Prologue: The Dream
The night was not silent.
Akio's mind was dragged into a dream, though it did not feel like a dream—it felt like a warning, a memory of something that had not yet happened.
In the dream, he was walking through an endless corridor of glass. The walls were filled with suspended bodies, floating in crimson fluid. Their eyes were wide, unblinking, and their mouths whispered words he could not hear. Spirals of scarlet light twisted around them, forming the shape of a double helix.
A voice, deep and broken, whispered:
"The Scarlet Helix returns. The lab breathes still."
Suddenly, the corridor shattered like glass under pressure, and Akio fell into an ocean of blood. The helix burned itself into the waves, spinning faster, splitting into fragments. He reached for the surface but every time his hand broke through, the sky was not air but fire.
The dream ended with a single image: a vial, black against the red ocean, labeled in jagged script—CRIMSON SLEEP.
He woke with a violent gasp, drenched in sweat, his body trembling as if he had truly drowned. His heart hammered against his ribs, whispering the same question he could never bury: what if Yaka Lab truly rises again?
The Terrorist Cover
It was not long before the world gave him an answer.
In the mountains, beneath thunderclouds, a high-security pharmaceutical research center ran its midnight cycle. Guards walked the sterile corridors, white walls gleaming under fluorescent light. In the heart of the building, sealed behind seven reinforced doors, was the most dangerous remnant of the Scarlet Helix project:
Crimson Sleep. A vial of perfectly stabilized neurotoxin—odorless, colorless, fast-acting, irreversible.
The silence of the facility shattered as mercenaries stormed the entrance, their rifles spitting gunfire. Alarms shrieked. Security scrambled, but the masked intruders moved like shadows, cutting gaurds down with brutal efficiency. Bullets tore into flesh, bodies collapsed against the pristine white walls, painting them with streaks of red.
Inside the vault chamber, scientists screamed as the doors were blown apart. One mercenary grabbed the vial from its protective cradle. The others set charges.
"Secure it," their leader barked. His voice was distorted by a mask, but his movements were precise, military. "Leave no trace."
Moments later, the night sky erupted. The entire facility collapsed in a fireball, glass and steel spiraling upward like embers from a burning pyre.
From the smoke rose a message, broadcast across the world:
"We are The Red Smoke Bandits. Crimson Sleep is ours. Cities will choke. Governments will kneel."
The message spread like wildfire. News anchors trembled on-screen, analysts speculated, governments panicked. The Red Smoke Bandits had been dormant for 20 years—an eco-terrorist ghost story from another time. Yet here they were, claiming possession of a weapon capable of paralyzing nations.
And when Akio saw the broadcast, he felt his nightmare settle into reality.
The Scarlet Helix... it was no longer just in his dreams.
The Floating Exhibition
One week later, an invitation arrived.
Mr. Hiroshi Suzuki, technology magnate and eccentric show manager, announced the unveiling of his latest project: the Sky Guardian, a custom-built airship the size of a stadium, designed for research, entertainment, and as a floating fortress of innovation.
More than a spectacle, Suzuki promised a revelation: the Automated Pharmacy System, a prototype system capable of distributing life-saving medicine globally without human error.
His goal was bold—bait.
Not for terrorists, but for the world's most elusive thief: The Phantom Analyst.
"He cannot resist," Suzuki laughed during his press briefing. "He steals not for riches, but for pride. Let's see if he dares to analyze this."
Akio boarded the Sky Guardian with Riki, Raka, Rumane, and Akazuchi. The interior was breathtaking: crystal walkways, vast observation decks of reinforced glass, a grand hall lined with holographic displays. Yet beneath the splendor, Akio's heart tightened. His premonition haunted him, whispering with every glance at the endless sky: This is where it begins.
The others tried to lift his spirits.
Riki, leaning against a railing, smirked: "What's wrong, Akio? Afraid of heights?"
Raka, ever watchful, placed a hand on his shoulder: "He's not afraid. He's remembering something."
Akio forced a smile, though it faltered quickly. "It's nothing. Just... deja vu."
But deja vu had never felt so much like fate.
The Contamination
The airship's lounge buzzed with chatter as journalists interviewed Suzuki. Among them was Kenji Matahiko, a respected investigative reporter, accompanied by his crew: Mizukawa the director, Nishitani the ambitious young reporter, and Ishimoto the stoic camera filmer.
While most eyes focused on the speeches, a steward in the smoking lounge noticed something strange: a small ampoule, empty, its surface etched with the Black Smoke Bandits.
Panic spread fast. Suzuki's phone rang. He picked up—and his face drained of blood.
A distorted voice echoed: "The bacteria is already in your airship. Every breath is death. Announce our name. Tell the world."
Suzuki staggered, whispering, "They've... they've released it."
In that instant, Akio's eyes sharpened. He noticed a staff member scratching at their neck. Tiny red welts spread in unnatural patterns, blooming like poisoned flowers.
He grabbed his case, pulling out swabs, alcohol, a portable analyzer. His hands moved with practiced calm, but inside, fear clawed at him. He took samples, measured temperature, studied the rash.
It looked real. It felt real. But the speed—it was too fast, almost theatrical. Not how infections normally behaved.
"This isn't right," Akio muttered. "It's not infection... it's something else."
The Imposter and The Panic
While Akio worked, Raka's sharp eyes caught movement among the maintenance crew. One person walked too cautiously, his face partially obscured by a bandage. She moved in, silent as a predator.
"Stop," she commanded, blocking his path.
The figure smirked, pulling away the bandage—revealing not scars, but a grin.
The Phantom Analyst.
"Impressive," he teased. "Your instincts are sharper than his."
Raka's fists clenched. "Why are you here? Did you release the bacteria?"
"I?" He chuckled. "I am no killer. My tricks are for deception, not slaughter. But tonight, you'll need me more than you think."
Before she could stop him, he leaned close and whispered something—something only Akio had once told her, a memory of a quiet night, a promise between them.
Her guard faltered. When she blinked, he was gone, melting back into the airship's chaos.
At that moment, Fujioka collapsed. His skin erupted with angry welts, his breathing ragged. Screams filled the deck.
Akio and Raka rushed forward, forcing the crowd back.
"Quarantine this room!" Akio shouted. "Nobody in or out!"
Passengers backed away in terror. Fujioka writhed on the floor, his voice hoarse:
"It's spreading... they've poisoned us all!"
The crew scrambled, fear spiraling into hysteria.
And Akio, kneeling beside the victim, whispered through clenched teeth:
"No... this isn't how it works. It's not a plague... it's a performance."
But deep inside, his dream's words echoed again:
The Scarlet Helix returns. The lab breathes still.
🔻 End of Act 1 (Part 1) 🔻