The scent of antiseptic and despair was a familiar cloak to Varos. It clung to the sterile white walls of the children's hospital ward, a smell he knew better than gunpowder or rain-soaked earth. He stood by a bed, his large, calloused hand enveloping the small, pale one of his daughter, Naira. An IV line snaked from her arm to a bag of clear fluid, and the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sound that mattered in the world.
"Papa," she whispered, her voice thin as tissue paper. "Did you see the stars again?"
He forced a smile, a gesture that felt unnatural on his face. "Always, my little star. They're waiting for you to get better so you can see them too."
Her eyelids fluttered shut, the effort of speaking exhausting her. The diagnosis was a rare blood disorder, one that required experimental, prohibitively expensive treatment. The kind of treatment a disgraced soldier-turned-mercenary could never afford on his own. The Japanese government's universal healthcare covered the basics, but this... this was a lifeline dangled just out of reach.
The vibration of his encrypted phone was an unwelcome intrusion. He read the message, his jaw tightening. The meeting was now. He kissed Naira's forehead, a silent promise etched in the grim line of his mouth, and left the ward, the scent of antiseptic replaced by the cold sweat of a different kind of dread.
The man from JAXA, Mr. Tanaka, was waiting in a black sedan parked a block away. He didn't offer a greeting. "The researcher, Elyra Tanaka. She is becoming a liability. Her continued inquiries into the... Saitama incident... are attracting unwanted attention."
Varos said nothing, his eyes fixed on the distant hospital tower.
"The American and Russian intelligence networks have picked up whispers," Tanaka continued, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "They are like sharks. They sense blood in the water. We cannot have her theories becoming public. It would create a panic we cannot control."
"And the man with her? Azar?" Varos asked, the name feeling foreign on his tongue.
"A foreign laborer. A mute. Irrelevant," Tanaka waved a dismissive hand, but Varos saw the minute tightening around his eyes. It was a lie. He had seen the security footage from the university, the way the man moved, the unnerving stillness of him. He was anything but irrelevant.
Tanaka slid a sealed envelope across the leather seat. "This contains a location, a time, and a pre-paid, untraceable account. Your daughter's next treatment cycle has been approved. The full amount will be transferred upon completion of the task."
Varos didn't touch the envelope. He knew what it contained. An order. An execution order for a woman whose only crime was curiosity. He looked from the envelope to Tanaka's impassive face, then back towards the hospital. He saw Naira's smile, heard her weak laugh. He saw the alternative—the slow, painful decline, the helplessness.
"The American and Russian networks, you said?" Varos's voice was a gravelly whisper.
Tanaka nodded. "They are circling. Why?"
"A distraction," Varos said, his mind, trained in tactics and misdirection, clicking into gear. "If their attention is on the researcher's data, their eyes are off you. Off this... operation."
Tanaka's eyes narrowed, intrigued. "Explain."
"Killing her creates a martyr. It raises questions. But if her research, the very thing causing the problem, simply disappears... she has no proof. She is just a discredited academic. The sharks lose the scent." He met Tanaka's gaze. "Let me steal her research. All of it. The data, her notes, everything related to the anomaly. I can make it look like a foreign intelligence grab. The Americans will blame the Russians, the Russians will blame the Chinese. They'll be too busy fighting each other to look here."
Tanaka was silent for a long moment, considering. The soft beep of the heart monitor seemed to echo in Varos's soul. "The treatment for your daughter is a delicate process," Tanaka said softly. "Any... interruptions... could be tragic."
The threat was clear. This wasn't a negotiation. It was a modified command.
"The research," Varos repeated, his voice firm. "It's cleaner. More effective."
After another eternity, Tanaka gave a curt nod. "The research. But if it fails to silence her, the original order stands. And the treatment stops." He pushed the envelope into Varos's hand. "The advance for your... expenses."
The sedan pulled away, leaving Varos on the curb. He looked at the envelope, then tore it open. Inside was a keycard, an address for a storage locker, and a bank statement showing a deposit large enough to cover two months of Naira's treatment. The blood money felt heavy in his hand.
That night, seated in his sparse, functional apartment, Varos accessed the dossiers Tanaka had provided. He saw the official, sanitized version of Elyra Tanaka: brilliant, dedicated, a rising star in astrophysics. He saw the grainy photos of Azar, the silent giant. But he also accessed his own, older files, relics from his time in intelligence. He cross-referenced shipping manifests, black-budget allocations, and intercepted communications from the last five years.
The pattern was there, buried deep. Unregistered materials recovered from "meteorite impacts" in the Pacific. Unexplained power drains at isolated JAXA facilities. Whispers of a secret division, "Project Kōmori," Bat, focused on reverse-engineering non-terrestrial technology. Tanaka wasn't just a bureaucrat trying to avoid a scandal. He was a gatekeeper for a much larger, darker secret. And Azar... Azar was not an anomaly. He was a sample. And Elyra was the one scientist who had stumbled upon the truth without security clearance.
Varos closed the files. He was not saving a curious researcher. He was potentially stealing the key to power beyond imagination from a government that would kill a little girl to keep it. He looked at a picture on his desk, of him holding a laughing, healthy Naira on his shoulders.
He made his choice. He would steal the research. He would give it to Tanaka. He would save his daughter. And he would bury the knowledge of what his country, the country he had once sworn to protect, was truly capable of, deep down inside the soldier's shadow where it belonged. The ghost of the man he used to be screamed in protest, but the sound was drowned out by the relentless, gentle beep of a heart monitor.