#### **Chapter 22: The Ghost's Symphony**
The W.A.O. soldiers moved with disciplined precision, a six-man fireteam sweeping the main hall. They were the organization's best, equipped with state-of-the-art thermal imaging and noise-dampening gear. They were hunting a man.
They found a monster instead.
From the darkness above, a section of corroded ceiling collapsed, burying two soldiers under a ton of concrete and steel. It wasn't an accident. It was a calculated strike. Before the dust even settled, Kyro dropped into their midst.
He was a blur of black cloth and controlled violence. He didn't fight them; he dismantled them. A disabling strike to a soldier's knee, a precise blow to the brachial nerve that rendered an arm useless, the butt of a rifle used to shatter a helmet's visor. He used their own momentum against them, turning their tight formation into a tangled mess of bodies. It was over in seven seconds. He left them groaning and broken, but alive, a testament to Hikari's prediction.
"The second team is moving to flank your position from the lower maintenance tunnels," Kuro's voice was a calm anchor in his ear. "I'm venting the primary cryo-coolant into that corridor. Expect ice."
Kyro moved, his body a whisper in the decaying facility. He reached the maintenance tunnel just as the next team rounded a corner, their boots slipping on the flash-frozen floor. He was on them before they could recover, a phantom weaving through their ranks in the flickering emergency lights that Kuro was erratically short-circuiting.
His Intuitive Combat Clairvoyance was a raging fire in his mind. He saw every muzzle flash before it happened, every clumsy swing, every panicked glance. He felt the familiar drain, the throbbing behind his temples, but he pushed it down. This fight was not just for survival. It was for the truth.
From his remote perch, Kuro fought his own war. A W.A.O. netrunner was hammering at his firewalls, attempting to sever his connection and halt the download. He typed with one hand, rerouting the facility's power systems with the other. A heavy blast door slammed shut, separating two enemy fireteams. The ventilation system roared to life, kicking up a blinding cloud of dust and debris. He was the ghost in the machine, playing a symphony of chaos conducted by his brother's violence.