October 18, 2100
07:45 Imperial Standard Time
Imperial Strategic Intelligence Complex
Level Θ — Black Archive
The room was silent except for the hum of servers.
A dozen analysts stood in a tiered observation chamber, faces washed pale by overlapping screens. No one sat. No one spoke. Rank didn't matter here—only clearance.
On the central display, Takumi Arakawa stood at a podium in the Imperial Press Hall, his voice steady as he dismantled panic with polished words.
"…there is no anomalous entity."
Below it—muted, classified, looping endlessly—
The footage.
Helmet-cam perspective. Shaking. Static tearing through the audio. An Imperial Agent's breath rasping, wet and uneven.
Then—
The eyes.
Every time the frame froze there, the room seemed to contract.
Black sclera.
Red glow.
Focused. Aware.
Not feral.
Intentional.
A senior analyst broke the silence.
"…Slow it."
The feed crawled forward, frame by frame. Digital overlays bloomed—biometrics, threat metrics, pattern-recognition systems desperately trying to quantify something that refused structure.
A junior officer swallowed. "Sir. The threat algorithm—"
"—What?" the commander asked without turning.
"It capped out." She hesitated. "Then it stopped assigning numerical values."
"That's not possible."
"It is now," she said quietly. "The system switched frameworks."
Another screen lit up.
ENTITY RESPONSE CLASSIFICATION
⛧ UNCONTAINABLE HOSTILE
⛧ EXISTENTIAL THREAT VECTOR
No one spoke.
"That designation was retired," someone finally whispered.
"After the Old War," another answered. "Because it caused mass panic. Command paralysis."
The commander's jaw tightened. "Bring up the moment of activation."
The feed jumped.
Blood—dark, fresh—seeping into torn flesh at the subject's chest.
"Pause."
The image froze.
Bio-overlays unfolded: cellular rupture, molecular restructuring, something blooming inside the damage rather than repairing it.
A bio-specialist leaned closer, voice unsteady. "That's not mutation. Not augmentation."
"Then what is it?"
"…Activation."
"Of what?"
The man shook his head. "Not something implanted. Something dormant."
The footage resumed.
The scream tore through the speakers.
The sound spiked so violently it triggered an audio distortion alert.
Several analysts flinched.
"There's harmonic layering in the scream," one murmured.
"Like—"
"—Two voices," another finished.
No one disagreed.
The HUD reappeared.
Threat level climbing.
Green.
Yellow.
Red.
Then past red.
Past black.
The bar shattered.
THREAT REASSESSMENT FAILED
"Our Special Task Force was erased in eighty-seven seconds," the commander said flatly. "Six elite Agents. Adaptive armor. Combat AI. Battlefield cognition."
He gestured to the frozen frame—one figure standing amid wreckage.
"This didn't overpower them," he said. "It learned them."
Another screen appeared—regeneration data.
Wounds closing. Muscle fibers weaving themselves incorrectly, violently. Bone knitting faster than machines could track.
"No shock response," an analyst said. "No adrenaline spike. No pain suppression."
"What about consciousness?" the commander asked.
A neural specialist stepped forward. "The subject's neural baseline disappears during the event window."
"Explain."
"It's like… whoever this was, they weren't present."
A pause.
Then, softly—
"Possession?"
No one laughed.
On the muted screen above, Arakawa continued speaking calmly to the nation.
"…fear is more dangerous than truth when misused."
The door slammed open.
Rin Takeda entered like a storm barely contained in human form.
Imperial Minister. Field authority. Broad-shouldered, rigid, eyes burning with restrained fury.
"Turn that off," he snapped.
No one moved.
Takeda's gaze locked onto the footage—the ruined bridge, the broken bodies, the red-lit stare.
"They're dead," he said tightly. "My Agents are dead."
Silence followed him.
Then his jaw set.
"What about Kaede Yoshima's son?" he demanded.
A beat.
"And Yamada," Takeda added. "The Yoshima clan's right hand. Former Imperial Agent."
An intelligence officer stepped forward.
"The ambush occurred within Yoshima-controlled territory," he said. "Most Yoshima personnel present were confirmed killed."
"And the boy?" Takeda pressed.
"No remains recovered. No verified escape records."
"So?"
The officer swallowed. "While we can't state with absolute certainty… survival probability is extremely low."
Takeda exhaled slowly, controlled—but not relieved.
The lights dimmed.
A hologram ignited at the center of the chamber.
The Emperor.
Veiled in light. Features softened by projection. Authority absolute.
"What are you planning to do," the Emperor asked quietly,
"about the Nightmare?"
Takeda didn't answer immediately.
"We leak the footage," he said at last.
Murmurs rippled.
The commander turned. "Sir—public release risks destabilization."
Takeda shook his head. "No. It redirects it."
He gestured to the frozen image.
"If this stays buried, fear turns inward—toward us. Toward the Empire."
A pause.
"But if the people see it as the product of illegal experimentation—done by dissidents, criminals, traitors—then fear has a target."
The Emperor watched him carefully.
"We turn the Nightmare into proof," Takeda continued.
"Proof of what happens when citizens defy Imperial order."
Another beat.
"And we make the hunt lawful."
"And the subject?" the Emperor asked.
Takeda's mouth hardened.
"We name it," he said. "We expose it. And we make sure no one shelters it."
The commander spoke quietly. "A bounty, then."
Takeda nodded once.
"An unprecedented one."
Screens shifted.
IMPERIAL NOTICE — CONDITIONAL RELEASE
SUBJECT DESIGNATION: NIGHTMARE OF KUROGAN
STATUS: ACTIVE EXISTENTIAL THREAT
BOUNTY AUTHORIZATION:
— ₱500,000,000 Imperial Credits
— Full Legal Immunity for Capture or Termination
— Immediate Noble Elevation for Confirmed Recovery
The room went still.
"That's not a bounty," someone whispered.
"That's a declaration."
The Emperor regarded the frozen image.
Black eyes.
Red fire.
"Do it," he said.
The hologram faded.
Far from the screens.
Far from the lies.
Something breathed again.
And the Empire, for all its power—
Had just chosen fear as its weapon.