Mikey's jaw clenched so tight it felt like it might crack.
He stood frozen, fists trembling at his sides, eyes locked on the towering figure across the control room—the man in the black suit, the phantom from every sleepless night, the shadow behind his father's murder.
Payne Morrison.
The Secretary of Defense.
He loomed near the central monitors, speaking quietly to technicians who scurried around him like satellites around a black star. His presence didn't just demand attention—it consumed it. Even without raising his voice, the entire control room tilted in his direction, like gravity had shifted to follow him.
Mikey barely registered Bobo's whispered voice in his ear. His hearing tunneled inward, swallowed by the pulsing hum of rage. A sharp, constant ring overtook his senses. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs like a war drum.
Payne.
Payne.
I wanna kill him.
Without realizing it, Mikey took a step forward.
Bobo's arm shot out like a whip, barring his chest. The contact jolted him back to reality.
Bobo's voice came low, through gritted teeth.
"No… not yet."
Mikey swallowed hard. His rage still burned, but he nodded and stepped back. For now.
They were here. Inside the control room. But with Payne in the same space, there was no room for error.
They fanned out slightly, trying to look busy, glancing at passing screens, nodding at technicians—but their ears were alert, tuned to every syllable floating from Payne's corner.
The control center was a glass womb overlooking Jöten, filled with white lights and soft pulses of holographic blue. Touchscreens hovered in midair. Thin wires ran through the transparent floor. It was all beautiful in a sterile, suffocating way.
Then the elevator behind them let out a soft ding.
A soldier stepped out, helmet under his arm. His hair was graying, his uniform pristine but stretched across a slight gut. He moved with confidence, but not the kind earned—more like the kind inherited. He stepped forward and bowed his head.
"Secretary Morrison. I heard you wished to speak with me."
Payne turned, his expression unreadable. His voice was calm, but it carried an edge like glass.
"Indeed I have, General Garrow. I heard we lost twenty men during a single capture."
The general stiffened.
"Yes, sir. That is true—"
Payne began walking toward him slowly, deliberately. His footsteps echoed like clock ticks on steel.
"And you were there to witness it?" Payne asked, voice quieter now.
"Yes sir, I was, but—"
Without warning, Payne drove his knee upward and crushed the general's crotch with brutal precision.
Garrow collapsed to the floor in a gasping heap. He writhed silently, hands clutching himself as saliva dripped from his open mouth.
Mikey flinched. Bobo didn't move. Luce's eyes narrowed behind her visor.
Payne crouched beside the man, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Why do you think I just did that to you, Garrow?"
The general wheezed.
"Because I… was inefficient… sir…"
Payne gave a short, mirthless chuckle. He leaned forward and gently patted the man's cheek. Not hard. Just enough to humiliate.
"So you do have a brain," he said softly. "You piece of useless garbage."
He straightened, towering over the trembling general.
"Explain yourself."
Still gasping, Garrow forced himself to stand, wincing with every movement.
"We believe the target was the one the Defectors call… 'The Phantom of Hiroki', sir."
Bobo's eyes widened. He leaned slightly toward Luce.
"They're talking about Ryo."
She gave a short, grave nod.
Payne's brow arched. "Phantom of Hiroki… Is he actually from the mountains?"
"We're not sure," Garrow admitted.
Payne walked slowly back toward the window, folding his hands behind his back.
"Question him. What's his name? Where's he being held?"
"Ryosuke Saito. Ward 5. Special containment."
Payne paused. His tone darkened.
"Why special containment?"
The general hesitated.
"Upon arrival, sir… he killed five guards."
Payne froze. Then he turned slowly.
"What?" he said coldly.
"I wasn't there," Garrow stammered. "But—"
Payne's eyes flared.
He took two slow steps forward—then three fast ones—and closed the distance in a blink.
"Well, go question him. If he is from Hiroki we need to know. He might know where they are."
But then the general—tired, panicked—said just a little too much.
"Sir… with all due respect, we destroyed the Hiroki village a decade ago. Even if he is from there, it changes nothing… The Director of the West, Ludovico, even went back five years later—"
The words were a mistake.
The room seemed to lurch.
Payne stopped.
His jaw tightened. His eyes—so dark they looked like wells—locked onto Garrow's face.
A moment passed.
Then Payne raised his sidearm.
And shot the general in the head.
Blood sprayed against the glass. The general's body hit the floor with a lifeless thud.
Gasps echoed from the crew. A technician dropped their tablet. Everyone froze.
But Payne wasn't finished.
He stormed over to the body, gritting his teeth, and began stomping down with fury. Over and over. His boots crushed bone. The sound was sickening—wet and sharp.
"Don't! Mention! His! Name! In front! Of me!"
Each word landed with a blow.
Finally, Payne stopped, panting, blood soaking the floor and his pant leg.
He holstered his weapon. Straightened his jacket. Wiped his face clean with a handkerchief.
He turned to the stunned soldiers who had entered the room with Garrow.
"Get rid of him," he said coldly. "Dump him in the ocean. Or feed him to the prisoners. I don't care."
He brushed past them like they were furniture.
"I need a new general," he muttered as he stepped into the elevator.
The soldiers scrambled to grab the body, dragging it inside with them. The doors slid shut behind them with a whisper. Leaving only Mikey, Luce, Bobo and the 4 operators in the room.
Silence.
Not peace.
Not calm.
Just a dangerous, unnatural silence.
Mikey stared at the place where Payne had stood. His hands clenched tighter than ever.
Bobo didn't speak.
Luce didn't breathe.
They were in the wolf's den now.
And the wolf had just bared its teeth.
Mikey crossed the room with stiff steps, the blood on the floor still warm beneath his boots. Bobo and Luce stood over the mess, both staring silently—like they were trying to process what they'd just seen. The scent of burned ozone and copper clung to the air.
He leaned in close.
"You guys know that Phantom guy?" Mikey whispered, voice low but curious.
Bobo gave a single slow nod.
"That's Ryo."
Mikey's eyebrows shot up.
"Seriously? Your friend sounds like a badass…"
He smirked, clearly trying to cut the tension, but his voice trembled slightly around the edges. It was hard to joke with a fresh pool of blood ten feet away.
Bobo gave a dry chuckle.
"Yeah… he is."
Luce stepped forward, keeping her voice just above a breath.
"They said Ward 5. Special containment. If he's really there… we'll need access to those computers."
Bobo's gaze flicked to the long line of control terminals—rows of holographic interfaces humming with data feeds, operated by four soldiers in council uniforms.
"You think you can work those things?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
Luce nodded.
"I can manage."
Bobo's smirk grew beneath his visor.
"Alright. I got an idea."
He strode toward the group like he belonged there—casual, confident, unbothered by the chaos. The operators barely looked up until he was right on them.
"Hey, guys—quick question for you."
One of them turned.
"Huh—"
Bobo's arm snapped out like a steel whip. He grabbed the closest man by the helmet and slammed his head into the next guy's face. The two crashed to the floor in a tangled heap of limbs and screams, monitors flickering wildly behind them.
The other two guards jumped from their seats, hands going for their sidearms.
But Luce was faster.
Crack-crack.
Crack-crack.
Four shots. Two bullets each. Precise and immediate.
Both men dropped before their weapons cleared their holsters, crumpling sideways like folding chairs. Blood painted the chrome floor beneath them. No one made a sound.
Bobo stepped over the two dazed soldiers still on the floor, now groaning and trying to untangle themselves. He loomed over them like a wall of steel.
"Don't try to shoot me," he growled. "Not smart."
One of them froze mid-motion, hands rising slowly. The other, panicked, kept moving—his fingers creeping toward his holster under the guise of surrender.
Bobo's eyes narrowed.
"I said—"
The man yanked out the sidearm.
Too late.
Bobo stomped down on the man's forearm. There was a sickening crunch as bone gave way beneath his boot. The pistol clattered to the floor.
"No shooting me," Bobo said calmly.
He bent down, scooped up the sidearm, gave it a once-over.
"Luce, I don't get why you love these little things so much."
She let out a small chuckle.
Then, without hesitation, he raised it and shot the wounded man in the head. A sharp crack echoed in the chamber.
He turned to the last operator still alive—hands raised high, body trembling, eyes wild with fear.
"You cooperating?" Bobo asked flatly.
The man nodded so hard it looked painful.
"Y-Yes! Yes, sir!"
Luce had already taken the seat and was firing up the interface, fingers moving across the console like a pianist reading war music. Mikey stepped behind her, watching the data flood the holographic screen.
Bobo grabbed the operator by the collar and hoisted him off the cold floor like he weighed nothing. The man let out a yelp as his feet barely touched the floor.
"C'mon. Sit down," Bobo growled.
The operator scrambled back into the seat, nodding quickly.
"Y-Yeah. Okay."
"Good," Bobo muttered, hand still heavy on the man's shoulder like an iron anchor.
He turned toward Luce, who stood just beside the console, fingers flying over the holographic interface like a codebreaker on a war clock.
"What're you looking for?" Bobo asked, his tone low, serious.
"Amelia," Luce answered, not breaking focus. "Have him search for Ryosuke's file."
Bobo nodded.
"Aye. Operator…"
The man blinked.
"Uh, it's John…"
Bobo gave a gravelly chuckle and slapped his metal hand hard on John's back. The noise echoed like steel against steel.
"Yeah, John. I want you to find a prisoner named Ryosuke Saito. Ward 5. Special Containment. Pull him up."
John swallowed hard and typed fast. The screen zoomed out to a wide digital rendering of Jöten, the prison's sprawling architecture spinning into view. He navigated to Ward 5—thick walls, red perimeter markers.
"There," he said quickly. "Found him. Still in containment."
"Good." Bobo turned to Luce. "Any luck on Amelia?"
Luce shook her head in frustration.
"Nothing. Damn it."
Bobo's grip tightened on John's shoulder. The pressure made the man flinch.
"Explain," Bobo said, voice dark.
John stammered, eyes flicking between the screen and Bobo's visor.
"T-The only reason I can think is… she wasn't processed right. If she had no identification—no ID chip, no registered prints—they could've logged her under temporary custody. It's rare but… it happens."
Luce leaned in.
"She was brought in two, maybe three days ago."
John thought for a moment.
"Then she's probably still being questioned. The questioning period lasts up to four days. That would place her in Ward 6."
Luce nodded grimly.
"Makes sense…"
She turned to Bobo.
"So how the hell do we reach them both? They're in opposite ends of the complex. This disguise won't last much longer—especially now that we know Morrison's here."
Bobo crossed his arms, thinking hard.
"No clue…"
Then Mikey stepped forward. His eyes were locked on the glowing map. He studied it like he was seeing pieces fall into place.
"I have an idea," he said quietly. "But it's nuts."
Luce and Bobo turned to him. Bobo let out a breath.
"Spill it, kid."
Mikey pointed at the screen.
"What if we open all the cells in the outer wards? Just… flood the prison with chaos. We can use it as cover—while the soldiers are scrambling to contain the riot, we get into Ward 5, grab Ryo, and move to Ward 6 before they regroup."
Luce blinked, slowly absorbing it. "That's… really stupid."
She paused briefly.
"But it could work," she finally added.
John interrupted, voice thin.
"W-We can't open all the cells from here. Only Wards 1, 2, and 3 are accessible from this terminal. The higher-security wings—Wards 4 through 6—those have to be opened manually from their own control points."
Mikey nodded, not surprised.
"That's fine. We don't want full chaos. Just enough. The guards will rush to the outer blocks. Leaves the rest of the complex wide open."
Luce looked to Bobo. Bobo gave a small, grim nod.
"It's insane," Bobo muttered. "But so's everything we've done to get here."
Luce looked at John.
"Do it."
John hesitated.
She leaned in.
"Now."
John's hand hovered over the interface. His fingers trembled. Then—he tapped the screen.
A warning pulsed red.
CONFIRM MASS CELL UNLOCK — WARDS 1–3?
He hit "Yes."
There was a deep mechanical clang through the floor, followed by a rising sound—like metal gears grinding and pressure valves releasing.
Far below, somewhere in the belly of the prison, alarms began to scream.
The riot had begun.
And the clock was ticking.