V's breath caught in her throat as she and Jackie huddled behind the panel, their eyes fixed on the elevator. The silence was oppressive, each second stretching longer than the last. Jackie's grip on the cryocase tightened, and his eyes darted nervously, barely visible in the dim light.

"Fuck," Jackie whispered into the comms, his voice low but laced with fear. "This doesn't solve the problem, Bug."

T-Bug's voice crackled through the comms, but there was no reassuring calm this time. Her usual detached tone was replaced by something far less certain. "I'm working on it, OK? Just... hang tight. I'm tryin' to think of something..."

The silence stretched.

Then, faint at first, came the low mechanical hum of the elevator. It was rising—closer with every passing second. Just that steady, climbing whir echoing through the quiet penthouse like a countdown.

He's here.

Suddenly, the penthouse came to life, light flooding the entire room. The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, and out stepped Yorinobu Arasaka, flanked by the towering figure of Adam Smasher.

No way...

Jackie's voice dropped to a harsh whisper, his voice laced with fear. "Adam Smasher?!"

Adam Smasher was a living nightmare—a hulking mass of metal and cybernetic enhancements. Standing nearly eight feet tall, his body was a grotesque fusion of man and machine, with heavy armor plating covering most of his form. His face, if it could still be called that, was a twisted visage of metal and glowing red optics. He moved with a mechanical precision, each step resonating with a metallic thud.

V's heart raced as she exchanged a glance with Jackie, both of them acutely aware of the danger they were in.

Yorinobu Arasaka paced the penthouse, his movements agitated. He spoke into his wrist communicator, his tone sharp. "Are they here yet?"

A voice crackled back throughout the penthouse. "They approach from the landing pad."

Confusion flickered across Jackie's face. "Who the hell is he expectin'?" he muttered under his breath.

Quickly, V pinged T-Bug on the comms. "Bug, we've got incoming. Who are they?"

After a tense pause, T-Bug's voice returned, filled with disbelief and fear. "Nuh-uh, no fucking way...! This isn't happening...!" Her words faltered for a moment before she added in a near breathless whisper, "Saburo Arasaka?!"

V's blood ran cold. Saburo Arasaka-the patriarch of the Arasaka Corporation, a man whose very name struck fear into the hearts of many. She watched, frozen, as Saburo descended the stairs of the penthouse, a stern expression etched on his face, his personal bodyguard trailing behind him.

There was something surreal about it, like watching history step into the room. He wasn't some ancient legend tucked away behind walls—he was here, close enough that V could see the fine lines on his face, the calm calculation in his eyes. He was old, yes—158 and withered by time—but none of that dulled the authority rolling off him like a wave. Even his silence commanded attention. Respect. Fear.

And Yorinobu... Yorinobu sat there like nothing was happening, feigning disinterest, thumbing through his datapad as if the most powerful man in the world hadn't just entered the room. The tension crackled between them, thick and electric.

V swallowed hard, her throat dry as dust. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to back out, to call it off, to drag Jackie and T-Bug and the whole damn plan into the gutter and run.

Without lifting his gaze from the datapad, Yorinobu muttered in Japanese, "I thought I told you not to meddle in my affairs." V's translator swiftly processed the words, displaying the English translation on her HUD.

As they spoke, Saburo's bodyguard moved with precise, calculated steps, his gaze sweeping the penthouse with a predator's intensity. His hair, tied in a sharp samurai topknot, added to his air of lethal discipline. He walked in front of the TV panel and halted directly in front of their hiding spot, his presence looming like an imminent threat.

Fear gripped V's heart as she realized how close they were to being discovered. She held her breath, willing herself to stay as still as possible, her eyes locked on the bodyguard's cybernetic optics. The white irises glowed a cold, unsettling red, devoid of any warmth. The pale light reflected off the sleek, chrome-like surface of his ocular implants, casting faint glimmers on his otherwise stoic face. V's pulse quickened as the optics swept across the TV panel, each scan a potential death sentence.

A warning flashed on her HUD: Unauthorized scan detected. Her pulse quickened as she stared at the red loading bar, each inch of progress a tightening knot in her chest. Time felt like it was slowing, the seconds stretching into an eternity as she watched that bar fill up.

V froze in place, the cold metal wall of the small maintenance room biting into her back. Her breath caught in her throat—shallow, silent—as if even the sound of exhaling might give them away. Despite the chill in the air, sweat clung to her skin, sliding down the curve of her spine in slow, itchy rivulets. Every second stretched thin, taut with the threat of being found.

Then, out of nowhere, Saburo's voice broke the silence, low and commanding: "Leave us."

The bodyguard halted his scan and turned, acknowledging his master's authority.

"Arasaka-sama," the bodyguard's cool voice insisted, "I still haven't completed a full sweep."

V's hand pressed against the cold panel in front of her, a mix of relief and disbelief flooding her. She silently thanked Saburo for the interruption, no matter how strange it seemed. They had a moment. A small reprieve.

Saburo's response was simple, matter-of-fact. "This is my son."

The bodyguard nodded, but there was an undercurrent of hesitation. "Of course. Should I retrieve what we came here for?"

V's heart dropped. Saburo is here for the Relic.

"I will handle it. You may go," Saburo commanded, looking toward his bodyguard and then briefly at Adam Smasher.

Dismissed, the bodyguard gave a deep bow, his movements measured, precise. He walked toward the elevator with Smasher following in tow, the loud clunk of metal footfalls echoing through the penthouse.

V exchanged a glance with Jackie, the weight of the situation still heavy. The doors to the elevator slid shut, leaving Saburo and Yorinobu alone. A tense silence hung between father and son.

Finally, Saburo spoke, his voice low but carrying undeniable authority. "Did you think I wouldn't know it was taken from me?"

Yorinobu didn't flinch, his voice dripping with defiance. "Actually, I don't think of you at all. Ever." He reclined deeper into the couch, barely glancing up at his father. "You see, that's your problem. You think the world revolves around you. Arrogant."

Saburo's eyes narrowed, the weight of decades behind his gaze, but his voice stayed level—cold, controlled, like a blade sliding from its sheath. "Yorinobu..." He said, the name itself a quiet warning.

Yorinobu's composure snapped. He shot to his feet, fists slamming against the table with a crack that echoed through the room. "Why did you come here?" he snarled. "To humiliate me? To personally remind me of my place!?"

His voice trembled with fury, but beneath the anger, there was something else—something brittle. Years of resentment, of being overshadowed, boiling over at last.

From behind the panel, V tensed at the sound. Something in the air shifted—too sharp, too volatile. Her instincts screamed at her, and without thinking, she blinked twice, triggering her optics to start recording. She didn't know exactly why, but her gut told her this was going to spiral, and fast.

Saburo's gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a cold, unwavering tone as he delivered a chilling response in the form of a proverb: "The nail that protrudes from the wall gets hammered..."

Yorinobu scoffed, rubbing his hands over his face in exasperation. "Couldn't come up with anything original, huh?"

Saburo's calmness cracked as anger bled into his words. "And you think it 'original' to sell our greatest achievement to Westerners—our future to these... barbarians?!"

Yorinobu stood rigid, his posture taut with anger as he locked eyes with his father. His finger shot out, stabbing the air between them, his voice laced with contempt. "Our future? Ours?! You're delusional. You've never cared about anything but yourself—and your sick schemes."

V flinched, even though the words weren't meant for her. The venom in Yorinobu's voice was raw and exposed—so personal it felt like an intrusion just to hear it, like she was eavesdropping on something never meant to be seen, something private and dangerous.

Saburo's shoulders sagged, the weight of age and disappointment hanging from him like a cloak. He stepped forward, voice low and weary. "I knew this day would come. That sooner or later your impudence would cross the line."

V's breath caught as Saburo closed the distance, stopping just a few feet from their hiding place. She didn't dare move. Barely dared to breathe. She could feel Jackie beside her, completely still, his tension matched her own.

"There's much I could forgive you for. But treason? No..." Saburo's voice was cold, heavy with finality.

"I'm just glad your mother didn't live to see this. The heart should break but once."

Shit.

Then, without warning, Yorinobu surged forward. His hand shot out with blinding speed, fingers wrapping around his father's throat. Saburo staggered back, gasping, struggling to break his son's grip. The viciousness of the move was terrifying—raw, unfiltered hate.

Yorinobu slammed Saburo's body against the TV panel with a sickening thud. The sharp crack of his skull meeting glass echoed through the suite, and a spray of blood splashed across the screen—right in front of Jackie. His stomach twisted. The vivid red painted the glass like some fucked-up mural. He froze, eyes fixed on the splatter, his grip tightening around the cryocase.

For a moment, there was a hesitation—a brief flicker of doubt in Yorinobu's eyes. His fingers loosened their grip on his father's throat, and he looked down at Saburo with a sudden, almost pitiful expression. Saburo, his breathing ragged, raised his arms slowly, almost as if pleading for his life. In that moment, he no longer appeared as the feared emperor of Arasaka—just a frail old man, terrified, desperate, and powerless in the face of death, which had taken the form of his son.

Yorinobu's gaze flickered between his father's face and his own hands, still shaking with rage. But then, something changed. His eyes hardened again, sharper than before, and he said coldly, "You shall never have to forgive me for anything again..."

Before Saburo could react, Yorinobu lunged at him again, this time with deadly intent. His hands closed around his father's throat once more, squeezing with a ferocity that seemed unstoppable. Saburo fought back, his hands weakly gripping Yorinobu's arms, but the younger man's strength was overwhelming. Saburo's body went limp, his grip loosening, and with a final, savage pull, Yorinobu dropped his father's lifeless form to the ground with a heavy thud.

V was frozen in place, every nerve in her body screaming, but she couldn't move. Couldn't blink. Couldn't look away. She had seen people die before—hell, she'd dealt death more times than she could count—but this wasn't some street hit or corpo job gone wrong. This was the emperor. Saburo Arasaka. Murdered in cold blood, right in front of her, by his own son.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, like it was trying to escape. She felt sick. Cold. Like the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees the moment Saburo hit the floor.

For a long moment, Yorinobu stood still, staring down at his father's body in disbelief. His chest heaved with ragged breaths. V could see the change in him—rage bleeding into horror, certainty giving way to something more fragile. His eyes widened as realization crept in. He had done it. He had really done it.

He killed his own father.

Fuck me.

"No..." Yorinobu muttered under his breath, his hands trembling as they rubbed at his face.

He began pacing like a man possessed, each step unsteady, as if trying to outrun what he'd done. But it clung to him like blood on his hands—staring him in the face, crawling up his arms, into his mind. He sank to the floor beside the couch, clutching his head, fingers twisted in his hair, knuckles pale with strain.

For a long moment, he was still—silent, hollowed out, the weight of it all pressing him into the floor.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, he stood, his posture stiff with tension. He moved slowly toward his father's body, his eyes haunted and almost reverent, and knelt beside his lifeless form. With shaking hands, he reached out and gently caressed Saburo's face, his fingertips brushing against the skin now growing cold.

V's gut twisted. For all the hatred, all the betrayal, there was something childlike in the gesture—grief buried beneath layers of ambition and guilt. But in that moment, all V could feel was dread for what comes next.

Then, with a bitter, broken tone, Yorinobu raised his wrist to his face and spoke.

"I wish... I wish to put the hotel on lockdown."

V felt her heart lurch. Her breath caught in her throat, the weight of his words crashing down like concrete. Lockdown. The goddamn doors sealing shut. Every exit slamming closed. No way out.

The AI's voice responded without hesitation, though there was a hint of curiosity. "May I ask why?"

Yorinobu didn't answer right away. His eyes locked on his father's corpse, that cold, calculating mask never slipping. He reached out, fingers brushing against Saburo's neck. V watched, her pulse thundering in her ears. The silence between movement and confirmation stretched unbearably.

Then he pulled back, and she knew. Saburo Arasaka was dead. Really, truly dead. And his killer was sealing the tomb behind him—with her and Jackie still inside it.

"Saburo Arasaka... has been murdered."

A chill swept over her, cold sweat clinging to her spine. There was no crawling back from this. No quick hack or backdoor out. She and Jackie were ghosts in a crime scene, breathing borrowed air in a place that was about to become a fortress.

Suddenly, the lights in the penthouse flickered, bathing the room in an eerie red glow. Alarms blared, the sound jarring in the silence, as the AI's cold, robotic voice echoed throughout the building.

"Code red initiated."

Yorinobu, still crouched beside his father's body, rose slowly. The brief flicker of guilt she'd seen earlier was gone, replaced now by something harder—calculation.

"Attention! Code Red has been initiated throughout Konpeki Plaza. Please remain in your rooms and follow all instructions given by the staff," the AI continued, its announcement amplifying the weight of dread already hanging in the air for V and Jackie.

Suddenly, the doors to the elevator slid open with a soft chime, revealing Saburo's bodyguard followed by the imposing figure of Adam Smasher. The guard's eyes immediately locked onto Saburo's lifeless form, and he dashed toward it, his expression unreadable.

"What happened!?" His voice, though calm, carried an undercurrent of alarm.

Yorinobu's face twisted into something grotesque—a performance of grief that V could see right through. He knelt beside his father's corpse, lowering his voice into a trembling, hollow mockery of shock.

"Someone... someone poisoned my father!" he cried, feigning disbelief.

V felt bile rise in her throat. Poison. That was the story he was going with? She'd just watched him crush the life out of old man with his own two hands, watched the betrayal play out inch by inch—and now he was wrapping it in lies.

She pressed herself tighter into their hiding spot, every muscle in her body wound tight. Jackie was still beside her, silent, still, but she could feel the tension radiating off him too. They weren't just witnesses anymore. They were in the middle of a cover-up—ones who knew far too much.

And V knew exactly how Arasaka cleaned up messes like this.

"Poisoned?" The guard repeated, his voice laced with doubt as his eyes swept across the room.

He moved to step closer to the body, but Yorinobu shifted quickly, intercepting him with a practiced, authoritative motion—blocking the path without seeming to.

"I-it seemed so," Yorinobu said, the stammer slipping through his otherwise controlled tone. He forced himself to stand tall, but the crack in his composure was there—barely hidden.

The guard's gaze flicked to the nearby TV panel smeared with blood, then to Saburo's neck, where faint bruises were just beginning to show. His jaw tightened.

"Yorinobu-san..." he began slowly, voice low and cautious. "Forgive me, but I find that... difficult to believe."

His tone wasn't accusatory—yet. But V, still hidden and watching every detail like her life depended on it, could feel the shift. The suspicion in the room was turning into something volatile, and they were right in the center of it.

At the hint of doubt in his voice, Yorinobu's expression darkened. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them with dangerous intensity, forcing the guard to take a step back.

"What is your job, Takemura?" Yorinobu's voice cut through the air—calm, but laced with venom, every word sharp enough to draw blood.

Takemura blinked, caught off guard. "I... I don't follow," he said, confusion flickering behind his usually unreadable expression.

Yorinobu stepped closer, his gaze hardening. "It's a simple question. Answer it."

There was a pause—brief, but heavy. V watched from the shadows as Takemura lowered his head slightly, the weight of unspoken accusation settling on his shoulders.

"To protect the head of the Arasaka family," he said at last, the words quiet, formal—like a ritual spoken through clenched teeth.

Yorinobu's eyes bore into him, cold and unrelenting. "I do sincerely hope you'll do a better job of executing your duties from now on..."

"Forgive me, Arasaka-sama." Takemura replied, steady on the surface—but V caught it. That tiny shift in his voice, that hairline crack beneath the stoicism. Not enough to see, but enough to feel.

Something had broken. She didn't know if it was loyalty... or just the illusion of it.

Yorinobu gave a slight nod, satisfied. He turned without a word, motioning for the bodyguard and Smasher to follow. Takemura lingered—just a second longer—his eyes locked on the lifeless form of the man he'd once sworn to protect. Then he bowed low, a gesture steeped in tradition, grief, and shame, before turning to trail after Yorinobu into the waiting elevator.

The doors slid shut with a muted hiss.

And then silence.

V couldn't move. Could barely breathe. The air felt heavier, thinner, as though the very life had been sucked out of the room. Saburo Arasaka—the boogeyman of her corpo days, the name muttered in every dark corner like a curse—was gone. Just like that.

Killed. Not in a corpo war. Not by some high-powered exec hit. But by his own son.

That's so fucked up.

V and Jackie remained frozen in the dark, the weight of what they'd just witnessed pressing down like a vice. The emperor was dead—and they were still trapped in the lion's den.

The hotel was on lockdown. Every second dragged like a lifetime. The silence felt too loud, the walls too close.

Jackie shifted slightly beside her, breath shallow. V could feel her pulse hammering in her throat, hands cold despite the heat crawling under her skin. This wasn't just a job gone wrong. This was a death sentence.