—Some keys open doors. Others unlock worlds.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Rain battered the armored convoy in staccato bursts.
Above, clouds churned low—boiling, alive.
Lightning sliced the sky.
The convoy pressed forward, tires whispering across drowning asphalt.
Inside the lead vehicle, Shawn sat strapped to a steel chair. Faint blue light pulsed from the cuffs—standard CP-Hub suppression gear.
Across from him, Commander Lindsay Carver sat motionless. Her amber visor flickered. Dim cabin lights cast sharp lines across her face. When she spoke, her tone was flat.
"You'd be dead if we hadn't intervened," she said. "O.S.S. doesn't take prisoners.
They don't ask questions. Just cut Core-bearers open to see what glows."
Shawn tugged at the cuffs. They held fast, pressing into his skin.
"Then why bother?" he rasped. "CP-Hub erased the Meta-Origin Sect."
Something flickered behind her visor—a reaction, quickly buried.
"We dismantled the cult," she said, leaning in. Her breath fogged the lens.
"But the Elemental Cores?" She paused. "They're state assets."
A flash lit the cabin—lightning again. Outside, twenty Revolutionary Guard mechs marched in formation.
She lowered her voice. "And you… you're the key to the Rifts."
CRACK. Thunder split the sky.
Then—a shockwave.
The vehicle jolted violently. Alarms wailed. Metal tore against metal. The cabin shuddered.
Rear monitors flickered on—an unmarked dropship descended through the storm, its hull burning. Troops deployed rapidly—armored, armed, efficient.
Shawn felt it: the Core inside him activated—sharp. Not pain. A warning.
Gunfire erupted.
Tracer rounds slashed the darkness.
Shawn's jaw tightened. "Quinn's making a move."
Lindsay slammed her hand on the comms panel.
"Evasive pattern delta! Priority one—protect the primary!"
The convoy swerved hard. Tires shrieked against the wet road.
Explosions rang through the valley as CP-Hub mechs engaged the attackers. Plasma and kinetic fire lit the storm in bursts of harsh color.
Amid the chaos, the wind howled louder than before.
Then, the lead vehicle banked sharply toward a gap in the mountainside.
They plunged into Base 7-1—swallowed by rock and reinforced concrete.
Inside, the tunnel walls shimmered faintly with suppressed energy. The noise of battle fell away, replaced by the hum of buried power.
Shawn exhaled slowly, forcing his heart to slow.
The fight above was no longer his.
What waited below was.
The convoy eased to a halt.
Massive blast doors parted with a hiss, revealing a chamber lit in stark white.
The heart of CP-Hub's hidden citadel.
With a click, Shawn's restraints disengaged. Blood surged back into his arms. He flexed his fingers, eyes ahead.
The chamber opened wide—its stone walls etched with glowing trigrams.
At the center rose a ring of eight massive cauldrons—each humming faintly—encircling a raised tripod engraved with a fading Taiji sigil, lines glowing like veins beneath stone.
Each cauldron held a Core:
Mountain — jade fused with stone, dense and still.
Lake — quicksilver shifting, reflective.
Wind — a feather suspended, tense in motionless air.
Fire — a faint ember pulsing with heat.
Sky — fractured crystal vibrating with latent force.
Earth — a dark lodestone anchoring space around it.
Water — a frozen droplet, trembling yet unmelting.
Two cauldrons stood empty—
Thunder.
And the one in the center.
Shawn froze.
"…What is this?"
A voice answered from the shadows.
"A launch pad."
Marshal Gary stepped into the light, faint circuitry glowing across his uniform—like distant constellations.
His eyes scanned Shawn—calm, assessing.
"Eighty years ago," Gary said, "CP-Hub helped seal the Elemental Cores. It was the only way to keep the Primal Soul out of the wrong hands."
He paused, then added, "The seals still hold. But now, we don't answer to any nation or faction. Only CP-Hub can command the Cores—and access the Rift."
A pulse surged from Shawn's chest. The Thunder Core responded, not in pain, but in alert.
His jaw tensed. "You're not trying to stop AGI-ST. You want the Primal Soul for yourselves."
Gary's expression shifted slightly—no surprise, just calculation.
"Control is better than chaos," he said. "And someone has to decide who makes it through what's coming."
A hologram flared to life without warning.
Earth spun in the air, crisscrossed by glowing ley lines, all converging on a single point: the Core facility. It didn't look like a map. It looked like a fracture.
Lindsay stepped forward, handing Shawn a file.
Inside: a blueprint.
PROJECT HEAVEN'S SECRET.
An orbital array—massive, intricate, and unmistakably militarized.
Gary's voice was even, almost indifferent.
"Your mission is simple. Retrieve the remaining Elemental Cores. Complete it, and your family walks free."
Shawn's fists curled. He didn't speak—couldn't.
His jaw tightened.
"And if I refuse?"
The lights dimmed.
A containment pod hissed open nearby.
Inside—still and crystalline—was a corpse.
Lindsay's tone was flat. "He said no."
No threats. No second chances.
Shawn said nothing. He didn't need to.
For a second—just a second—he saw his sister's face. The way she used to laugh when she was small.
Her last message echoed in his mind: Don't do anything stupid.
As Lindsay guided him down the corridor toward the hangar, her hand brushed his—brief, intentional.
Something small pressed into his palm.
A coin. Bronze. Its edges worn smooth by time.
She leaned in, voice barely a whisper.
"Go back and watch. My grandmother was with the Sect."
The hangar doors groaned open.
A sleek VTOL crouched on the tarmac, CP-Hub's dragon emblem dulled under flickering lights.
Lindsay gave him a sharp shove.
"Go. Before Gary rethinks the deal."
Shawn's boots struck cracked pavement.
He was home.
He drew a breath, steadying the surge in his pulse—trying to ignore the sick twist deep in his gut.
From his pocket, he pulled the coin and turned it slowly between his fingers.
One side bore the familiar "V."
The other—a single etched character: 五 (Five).
The weight of it felt wrong.
Not heavy—but ancient.
As if the coin remembered something he'd spent years trying to forget.
His Core stirred—a low, uneasy thrum in his chest.
A whisper without sound. A warning without words.
Five.
Not seven. Why?
And Lindsay…
Whose side is she really on?