4.47 kilometers away, 77 meters underground—Ren Sasaki, 29, stood alert at the center of a brightly lit command station.
Black combat boots with matching thigh-high leggings—just a strip of skin visible beneath her black denim shorts. Over her dark, form-fitting shirt: a baggy, reflective gray bomber jacket. On the back, a logo of a winged serpent clutching its own severed head.
Cool and composed, her raven hair was pulled up tightly into a high ponytail—a violet hair tie her only pop of color.
Ren scowled, eyes clear pools of grey.
It had already been a long morning—the culmination of days of planning. For the past week, they'd conducted 'round the clock surveillance on the clinic. It was imperative that when they move, they move decisively. The enemy had slipped. They couldn't afford to do the same.
The alter they ended up going with wasn't their primary, nor their secondary target, but was good enough to get them inside.
Things quickly hit a snag, however, when they couldn't sustain a link. Fine. They only needed to maintain a connection long enough for the transplant to complete. Then once more for the extraction.
Still, it was nagging at her.
It didn't matter if it was a flaw in the machinery, an advanced cloaking system, an inexperienced operator, or something more sinister. It was an unexpected variable.
A small but conspicuous unknown.
And there was nothing she hated more than—
Stop it.
Ren clenched her fists, quieting the storm of her mind.
The mission was a go.
Her mouth twisted into a frown as she communicated telepathically with her team of field agents.
[Primary objective is that bunker!]
Now, it was up to Emi to do her job.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Back in the Ami Clinic waiting room, three special assault team (SAT) commandos in armored slate coveralls fanned out around the clinician—weapons drawn. Their eyes peered out from behind their black face coverings, set beneath the rims of their helmets.
A stark white "POLICE" patch was emblazoned across each of their plate carriers, with small Velcro strips designating their individual squad numbers—01, 02, and 03.
The clinician stood there, unfazed—both arms raised in the air. Unlike before, his eyes were wide open—his calm smile replaced by a mischievous grin.
Ren continued to shout orders over the comms line.
[Clear the main floor, weapons free!]
[Ma'am!]
"W-what is this?!"
The clinician turned to see the receptionist staring at him from behind the counter with a look of horror and disbelief.
"Oh, right. Speaking of guns…"
The clinician pointed at the receptionist with one finger—hands still above his head.
"That one."
As SAT 01 turned his gun on him, the receptionist dove from his chair, disappearing behind the counter. The SAT appeared to track him through the surface. He fired off a few rounds from his suppressed PK10—the shots ripped through the desk, revealing a dented ballistic shield under the front paneling.
When the receptionist sprang back up, he was clutching a strange-looking pistol with a flat, smooth muzzle—but before he could pull the trigger, SAT 02 fired a burst from his gun—exploding the vase of poppies on the counter.
As the receptionist's body fell back onto his chair, SAT 01 swiftly turned and fired his rifle. An identical pistol fell to the floor, followed by another body—the old man in the green tracksuit. An instant kill.
The two SATs turned back toward the clinician, who flashed a sheepish grin.
"Heh... Oops. Guess I missed one."
An orderly in scrubs suddenly burst through the door to the waiting room.
"What the hell's–gghh"
SAT 03 immediately restrained him against the wall, while SAT 01 relayed with Ren.
[Threats neutralized.]
[Bag 'em!]
SAT 03 tightened flex-cuffs around the man's wrists.
[This guy too?]
[Affirmative. Tie his legs. Bite block.]
[Yes, Commander!]
[Emi. The cloaking system.]
"I know, I know, hold on. Don't be so impatient!"
The clinician frowned as he interfaced with a control panel generated by his Ichor—his eyes darting about. As he spoke, a second voice could be heard over the telepathic comms line—a voice belonging to a young woman.
"You know it takes time to integrate, right?"
[You know it takes time to integrate, right?]
[You're getting sloppy.]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Ren watched the scene play out on the multi-screen holo-display that ran along the opposite wall of the command station—three floating windows at the center showed the visual feeds of her three agents.
[It should have been done already. And stick to neural comms on mission. How many times do I have to say it?]
[Always nagging.]
[And stop breaking character.]
[Come on, freaking people out is the only fun part of this job!]
Ren's eyebrow twitched. There was that attitude again.
Ever since they'd brought on a new operator, she'd been acting out.
Akashi, Ren's second-in-command and Emi's designated handler, had insisted that he get an understudy, "in case something were to happen to him." Fine. He was right. They were nothing if not understaffed. But she knew the request came out of laziness over a sincere sense of responsibility.
Now, though, she had to lead her team of field agents and deal with the schoolyard drama of her far less reliable command crew.
Ren shot a glance to her right.
"Yuki. What's her status?"
The young scientist jumped at her name.
Yuki sat stiff at her console, gripping a pair of handgrips attached to her seat, abstract shapes morphing inside the lenses of her round, frameless glasses.
"Yes, Commander!"
Her chair abruptly swiveled—built-in straps tightened around her freshly ironed black blouse, holding her in place.
Projected above a separate 3D holo-display were smoke-like wisps that rotated in a slow spiral. Inside, glowing sparks of light drifted about, flickering on and off like fireflies.
"Ego barrier fully intact! No signs of assimilation!"
Ren watched the snowman hairclip that held Yuki's bangs dart back and forth in a panic as she triple-checked her monitors—the rest of her chestnut hair tied into a single lopsided bun, save for a long strand that fell down on the opposite side.
A nervous girl. Mousy. But eager to learn—and a fast thinker. Ren had hand-selected Yuki herself from a shortlist of candidates.
Most importantly: obedient.
Ren's eyes shot to the slouched figure beside Yuki. Scruffy, perpetually disheveled, and—as usual—the only one to ignore dress code. Akashi peered over the edge of the control deck from behind his thick black frames, his loosely buttoned periwinkle shirt visible beneath his sleek, translucent lab coat.
He gave a small nod, scratching at the graying temples of his messy charcoal hair.
"She's in control."
[See!!]
[Emi. I want focus on the mission. We can't afford any more mistakes.]
[Cool. Everyone's allowed to make mistakes but me. Got it.]
Yuki's cheeks began to glow red—a pained smile on her face. Akashi reassured her.
"You're doing fine."
As he said it, he yawned.
Ren's nostrils flared.
Akashi Gennai. An irritating type of man. He'd done one impressive thing in his life—build that machine. Outside of that? He seemed to lack any ambition—zero sense of duty.
Yet, at the same time, obnoxiously smug and unserious.
Akashi couldn't be terminated or replaced—not that she hadn't tried—and he knew it.
Fine.
Assuming everything went well with Yuki's training, Akashi could finally have his wish to tinker away in obscurity—or whatever it was he wanted—and she could have a competent second.
If only there were a way to train her outside of an actual mission.
Ren's blood pressure was high enough as it was.
[Aaand, done!]
"Atsu."
Ren's gaze snapped to her mission tech, who stared at his own array of holo-screens.
At the center of his display was an aerial scan of the clinic—glowing dots revealing the geolocations of anyone implanted with an Ichor. Ren watched as a section in the back of the clinic appeared to glitch. Four more dots emerged—the system immediately identified the four individuals—their IDs flashed on screen.
Atsu spoke in his usual calm, monotone voice.
"IDs registered."
An odd one, for sure. But her only reliable subordinate.
Atsu's eyes had a natural intensity to them, heightened by his lack of eyebrows—his short, straw-like black hair sticking out in every direction, giving him the look of someone who had just rolled out of bed.
Ren had quickly come to count on Atsu if she wanted something done, and considered him her actual number two.
Atsu glanced over his shoulder, not making eye contact.
"Got 'em."
Ren turned back toward the main display.
[Guy. Nagasawa. Nori. Syncing telemetry.]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
SAT 01 crouched behind the reception desk, zipping the remainder of a black body bag over the receptionist's face. Suddenly, three ghostly signatures appeared, visible through the floor below. His left eye narrowed—his right eyelid stuck in a permanent half-wink.
Both the largest and tallest of the field agents, Guy's voice carried a rugged simplicity.
[Ma'am. Confirmed visual.]
SAT 02 grunted as he threw the body bag with the old man over his shoulder. Nagasawa was just a few centimeters shorter than Guy, with a lean, muscular physique.
[Bagged and tagged. Ready for pickup.]
[Inbound.]
[Would you just open up?!]
On the other side of the counter, SAT 03 wrestled to get the bite block in, as the orderly—zipped to his chin—thrashed and twisted his neck. The shortest and slightest of build, Nori's voice carried a youthful eagerness not present in the other two field agents.
[Come on—say, "Ahhh."]
Without warning, Nagasawa turned and fired a round into the body bag, hitting the man's foot. He screamed in pain.
Nori managed to slip the block in and quickly zip the bag up over his face. He exhaled a sigh of relief, then turned to Nagasawa, who shrugged.
The sound of a bell interrupted.
Nagasawa whipped around, gun in hipfire position.
In the front doorway, a teenage kid in a puffy coat and bucket hat stood motionless, clutching a small, ripped piece of paper.
After a moment, his pupils slowly scanned the waiting room, which was strewn with broken glass, flower petals, expended shells, and spatterings of blood. Nori continued to straddle the orderly, whose muffled shouts could be heard from inside the wriggling body bag. The clinician stood just past them, grinning cheerfully, hands still in the air.
Nagasawa broke the silence.
"Got an appointment?"
The kid said nothing—deer in headlights—staring down the barrel of Nagasawa's PK10.
CRASH
Glass shot across the room as an armored vehicle backed through the front window by the door.
The teenager jolted—trance broken.
In a panic, he waved his hand in front of his eyes and turned around, bumping into the door frame as he took off, dropping the piece of paper.
[Ma'am?]
[Leave it. We hit the bunker.]
The clinician opened the door to the rest of the clinic and gestured gracefully.
"Okay boys, follow—Ow!!"
Guy forcefully grabbed him from behind and flipped him over—cuffing him. He struggled, shooting Guy an indignant look—face pressed against the door.
"Hey! Watsch it, I'm shtill a lady!"
Guy did a quick pat-down—then lifted up his scrubs top. An EMP pistol was strapped to his back.
Ren scolded Emi through the neural comms line.
[What did I say about weapons?]
The clinician put on an air of faux-innocence.
[Not my fault he came with one.]
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Ren's eyes narrowed. She turned to look at the body lying on the bed behind her.
Protruding out from the base of Akashi and Yuki's workstation, her entire form was vacuum sealed—suctioned inside a synthetic gossamer that glistened over her multilayered, black bodysuit.
Aside from her pupils, which twitched about beneath her eyelids, she was perfectly still—mouth slightly open—her chin-length brown bob splayed out over the padded headrest. Above her crown, a spinning iridescent halo of rainbowed light.
A strange fate. With all their combined firepower, intelligence, and resources, everything ultimately came down to this scrawny, difficult girl.
Their ace in the hole. Or, at least, she was.
For months now, she'd been slipping. At first, it was subtle—small mistakes that only Ren noticed. But now, undeniable cracks were starting to show. Emi was always a little erratic. But lately, she was becoming harder and harder to manage.
Starting around Yuki's recruitment, things really began to snowball, until eventually, her small mistakes became a liability.
One close call, followed by a closer call—culminating in the disaster of the previous mission. The attack on Telos Headquarters.
It had been weighing on Ren's mind ever since.
The mission had launched without a hitch—they'd gotten her into her target in time to neutralize him. But then, something happened that had never happened before.
She lost control.
Ren gave the order—she had no choice.
Only afterward did she learn that Emi was spared the bullet. Yuki had managed to pull her in time. Thankfully.
She wouldn't say it, but Ren knew Emi was still upset about it.
[Packages loaded.]
It wasn't a clean shot. The attacker died on the way back to HQ.
[Ma'am. Escort secured.]
Ren sighed through her nose, closing her eyes in a long blink.
Just some stupid kid…
After a moment, they opened again—her gaze now laser-focused.
She whipped back around.
[Push! Guy, Nagasawa, take point!]
[Yes, ma'am!]
[Oo-rah!]
[Nori. Rear support.]
[Understood!]
[Assume they have more than pistols!]