The night stretched quiet over the government camp, save for the steady hum of machines and the occasional bark of an order from patrolling soldiers. Within the command tent, Director Shiga stood tall behind a table covered in charts and flickering screens.
His uniform was immaculate, dark blue with silver trim, though he wore it like armor rather than attire. The lamplight caught the sharp lines of his face—stern, unreadable, and carved from discipline. He tapped the edge of a report with a gloved finger, his gaze piercing through the words rather than reading them.
"Three generations," he murmured. "Ninety-four years of controlled isolation… and finally, the results bear fruit."
Behind him, Captain Sudo straightened. His posture was rigid, his eyes sharp, but he lacked the gravitas of the man before him. "Director Shiga, the resonance machines are functioning as planned. The fragments you authorized us to recover from the island's surface synchronize perfectly. It won't be long before we can extract full readings from the subjects."
"Subjects," Shiga repeated. He let the word hang in the air, savoring it. "Not villagers. Not citizens. Subjects. A century of shaping bloodlines, and now their bodies sing with the island's energy."
He turned to one of the glowing monitors. Across it were faint outlines—silhouettes of Yoshiki, Hikaru, and Yuzuriha. Their scans from earlier in the day. Jagged lines of light traced through their nervous systems, branching like rivers through their bodies.
Sudo hesitated. "And what of the… ethical concerns raised by the science division?"
Shiga's lips curved—not in amusement, but in contempt. "Ethics?" His voice was low, razor-sharp. "Ethics are for those who can afford the luxury of weakness. This island, these… children, are proof of what the old world never dared dream. A fusion of man and energy. Weapons not forged, but born."
Sudo stiffened, but said nothing more.
Shiga turned his gaze back to the table. His eyes narrowed. Something was wrong.A stack of documents was out of place—slightly ajar, one page missing.
He straightened slowly. "Who entered this tent?"
Sudo blinked. "No one, sir. Security rotations were tight. All personnel accounted for."
"Then either your men are liars…" Shiga's eyes glinted as he examined the papers again. "…or our precious subjects have a rat among them."
Sudo's jaw clenched. "You believe one of them infiltrated the camp?"
Shiga finally allowed himself the faintest smile, though it was cold as steel. "Not believe, Captain. I know. This island breeds more than ignorance. It breeds curiosity."
He folded his hands behind his back, his voice lowering. "And curiosity… is the first step toward rebellion."
The hum of the machines swelled, filling the silence. Outside, the soldiers marched as though the night was theirs to command. But within the tent, Director Shiga had already declared war—quietly, efficiently, with the precision of a man who had been waiting a hundred years for this very moment.
The silence did not last. A soldier entered the tent at a brisk pace, helmet tucked beneath his arm. He saluted sharply. "Director Shiga. Patrol unit Gamma reports unusual movement near the eastern fence. No intruders found, but footprints suggest someone passed through recently."
Sudo's eyes narrowed. "Impossible. That sector was triple-guarded."
Shiga didn't turn. His gaze was fixed on the flickering monitor, the glowing nerves of the islanders etched like constellations. He spoke softly, as though to himself.
"Impossible is a word for men who trust too much in procedure."
Then he faced the soldier. "Double the perimeter detail. Replace every third watchman with men of my choosing. And listen well—" his voice cut like steel through the tent, "—no one breathes of this outside the command staff. Whoever dares to probe my camp must believe they remain unseen."
The soldier swallowed hard, saluted again, and exited without a word.
Sudo exhaled. "You mean to let the infiltrator move freely?"
Shiga clasped his hands behind his back, pacing once around the tent. "A rat is most useful when it believes it's escaped the trap. If we move too quickly, we sever the thread that leads us to its nest." His eyes narrowed. "No. We will watch. We will wait. And when the rat grows bold enough…"
He stopped before the monitor again. The three silhouettes pulsed faintly, Yoshiki's pattern brightest of all, like a fire on the verge of eruption.
"…we will seize not only the hand that stole from us, but the heart that drives it."
A heavy stillness settled in the tent, broken only by the steady hum of machinery. Outside, the camp came alive with sudden activity—extra patrols marching, shadows lengthening as floodlights burned brighter against the jungle. The quiet night was gone; the air now carried the weight of a hunt.
Director Shiga finally allowed himself a whisper, almost lost beneath the machines.
"Come then, little spark. Let me see how brightly you dare to burn."