the counters. Got it?"
Her lips parted slightly, as if to argue, but his unwavering expression silenced her. The conviction in his tone left no room for doubt, and she finally nodded, though her shoulders remained tense.
John exhaled, his voice softening again. "Look, we'll deal with this. I promise to handle this mess."
Marian nodded again, slower this time. "What's the plan?"
"First, we secure these guys," John said, motioning to the unconscious group. He crouched and began tying them together with the climbing rope. Marian joined him, her movements methodical as she mirrored his knots.
As John crouched to tie the group of intruders together, his thoughts churned with a relentless intensity. His hands worked on autopilot, the motions of knotting the climbing rope ingrained from years of practice. Internally, however, a storm raged.
The name Mahito loomed large in his mind, like an ember that refused to be snuffed out. The memories of their fight resurfaced unbidden—the twisted grin, the grotesque transfigurations, and the sheer malice that defined the curse. Mahito was still out there, free to wreak havoc. The thought made John's jaw tighten. Every instinct screamed at him to go after the curse, to finish what had been started. It wasn't just anger—it was a need. Mahito had gotten under his skin, a reminder of all he'd failed to protect.
But then there was the outpost.
John's sharp gaze flicked briefly to Marian, who worked silently beside him, her movements efficient but tense. These intrusions were a direct threat, not just to her but to the entire team. The mercenaries and Nikkes coming for Marian weren't amateurs. Each group had been more skilled than the last, and it was only a matter of time before one of them breached his defenses. If he left now to pursue Mahito, he'd be abandoning the outpost to an inevitable attack.
His fists clenched as the weight of the decision bore down on him. Hunting Mahito meant leaving the outpost vulnerable. Staying meant giving Mahito more time to grow stronger, to plan his next move. The balance of priorities felt impossible to reconcile.
He glanced at Marian again, her crimson eyes downcast, her expression a mix of guilt and resolve. For a moment, the weight in his chest grew heavier. She had come so far, endured so much, and now she carried the burden of being a target. She was trying, but he could see the cracks in her confidence, the unspoken fear that she might not deserve the chance she'd been given.
His decision crystallized.
With the group secured, John pulled out his comm device and dialed the ACPU team. "We've got another group," he said into the receiver. "They're tied up at the elevator. Send a team to collect them."
"Understood," came the curt reply. "ETA fifteen minutes."
John slid the device back into his pocket, exhaling deeply as he straightened. The ache in his muscles reminded him of the long night, but his decision brought a clarity that cut through his fatigue. "In the morning," he began, glancing at Marian, "I'm calling a team meeting. We need a plan to stop these intrusions before they escalate any further."
Marian hesitated, her brows furrowed with concern. "Alright," she said quietly, her voice uncertain but determined. "I'll be there."
John managed a faint smile, though the weariness in his eyes betrayed the weight of his thoughts. "Get some rest," he said. "It's going to be a long day."
As Marian gave a small nod and turned back toward the outpost, John lingered for a moment, his gaze following her retreating figure. His choice was made. The outpost came first. The counters came first. Whatever revenge he wanted, whatever fear of Mahito lingered, it would have to wait. For now, his priority was ensuring the safety of the people who had chosen to stand beside him.
The morning light filtered weakly through the outpost's reinforced windows, casting a soft glow over the makeshift command room. Around the table, the members of the Counters were gathered, each occupying their usual spots with varying levels of energy and engagement.
Neon sat with a firearms magazine sprawled across the table, her finger trailing reverently over a glossy image of an assault rifle. "Oh, yeah," she muttered under her breath, her cheeks faintly flushed. "Look at that barrel... long and sleek. Bet it's got serious firepower. Bet it's got real penetration."
Anis, slumped forward with her cheek pressed against the table, groaned. "Neon, for the love of all that's holy, can you stop? It's too early for whatever weird relationship you've got with firepower."
"It's never too early for firepower," Neon shot back, her tone dreamy as she turned another page. "And this baby here? Oh, she's got a drum mag. Absolute beast."
Anis groaned louder, dragging her fingers down her face. "I'm going to lose my mind."
Across the table, Rapi sat upright, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Alert and composed, her sharp eyes flicked briefly between the magazine, Anis, and Neon before settling on Marian. Unlike the usual banter, Marian's shoulders were hunched, her gaze downcast, and the guilt on her face was palpable.
John entered the room, holding a massive mug of black coffee in one hand. His hair was slightly disheveled, and the dark circles under his eyes told a story of too many sleepless nights. He paused briefly, taking in the scene.
Neon glanced up briefly, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she spotted him. "Master, ever thought about a rifle with a longer barrel? You could boost your range—oh, or maybe something with explosive rounds?"
John stared at her blankly, raising the mug to his lips. "No."
Neon pouted but returned to her magazine. "Fine, fine. Just saying, firepower never hurt anyone."
"Except everyone you've ever aimed at," Anis muttered.
John's gaze shifted to Marian, who hadn't looked up once since he entered. He set his coffee down, leaning forward slightly. "Marian," he said, his tone softer now, "you okay?"
She hesitated, her hands gripping the edge of the table tightly. "I'm fine, Commander," she said quietly, though her voice lacked conviction.
John sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "I figure now's a good time to bring everyone up to speed," he began. "For a while now, teams of mercenaries and rogue Nikkes have been trying to infiltrate the outpost. Most of them seem to be after Marian, trying to capture her and take her back to the Ark—probably for her... unique condition."
The silence deepened. Neon's eyebrows shot up, and Anis straightened in her seat. Even Rapi's calm expression shifted slightly, her eyes narrowing.
"And you didn't tell us because...?" Anis asked, her voice sharp.
"Because I've been handling it," John replied, raising a hand to preempt further protest. "The barriers I set up and the chokepoint at the elevator kept them from getting close. You were never in danger."
"That's not the point," Rapi said, her tone firm. "If something went wrong—"
"I know," John interrupted, his voice edged with fatigue. "That's why I'm telling you now. They're getting smarter, more organized. It's only a matter of time before they try something more dangerous."
A tense silence settled over the table.
"We need a way to stop them," John continued. "As long as they think Marian is an asset worth capturing, they won't stop coming."
"They won't stop unless they get what they want," Rapi said, her tone measured but sharp. "And we both know they won't give up."
"That's why we need leverage," John said, his voice hardening. "Something to make Marian less of a priority."
Anis leaned back, crossing her arms. "Leverage like what?"
"Nihilister," John said simply.
The room grew still again. Marian froze, her hands gripping the table tighter. Neon and Anis exchanged uneasy glances, while Rapi's sharp eyes locked onto John.
"You're serious," Rapi said. "You want us to go after another heretic?"
"Yes," John replied. "If we capture Nihilister and hand her over to the Ark, it shifts their focus. They'll have a heretic to study, and Marian will no longer be their priority."
Marian's eyes widened slightly, her guilt deepening. "You want to... hand her over?" she said softly. "To the same people who sent those teams here?"
John's gaze softened as he looked at her. "Do you think there is a chance she could be freed from corruption like you were?"
"...No," Marian said hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper, "she's not like me. She embraced the corruption. She's dangerous."
"Then this is our best option," John said firmly. "If we capture her, it changes everything."
The room sat in heavy silence until Anis broke it with a low whistle. "Hell of a plan. It'll make for one hell of a trip."
Rapi's expression remained serious, her sharp eyes locked on John. "If this is the plan, it has to be airtight."
John nodded, his voice steady. "Agreed. I'll talk to Andersen, get his approval, and figure out the logistics."
As the others began gathering their things, John slipped out of the room, his mind already spinning with strategies and contingencies. The hum of the outpost's systems filled the quiet hallway as his thoughts churned. He was so deep in thought he didn't notice the sound of footsteps behind him until a voice called out.
"Commander."
John stopped, his shoulders tensing instinctively. He turned to see Rapi standing in the hallway, her posture straight and steady. Her sharp gaze met his, unwavering.
He raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind?"
Rapi stepped closer, her voice calm but firm. "You made a promise to me, John."
"Rapi..." he began, but her voice cut through his hesitation.
"You said you wouldn't do this again," she continued, her tone even but laced with frustration. "That you wouldn't take on things that affect all of us by yourself. And yet here you are, making decisions on your own."
John's gaze flicked to Marian, who lingered behind Rapi, her expression shadowed with guilt. The parallel between them was unmistakable. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "You're right," he admitted, his voice quieter. "I should've handled this differently."
Rapi didn't let up. "You didn't just 'handle it differently.' You ignored us, John. We're a team. You don't have to do everything alone."
"I know," John said, his voice heavier now. "I thought I was protecting you—protecting all of you—but I see now it wasn't the right call. I'm sorry."
Rapi's expression softened slightly, though her voice remained steady. "We're not asking for perfection, Commander. We're asking for trust. That's how this works."
Marian stepped forward hesitantly, her voice quiet but steady. "You don't have to carry it all, Commander. None of us want you to."
John looked at her, her words settling in a place he rarely let anyone reach. For a moment, the weight of his decisions felt like it might crush him, but the sincerity in her voice and the determination in Rapi's gaze steadied him. He nodded slowly, a faint, tired smile creeping across his face.
"Alright," he said, his voice firmer. "No more solo acts. We handle this together. All of it."
Rapi gave a small nod, her shoulders relaxing. "Good. Because whether you like it or not, we're with you."
Marian's expression lightened, just slightly, and she gave a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Commander."
Straightening his posture, John let out a long breath. The exhaustion was still there, but something else settled into place—resolve. "Let's figure this out," he said. "Together."
Rapi stepped aside, giving him room to continue down the hall. "Go talk to Andersen. We'll be ready."
Andersen's office was bathed in the cold glow of monitors, the soft hum of machinery filling the otherwise silent space. John sat across from the Deputy Chief, his fingers wrapped tightly around a mug of coffee, though he hadn't taken a sip. His expression was resolute, though the weariness in his eyes betrayed the toll of sleepless nights and constant battles.
"We go after Nihilister," John began, his voice steady despite the tension hanging in the room. "We take her down, bring her in—dead or alive. She's a bigger target than Marian, and a bigger prize. If we hand her over, it should be enough to shift their focus. Burningum and the rest will have what they want."
Andersen leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze never leaving John. "You're sure you can handle her?"
John nodded without hesitation. "We've faced her before. I know what we're up against, and with Marian on the team now, we've got an edge. Nihilister might be tough, but she's not invincible."
"Bold words," Andersen remarked, his tone measured. "But are you sure this will be enough? You know how insatiable the Ark's leadership can be."
"It has to be," John replied firmly. "It's the best bargaining chip we have right now. Otherwise..."
He hesitated for a moment, his jaw tightening as he stared down at his untouched coffee. "Otherwise, I'd have to consider more drastic options."
Andersen's brow furrowed slightly, his calm demeanor hardening. "Drastic options?"
John glanced up, his smirk faint but devoid of humor. "Let's just say a few deputy chiefs wouldn't be causing problems if they weren't breathing. Not that I'm planning anything, but the thought has crossed my mind."
Andersen's eyes narrowed, his tone taking on a colder edge. "You're treading dangerous ground, John. Burningum may be an obstacle, but he's not your enemy. He's doing what he believes is best for humanity and the Ark. That doesn't justify violence."
"I know," John replied, leaning back in his chair. "It's just frustration talking. I'm not going to do anything stupid, Andersen. I understand the stakes."
"Do you?" Andersen pressed, his voice calm but firm. "Because the moment you cross that line, you make yourself a threat—not just to Burningum, but to the entire structure keeping this place together. I won't protect you if you go rogue."
John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I get it. The politics, the delicate balance—I know how it all works. It doesn't mean I have to like it."
"No one does," Andersen said, his tone softening slightly. "But liking it isn't the point. It's about the greater good. And right now, we all have a part to play."
John nodded slowly, his frustration simmering but contained. "I just want to keep my team safe. If that means going after Nihilister and giving the Ark what they want, so be it."
Andersen studied him for a moment, his sharp gaze searching for any trace of recklessness in John's resolve. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Nihilister might be a solution, but it's not without its risks. She's unpredictable, dangerous, and capturing her would put your team in the crosshairs."
John met his gaze evenly. "We've handled worse."
"Maybe," Andersen said, his tone thoughtful. "But there might be a less risky option available. One that doesn't involve throwing yourselves headfirst into a fight with another heretic."
John's eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity flickering in his expression. "What are you suggesting?"
Andersen leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze steady on John. "The Counters aren't the first team from the Ark to encounter and defeat a heretic," he began, his tone measured. "There are records—classified ones—of other squads that engaged heretics under specific circumstances."
John tilted his head slightly, intrigued but skeptical. "And you're only telling me this now, why?"
"It's not information I can freely disclose," Andersen replied. "And to be frank, I'm not sure how much of it is relevant yet. But before I say more, there's someone we need to speak with. Someone who has deeper insights into this kind of situation."
"Who?" John asked, crossing his arms.
"Ingrid," Andersen said simply. "Elysion's CEO."
John frowned, the tension in his shoulders returning. "I haven't had a chance to meet with her yet. Been a little busy dealing with mercenaries and the occasional attempted kidnapping."
Andersen's lips quirked faintly, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "Understandable. But Ingrid has a vested interest in Marian. She's an Elysion Nikke, after all. If anyone has resources or insights into how we deal with this situation, it's her."
John's frown deepened. "You're suggesting we let her examine Marian?"
"I am," Andersen said, his tone firm. "Ingrid wouldn't do anything to harm one of her Nikkes unnecessarily. If nothing else, she might be able to provide answers—or leverage—that could help us manage this situation without the risks associated with going after Nihilister."
John's jaw tightened, his mind racing through the implications. "I'm not thrilled about this. Marian's been through enough already."
"And I understand your hesitation," Andersen said evenly. "But this isn't a decision you have to make for her. Let her decide if she's willing to meet Ingrid. If she consents, I think it's worth exploring."
After a moment's pause, John nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But Marian has the final say. If she's not comfortable with it, it's off the table."
"Agreed," Andersen replied, his tone softening slightly. "I'll arrange the meeting with Ingrid. Let's aim for later today. Marian can undergo her examination, and you and the Counters can discuss the broader situation with her."
John pushed himself to his feet, his weariness still evident but his resolve steady. "Alright. Text me the time and place. I'll let Marian and the team know."
In the corridor, John pulled out his comm device and began typing. First, a message to Marian:
"Need to talk. Andersen suggested we meet with Ingrid. She wants to examine you, but it's your call. Meeting's later today. Let me know."
He sent it before composing another message to the Counters:
"Team meeting with Elysion CEO later today. Be ready to head out. Details coming soon."
The meeting room at Elysion's headquarters was stark and minimalist. John sat at the table, flanked by Rapi, Anis, and Neon, all of whom appeared tense but focused. Andersen sat at the far end of the table, his calm demeanor a quiet counterbalance to Ingrid's commanding presence as she took her seat opposite John.
The air was heavy as Ingrid leaned forward, her sharp eyes scanning the group. "Commander Smith," she began, her tone icy but measured. "Why should I lend my resources to this? What guarantees do I have that assisting you will yield results worth my investment?"
John leaned back slightly, his expression neutral but firm. "Because my team has done more in the past few months than most do in years," he said plainly. "We've fought off two heretics, recovered Marian from corruption, and secured critical data from missions that would've killed anyone else. If you're worried about results, you'll get them."
Ingrid's gaze didn't waver, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Words mean little without substance, Commander. Your track record is commendable, but why should I trust you with Marian's safety or my resources?"
John met her stare head-on. "Because I'm offering you more than just promises. Whatever findings we recover on this mission—whatever insights we gain—they'll go directly to you. If it helps ensure Marian's safety, I'll make sure you're the first to benefit."
Ingrid tilted her head slightly, studying him. "An interesting proposition. Though I must admit, it's not entirely about results, is it? You're the Ark's only active Grade 1 sorcerer on the surface, aren't you?"
The room fell silent.
Rapi's eyes widened imperceptibly, while Anis leaned forward, blinking in disbelief. Neon, for once, was utterly speechless, her gaze darting between Ingrid and John. Andersen remained impassive, though there was a flicker of acknowledgment in his expression.
John, to his credit, managed to keep his face neutral. After a beat, he let out a soft chuckle, leaning back in his chair. "You know, it's amazing how everyone seems to know my little secret these days. Did Andersen brief you? Or was it just good guesswork?"
Ingrid's lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Let's just say I make it a point to know who I'm dealing with."
John shrugged, his tone light but calculated. "Fair enough. And I'm guessing that's part of why you're even considering this."
"You'd be correct," Ingrid said smoothly. "A sorcerer of your caliber provides a tactical advantage that most teams could only dream of. It makes you uniquely qualified for this operation, despite the risks."
Her gaze turned to the others. "The last team to defeat a heretic on record was a joint operation between Absolute and Matis. Their success, however, came at a significant cost. Accessing their mission records or even the site itself—Area H—has been tightly restricted."
John's expression remained unreadable, though his interest was clearly piqued. "You're suggesting a joint mission?"
Ingrid nodded, her tone brisk. "I'm authorizing you and your team to collaborate with Absolute. You'll visit Area H, investigate the events that transpired there, and retrieve any relevant data. Whatever you find may provide answers to your current situation with Marian."
Andersen shifted slightly, his calm voice interjecting. "Commander, Area H isn't just off-limits for standard teams. It's dangerous, not only due to residual Rapture activity but also due to environmental factors that could overwhelm even Nikkes. Your constitution as a sorcerer may give you an edge, but don't underestimate the risks."
"I don't," John said, his tone serious. "If it gets us closer to a solution, we'll handle it."
Ingrid tapped her fingers lightly on the table, her gaze steady. "Then it's settled. Absolute and Counters will operate jointly under your command for this mission. Resources from Elysion will be allocated as necessary. I expect results, Commander."
John gave a curt nod. "You'll have them."
Ingrid's eyes flicked to Andersen, then back to John. "I'll inform Absolute of the mission parameters and set the timeline. Prepare your team."
As the meeting concluded and the group began to rise, Ingrid's comm device chimed softly. She glanced at the message on her screen, her sharp eyes scanning the details. Her expression tightened briefly before she turned to John.
"The examinations on Marian are complete," she said, her tone clipped but calm. "Commander, I'd like you to accompany me to the M.M.R. facility. You'll want to hear this."
John hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking to Andersen, who gave a subtle nod of approval. "Lead the way," John said simply, following Ingrid as she strode out of the room.
The M.M.R. facility hummed with activity as researchers moved between terminals, their expressions focused and intent. The sterile, metallic interior seemed to amplify every sound—the soft hum of machinery, the faint clicks of keyboards, and the occasional murmur of conversation. Ingrid led John through a series of security checkpoints, her presence alone ensuring their swift passage.
At the heart of the facility, they entered a spacious lab where two researchers stood waiting. Mana, with her meticulous appearance and piercing gaze, greeted them with a slight nod. Beside her, Ether exuded a tired calm, her hands clasped behind her back as she observed their approach.
"CEO Ingrid," Mana began, her voice brisk but respectful. "Commander Smith. We've completed the examinations."
"Let's hear it," Ingrid said, her tone leaving no room for delay.
Mana adjusted her tablet, her sharp eyes flicking to the screen as she began. "The fluid analysis revealed nothing extraordinary. Marian's circulatory system functions similarly to any other Nikke's. The composition of her 'blood' is consistent with what we'd expect—standard synthesized fluids designed to replicate human blood."
John raised an eyebrow. "So what's the catch?"
Ether stepped forward, her calm voice picking up where Mana left off. "It's the skin samples where things get... interesting."
Mana tapped her tablet, displaying a magnified image of Marian's skin. "Marian's skin is a hybrid composition of Nikke and Rapture materials. The two elements complement each other, compensating for the weaknesses of the other. This combination creates an almost seamless defense—flexible, durable, and remarkably resilient."
Ether added, "More fascinating is how it functions under stress. Her tissues respond to electrical stimulus, allowing her to harden her skin at will while maintaining flexibility and full range of motion. However, this hardening only activates when she's consciously aware of a threat. It's an advanced form of reactive defense."
Mana glanced at Ingrid, her tone gaining an edge of excitement. "If this technology could be replicated, the Ark's technological base could advance nearly a century. Marian's design is, in essence, a nigh-perfect synthesis."
John frowned, his mind racing. "You're saying she was designed like this intentionally?"
"That's the conclusion," Mana said. "All evidence suggests Marian wasn't just modified into this hybrid state. She was created as one from the beginning. Almost like Nikke and Rapture-"
Before Mana could continue, Ingrid raised a hand, silencing her. The researchers froze under Ingrid's cold, piercing stare.
"That's enough," Ingrid said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. She turned to Mana and Ether, her voice steady but commanding. "Effective immediately, all records and results from this examination are to be erased. No backups, no summaries—nothing. And no one is to speak a word of this to anyone."
Mana blinked, clearly taken aback. "But—"
"No," Ingrid interrupted, her tone growing icier. "This information poses a danger far greater than its potential benefit. If it were to reach the wrong hands, the consequences for the Ark would be catastrophic."
Ether inclined her head slightly, her calm demeanor unwavering. "Understood. The data will be erased immediately."
Ingrid turned to John, her sharp gaze locking onto his. "Commander, return to the outpost. This matter is closed. There will be no further experiments or examinations on Marian. She is to be left as she is."
John opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, recognizing the finality in her tone. His poker face slipped slightly, his mind racing with the implications of what he'd just learned. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Understood."
Ingrid's gaze lingered for a moment, as if gauging his resolve, before she turned back to Mana and Ether. "Make sure this is handled."