A/N- Sorry for not posting, i am going through a slump and things have really hectic for me and this was supposed to be the last chapter for this arc but i am able to bring myself to write stuff with good quality so here is a short update
AJ POV
The last of the guards hit the floor with a groan, their riot gear scattered across the hallway like discarded toys. I dropped my stance slightly, catching my breath as Daredevil wiped some blood from his lip and leaned against a console.
"Looks like they're trying to tire us out before the main event," Matt muttered, his voice steady but laced with tension.
I smirked, though my body was already sore from the constant clashes. "I'll give them an A for effort—"
He raised a hand sharply, cutting me off mid-sentence.
I froze. His head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring.
"The lift's coming up again," he said. "There's someone inside."
I turned toward the sealed lift doors, thick with layers of ice I'd created moments earlier. "It's iced out," I said. "Nothing's getting through that in a hurry."
And then something slammed into the wall.
The entire hallway shuddered as cracks splintered across the frosted steel. Another impact, this one louder. Before I could react, the ice shattered—exploding outward like a grenade of frozen shrapnel—and a silver blur barreled out of the cloud.
I barely registered the movement before it hit me.
Everything became a blur. The world turned sideways as the force of the impact sent me flying back. I smashed through the railing behind me like it was paper. Then came the fall—a brutal, vertical plunge—and in midair, I felt the blur tackle me again.
We tumbled together. Fists flailed in mid-flight, but the guy was heavier, stronger. A punch to my ribs accelerated my descent and I crashed through a catwalk, then another. Metal screamed as I tore through a staircase, a steel bridge, pipes, and wiring. My body was ricocheting off every surface on the way down like a pinball of pain.
Then the ground hit me like a truck.
I cratered hard in the bottom-most level of the ship, concrete splintering under my back like a cracked eggshell. My ears rang. My armor sparked. Everything hurt—like I'd been flattened by a freight train.
I groaned and forced my body to move. Every limb ached, my ribs felt like they were trying to stab through my lungs. I was halfway to my knees when something landed in front of me.
Another crater.
Through the settling dust and swirling debris, a mountain of metal rose.
He was built like a tank with skin to match—solid, burnished silver that gleamed despite the grime of the ship. His arms were massive, legs thick like steel pillars, and his back was not vented like most reinforced suits. No. This guy wasn't wearing armor. He was the armor. The metal skin rippled with a faint sheen, and when he stepped forward, the floor creaked under his weight.
Ironclad.
"So you're the maggot that's got everyone so worked up," he said, voice like two rusted engines grinding against each other. His arms crossed, expression unreadable under a face that looked like someone carved it from a block of iron. "You don't look like much."
Then, with a smug glint in his eye, he added, "But since I'm getting a buttload of money to bring you back alive, I'll give you one chance to surrender peacefully."
I stared up at him, then spat a glob of blood onto his chest.
My hands lit up with fire—jet black flames licking my gauntlets as I pushed myself to my feet.
"Sorry," I growled. "Not in the mood."
Ironclad laughed, low and grating. He wiped the spit off his chest, but when his hand came away, the smile disappeared.
"Oh, I'm going to enjoy tearing you limb from limb."
He charged.
I barely ducked under the first punch—a wide, hammering blow that could've taken my head clean off. The air boomed with the force of it. I weaved to the side, dipped low, ready to counter—but I wasn't fast enough.
The second hit slammed into my gut.
Pain exploded through my stomach, knocking the wind out of me, and I flew backward into a wall. It dented from the impact and I collapsed onto all fours.
I didn't even get to stand before something cold and crushing grabbed my leg.
WHAM!
He slammed me into the floor like I was a ragdoll. The impact blacked me out for a second—but I came to when he did it again. Another boom of pain. The floor cracked.
A third time.
No.
I let fire surge through my lungs and roared. My mouth opened and I unleashed a point-blank blast:
Fire God Slayer's Bellow.
Jet black flames surged from my mouth like a tidal wave. The explosion rocked the chamber, the heat warping the air, lighting up the room with a flickering black-orange glow.
The moment his grip loosened, I twisted, kicked off his chest, and launched backward through the air, creating space. I landed on one knee, panting hard.
Every rib screamed in protest. Something had cracked for sure. The copper reinforcement layer under my armor had shattered on impact, and I could feel bruises forming under the plating. I quickly summoned more copper to cover myself, mentally shaping it under my armor to repair the broken layer.
My eyes darted through the smoke.
Please let that have done something…
As the haze cleared, Ironclad's silhouette stood unmoving. Then, with a heavy crack, he turned his head and stepped forward.
Not a scratch.
"That tickled," he said, flexing his fists. "But you'll have to do much worse to take me down."
Then he charged again.
Faster.
I didn't hesitate.
Ice Fire God Slayer Magic: Blizzard Fang!
I thrust both hands forward and a howling vortex of sub-zero wind and razor-sharp frost exploded from my palms. Ice coated the floor, the walls, and then wrapped around Ironclad like a frozen coffin. The chamber was plunged into a howling snowstorm of magic.
It worked on Behemoth—for a few seconds at least.
But this guy?
The ice around him began to vibrate violently. Cracks formed. Then a deep, guttural growl echoed from within the glacier.
BOOM!
The ice shattered outward in a deafening explosion of frozen shards, the force of it blowing out nearby lab windows and doors. Alarms shrieked. Steam hissed from broken pipes. Lab equipment flew in all directions.
I threw up a wall of ice to block the worst of the blast, but the force still knocked me backward a few feet.
Ironclad walked through the storm like it was nothing.
He raised a fist and slammed it into his open palm, the sound like thunderclaps echoing through the floor.
"You're durable," I muttered, forcing myself upright. My right arm was bleeding inside the armor. My breathing was shallow. But the fire in me wasn't dimming.
"Good," I growled. "That just means I don't have to hold back."
At the same the time I felt the pulse building up in my mind, my power which had quiet wanted to be used right at this instant, I wasn't going to deny it anyway I needed all the help I could get.
2-12 MTG - Wasp of the Bitter End – a fiendish insect horror from the desert lands of amonkhet, you can send these creatures to assault one of you enemies, a single wasp deals a deal miniscule damage but a pack of them can bloody even the toughest of opponents, as the roll is relatively low, there are only 40 wasps in this pack.
The shadows behind me churned as I thrust my hand forward, letting the ambient magic well up through my core, crackling along my veins with raw, crackling voltage. "From the sands of Amonkhet," I muttered, my voice low, steady, but charged with arcane weight, "I call forth the Wasp of the Bitter End."
The air shimmered. Then buzzed.
A piercing, almost metallic drone filled the chamber. From behind me, tiny forms began peeling out of the shadows like smoke turned solid. In seconds, the swarm was there—forty twisted, cruel insect horrors, wings beating so fast they blurred into streaks, black carapaces gleaming with a toxic sheen under the overhead lights. Their compound eyes glowed faintly purple, and each of them radiated malice.
They weren't big—each maybe the size of a closed fist—but they didn't have to be.. Individually? An irritant. But en masse?
A problem.
Ironclad's heavy footfalls drew closer. I could feel them more than I could hear them—like mini-quakes moving toward me. "You think a bug show's gonna help you?" His voice was still grating, still cocky. "I've crumpled tanks, tin man. You really think some gnats are gonna scratch me?"
The wasps answered for me.
With a screech like glass being torn, the swarm descended on him, zig-zagging through the air and crashing against his armor. The first dozen didn't seem to do much—they bounced off his reinforced skin like hail on a car hood—but the next waves moved with surgical precision. They weren't trying to pierce his skin; they were swarming into every seam, every exposed crack, targeting his eyes, ears, joints.
Ironclad roared. "Get—off—me!"
He started swinging, huge fists swatting the air with thunderous force. I ducked a hunk of broken railing he threw blindly. Metal screamed as he tore through the environment trying to dislodge the cloud of arcane death gnawing at him.
I didn't waste the opportunity.
I ran forward, fists igniting with black fire. My ribs screamed in protest, and my muscles felt like overcooked meat, but I pushed through. The wasps were giving me the distraction I needed.
As I closed the gap, I channeled Fire God slayers: Torrent—a cascade of infernal heat that blasted forward in a cone, not to damage, but to blind and stagger.
Ironclad stumbled as the wave of dark fire washed over his helmet and chest, staggering back. The wasps surged in even harder, filling the gaps my fire had softened. They were eating into him now—whether physically or magically, I didn't care. I saw scorched marks, faint trails of acid burn around his shoulder seams. For the first time, he looked unsure.
"You're tougher than the average meathead," I said, stepping up into a low stance, channeling another spell. "But you bleed, don't you?"
He snarled, charging through the last of the fire, wasps still clinging to his back and arms. "YOU'LL BLEED FIRST!"
He barreled toward me, shoulder down like a freight train.
I slid under him, ice magic surging as I swept my hand across the floor—Ice God Slayer: Frostquake. The deck froze in a heartbeat. Ironclad's footing vanished from under him mid-charge. His massive form skidded, crashed through a support beam, and flipped end over end before crashing into a steel wall.
The wasps followed him, swarming mercilessly.
I panted, keeping my stance low. I could feel blood trickling from my mouth again. My body wasn't keeping up—this pace, this intensity—it was pushing me past limits I didn't even know I had. And still… he wasn't down.
The wall buckled, groaned, and then exploded outward as Ironclad hurled himself back into the fight, arms flailing, wasps flying off him in sizzling clouds. His armor was dented now, smoking slightly from several impact points. I'd hurt him. Not enough. But it was a start.
"I'M GONNA CRUSH YOU INTO PASTE!" he bellowed, voice echoing through the chamber like a cannon.
" FUCK OFF" I shouted, already weaving another spell. This time a barrier of black ice formed around me—a defensive shell. He crashed into it like a wrecking ball, but I used the recoil to flip over him, landing behind his back.
And the wasps came again.
I willed them to concentrate on his neck, the base of his skull. The soft spots. The swarm obeyed, funneling like a sentient cloud into the back of his helmet.
Ironclad dropped to one knee, roaring in agony as he tried to claw the wasps off. I dashed in again, delivering a flaming uppercut that sent a blast of fire into the gap at his collar.
He reeled back—one eye glowing dimmer than the other now. I could see it. Fatigue. Pain. Cracks in the armor—both literal and metaphorical.
Still not enough.
My heart thundered in my chest. My magic was fraying at the edges. I felt it like static under my skin. I could maybe manage one more big hit. After that…
Ironclad stumbled forward, slower now, wasps still gnawing at him, sparks flying from his joints.
"YOU… YOU'RE DEAD… YOU HEAR ME?! I'M GONNA RIP YOUR ARMS OFF AND FEED THEM TO YOU!"
I raised my hands, let the fire and ice swirl around them, forming a spiraling helix of burning frost and freezing flame.
"No," I said through gritted teeth, "you're gonna take a nap."
Then I unleashed it—God Slayer: Calamity Spiral—the hybrid spell I hadn't dared try since training with Elecmon. The black fire and ice surged together into a spiraling lance of destruction that shot forward and struck Ironclad square in the chest.
The impact lifted him off his feet and hurled him through the far wall like a missile.
Silence followed. For a second. Then a heavy crash.
I dropped to one knee, panting hard. The wasps slowly hovered back toward me, their job done, dispersing into shadow as I released the spell.
The room stank of scorched metal, ozone, and burning plastic.
I didn't move. Couldn't. I needed a second.
I was gasping—wheezing really. Each breath scraped like sandpaper in my lungs. My knees trembled, sweat stung my eyes, and my mana reserves felt like they were circling a drain. If I hadn't ended that fight when I did… I might've collapsed right there, paralyzed by mana exhaustion.
Lucky. I got lucky.
But luck wasn't going to carry me through what came next. From what Ironclad had said—before I buried his metal hide under half a lab—Spidey, Danny, and Matt were already taken. Luke was still fighting outside, but with the way Sublime's goons kept swarming us, it was only a matter of time before they dogpiled him too. That meant I had to move, and fast, before Sublime decided they were more useful dead than captured.
I reached behind my back and grabbed Clarent.
The moment my fingers closed around its grip, it was like plunging into cold, clear water after hours in a desert. A surge of strength poured through me—familiar, steady, comforting. The burn in my muscles dulled. My vision steadied. My heartbeat slowed to something almost manageable. My fingers stopped shaking.
I used Clarent to push myself upright, every nerve in my body still buzzing from the last fight. With the sword in hand, it was easier to stand, to think. But it wasn't just the sword. My power—it was there again, humming low in the back of my skull, knocking for attention. I'd just dumped a ton of mana summoning the swarm of Wasp of the Bitter End, and my core still ached from that, but the buzz told me I wasn't running on empty just yet.
I wouldn't waste the opportunity.
I dragged myself toward the gaping hole Ironclad had left in the lab wall, stepping over shattered glass, coils of broken wiring, and the blackened remains of whatever equipment had exploded on his way through. I jumped down into the wreckage.
Ironclad was still there—half-buried under a collapsed console and thick slabs of wall paneling. He wasn't moving. His metal skin was scorched and dented, but not cracked. His head lolled to the side, helmeted, unconscious. Hopefully.
Not taking any chances.
I raised a shaky hand, dug into the little bit of mana I had recovered with Clarent's help, and released it in a short burst. My magic wrapped around Ironclad's body like heavy chains, a layer of hard ice tied his limbs in place—binding him to the floor. The spell wasn't elegant. It was desperate. But it would hold. At least for now.
And right then—I felt it again.
My power was buzzing again, I felt it clambering to be used, wave after wave of pressure assaulted my mind and I released the leash on it and allowed it to flow, but this time it was different from the other times because rather than getting sometime I felt something splinter from the place I was getting my abilities from, like when a rope anchoring a ship snaps and the ship breaks away from the harbour I felt one or maybe two of my bonds which anchored me to a plane snap with force that I nearly lost my balance and fell.
Soon though, the wave of uncertainty passed as I felt my power make new connections, these connections felt raw and unlike anything I have ever experienced before, it was like I could sense the potential these connections brought to me, like I was on precipice of great power.
Conditions of Transfer achieved.
The Great Displacement commenced.
LINK EARTH 9442-ZXC ( ONE PUNCH MAN) TERMINATED
LINK EARTH 7772-SAS ( TEKKEN) TERMINATED
SEARCHING FOR NEW LINKS ......….
...….
...….
...….
NEW LINKS FOUND
LINK EARTH 4992-GNM ( TERRARIA) GAINED
LINK EARTH 1001-WAR ( WARCRAFT) GAINED
GIVING ARBITARY ROLL, LINK EARTH 4992-GNM SELECTED
ROLLING….
…..
…..
9-12 Valentine Ring - The Valentine Ring is an accessory that increases jump height and 50% health regeneration, however it only works if it is thrown at the ground and picked back up or given to another player.
A ring with a red ruby falls infront of me, My power tells me that if I pick up this ring I will immediately get an boost to my regeneration and jumping ability, looks like my power was looking after me afterall, and I would be a fool to not take this opportunity infront of me and I picked it up and instantly I felt Better, this valentine ring along with my ring of fortification working in tandem instantly relieved the pain I was feeling in my ribs and now I was Again ready to continue and get to bottom of what the actual fuck is going in this place.
I came out of the wrecked-up room and looked around as I was confused about where exactly in the ship I was considering the fall I took.
As I stepped out of the wreckage left by my fight with Ironclad, the scale of this place finally hit me.
The walls stretched outward in a hexagonal curve, every side lined with tall transparent doors. Above me, catwalks crisscrossed the upper levels like steel spiderwebs, and beyond them—more labs. Row after row. Lab after lab. Dozens of them.
It wasn't just one floor. This entire level was a research wing.
I moved toward the closest lab directly ahead. The door was reinforced, sealed with a bio-lock, and through the translucent glass I could make out massive vertical cylinders—tubes filled with glowing green liquid. Thick trails of condensation ran down the inside, turning the interior into a hazy, dreamlike blur. I couldn't see what was in them.
My instincts screamed to move on. To leave. But something deeper in me—curiosity, maybe dread—dug its claws in and refused to let go.
I ignited my palm and smashed the lock.
The door hissed open with a puff of cold air, and I stepped inside. The chemical scent hit me immediately—formaldehyde, ammonia, and something faintly… biological. Rotting, almost.
Inside, the lab was lined with counters, equipment, and monitors. I recognized much of it from textbooks and documentaries back home—centrifuges, PCR machines, gene sequencers, DNA analyzers, cryo-freezers, laminar flow cabinets. Rows of high-powered electron microscopes blinked idly in standby mode. Charts of human and mutant genome mappings were plastered on the nearby screens, scrolling endlessly in looping code.
But my eyes kept drifting back to the tubes.
Two of them. Nearly seven feet tall each, thick glass reinforced by steel bands at the base and top. I walked toward the one on the left, compelled by a horrible certainty in my gut.
I wiped away the condensation with my hand.
I staggered back.
Inside floated a boy. Maybe ten, eleven years old. His lower body—gone. Replaced with a mass of exposed tissue, bone fragments, and tubes wired directly into what remained of his spine. But that wasn't the worst of it. His upper half was grotesquely twisted. His right arm was far too long, ending in a claw-like hand. His left side bulged outward, swollen and malformed. His chest had two ribcages overlapping each other. And above it all—his face.
One eye was missing. The other glowed faintly, bloodshot and wide open.
I couldn't look away.
I should have turned and walked out. But my legs moved on their own, one foot dragging in front of the other until I reached the second tube.
The glass was fogged, but I already knew.
I wiped it anyway.
This one was younger. Eight, maybe nine. A little girl with soft features—at least what was left of them. Her skin was covered in bloated, cancerous tumors. Her entire body seemed to sag under their weight, like she had been growing them for years. There was no movement. No sound. Just eerie green stillness.
And then I remembered. Back in Mutant Town—months ago. The Kick outbreaks. The ones tainted with mutagens. I'd seen something similar then. Victims writhing in alleys, their bodies bloating, growing extra limbs, screaming until their throats tore.
This wasn't experimentation.
This was torture.
Rage coiled around my chest like a vice.
I stumbled backward and sprinted to the next lab, kicking the reinforced door off its hinges.
Another room. Same structure. More computers. More untouched equipment.
More tubes.
I ran to the first and wiped it.
This boy had no eyes. Empty sockets stared back at me, hollow and dripping. His skin was pale, half his scalp removed, and several of his teeth were growing out of his cheek.
I moved to the second.
And froze.
This one was a child barely older than a toddler. His entire body was covered in eyes. Dozens—no, hundreds—of them. Blinking. Moving independently. Some wide open in terror. Some melted shut.
The rage in my chest exploded into something primal. Something violent. My whole body was shaking. I couldn't stop my hands from trembling.
How could anyone do this?
Children. Dozens of them. Used like lab rats. Turned into grotesque displays of science gone mad.
I tore through the next lab. And the next. And the next.
Each one contained two more tubes.
Two more children.
Each one a new nightmare. Some had twisted, overgrown limbs. Others had multiple heads, or organs outside their bodies. One looked perfectly normal—until I saw that his veins were filled with glowing silver fluid. Another had no skin—just muscle and nerves suspended in green fluid.
Every time I thought I had seen the worst of it, the next room proved me wrong.
By the time I reached the last lab, my armor was scuffed from how hard I'd been hitting the doors open. My knuckles were raw. My throat burned.
The fire in my blood had gone out—replaced by something deeper. Colder. Like a lead weight pulling me down.
This wasn't just evil.
This was depravity. The kind you read about in history books and horror fiction. The kind you told yourself humanity had moved past.
But it was here. In front of me. Funded, engineered, and refined.
"God…" I whispered, breath shaking. "How far are they willing to go?"
I used to think the Marvel world was just a harsher version of home. Grimmer, yes—but still filled with hope. With heroes. Light to balance the darkness.
But this? This was worse than any comic had ever shown. Worse than even the most grimdark panels. No punchline. No page turn to escape.
It was real.
I had no words.
And then—my Digivice lit up.
A faint bzzt echoed from the speaker, and Elecmon's voice crackled through.
"AJ—AJ—AJ, you dummy, listen to me!"
I blinked, pulled the Digivice up. "S-Sorry," I stammered. "I was—lost in my head."
"No kidding. I've been pinging you for five minutes. But never mind that—I finally found something. I got a signal."
I sat up straighter, hope flaring for the first time since I'd entered this floor.
"Most of the computers in those labs you were checking—they're closed looped. Local systems only. Can't access the ship-wide network through them. But I found one. Far end of this wing. It's connected to some kind of central processing hub."
"Do you think it can tell us where we are?" I asked. My voice was flat. Cold.
"Maybe. Or at least what happened here. And more importantly, maybe even where Spidey, Danny, and Matt are being kept. I can piggyback into the ship's layout—maybe crack security feeds."
I got to my feet, the Valentine Ring and Clarent still working overtime to keep me upright.
"Good. Guide me. I've seen enough of these tombs."
"Follow the orange light strip. Three left turns from your current position. And AJ—"
"Yeah?"
"Be careful. I don't think we're alone down here."
I nodded, face hardening.
"I'm counting on it."
The corridor was eerily quiet as I followed the thin orange light strip embedded in the floor, its faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat. I turned the first corner—glass walls all around me, each hiding more twisted experiments I refused to look at. I'd seen enough for ten lifetimes.
My fingers were tight around Clarent's hilt. Not for comfort. For control. My magic was still simmering, and if I let it go now, I wasn't sure I'd stop at just the ship.
Second left. The walls shifted here—no more labs. Now they were lined with servers, racks of humming machines blinking with blue and green lights. Thin wires crisscrossed the ceiling like mechanical vines.
The air was colder, recycled harshly through hidden vents, laced with antiseptic. Whatever this room powered—it wasn't for medicine. It was for control.
"You're close," Elecmon said. "Twenty meters ahead. Room with a reinforced sliding door. Should open on biometric override if you punch it hard enough."
"I'm good at punching things," I muttered, and kept walking.
Ten meters.
Then five.
Then—
I froze.
A low skittering sound echoed from somewhere up above. Too fast for normal footsteps. Too erratic for a drone. Metal scraping against metal.
My hand tightened around Clarent.
"Elecmon…"
"I heard it. Sensors didn't pick anything up, though. Be careful."
"I am careful," I said. "That's the problem."
The reinforced door loomed in front of me—steel, matte black, with a faded sign reading:
"Central Node - Level 3 Genetics Command."
I raised my boot—and kicked. The door screeched as it bent inward, then slammed open, one hinge flying loose.
I stepped inside.
Unlike the other labs, this room was warm. Lived-in. Monitors blinked with live feeds—dozens of camera angles from various parts of the ship: hangars, hallways, holding cells. Some were dark, others showed flickering glimpses of fights still in progress.
I walked toward the largest console at the center—an arc of screens surrounding a high-backed swivel chair, which had long since been pushed away and coated in dust.
"Alright, Elecmon," I said, holding the Digivice close to the main panel. "You're up."
"Initiating uplink… give me a second… bzzzzt… okay, I'm in! Running a deep dive now—oooh, man, this system's thick with encryption. Real old-school security. Give me a sec to dig."
As Elecmon worked, I looked at the feeds again. Three of them caught my attention instantly.
The first showed Luke Cage in the ship's outer ring—still fighting. Still standing. The guy was a machine, holding his own against at least twenty heavily armed mercs, tossing them like bowling pins.
A moment after the screen flared to life with the sight of Luke Cage brawling through another wave of mercs outside the hull, I leaned closer to the console.
"Good. He's still on his feet." I exhaled, then asked, "What about the others? Spidey, Matt, Danny?"
There was a pause.
A beat longer than it should've taken.
"They're… not on any of the cameras, its all-live feed with no past recording" Elecmon said, voice suddenly careful. "I've scanned twice. Triple-checked even. No visual feed, no thermal pings, no biometric tags, not even hallway motion triggers from the sections they were fighting in. It's like… they're not in any wing of the ship that has working surveillance."
I straightened up. "What do you mean, any wing?"
"I don't mean they're hidden. I mean… there's nothing. No data. It just stops."
I didn't like the sound of that. "Then keep digging. There has to be something—"
But Elecmon cut off mid-beep.
Silence.
I frowned, looking down at the Digivice. "Elecmon?"
No reply.
"Elecmon?" I said again, sharper now.
Suddenly the device sparked softly to life.
"No… no, that can't be right," Elecmon whispered. His voice was warped with static and disbelief. "Am I glitching…?"
The way he said it froze me in place. "What's wrong?"
Another moment of stammered silence. Then:
"AJ… from the data I've just cross-referenced from the ship logs—biometric scanners, environmental readouts, air filters, access swipes, floor impact sensors—this entire wing should be packed with people. Three hundred scientific personnel. Five hundred security staff. A hundred and fifty in maintenance and support."
"…Okay," I said slowly, "so where the hell are they?"
"Nowhere. That's the point. The systems aren't detecting even one of them. No motion, no vital signs. No ID pings. There are dozens of chat logs from researchers here, all referencing their ongoing work—especially whatever they've been doing in the core section of the ship. But there's no audio feed, no camera coverage. Nothing."
"Cut off," I muttered. "Like someone wanted that area off the grid."
"Exactly. The files acknowledge the core exists—it's even mapped. But the actual data stops cold. Like… it's walled off from the rest of the ship's systems. Manually isolated. I've seen firewalls and scrubbed nodes before, but this? This feels like a digital black hole."
Elecmon's voice dropped a little.
"I don't like the look of this, AJ."
I stared at the screen for a moment. At the schematic of the level below us. A blank space where something vital should've been.
"Same here," I murmured. "But I have a feeling our friends—and something a lot worse—are waiting down there."
I pulled back from the terminal and began checking the straps of my armor. My breath had steadied. My hands were no longer shaking. The Valentine Ring shimmered faintly on my finger as Clarent pulsed with warmth across my back.
"Map it out," I told him. "I want the fastest route to the core."
"Done. I'll overlay it to your HUD. You'll need to cut through a few sealed bulkheads—they've welded parts of this sector shut."
"I'll manage."
I turned away, but paused, glancing back at the screens—at the frozen labs, the awful, glass coffins I'd just walked past.
"Elecmon," I said, quietly.
"Yeah?"
"While I'm moving… collect everything. All the logs. Test data. Victim IDs. Lab protocols. Chain of command."
There was a pause on his end.
"You're thinking about what comes after."
"I have to." I glanced down at the ring of frost still clinging to my gauntlet. "Because after we get our people out—after we burn this nightmare to the waterline—I want to make damn sure these kids get justice."
"I'm on it, partner," Elecmon said, voice steadier now. "Downloading everything. No more hiding for these bastards."
I nodded once and stepped toward the sealed bulkhead, Clarent glowing softly behind my shoulder.
Time to see what the hell was waiting in the heart of this monster.
And make it regret ever drawing breath.