Cherreads

Chapter 34 - Hecate and Hella, Shadow Defensive Force (SDF)

On 31st May 2042, at 8:00 am the SSCBF Headquarters was in a frenzy. The wide, angular corridors buzzed with motion—boots echoing across metal tiles, screens blinking with security feeds, personnel moving at a near-military blur. The anticipation of the candidate arrival had set every department ablaze with urgency.

In the heart of the chaos, Nightingale stood like a spearhead—impeccable in uniform, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp enough to slice through noise. Her voice rang out like a conductor's baton snapping through the air:

"Uniform regulation check on Level Four! I want retinal scanners recalibrated in five minutes—no excuses! And someone please remove the coffee mugs from the primary checkpoint console—we're not running a bloody café!"

She pivoted with military grace, barking orders with crisp efficiency while scanning the crowd. Her boots clacked as she stormed toward the security deck.

At a workstation nearby, Lan Qian hunched over her screen, fingers dancing across the keyboard in a controlled flurry. Her monitors displayed biometric data, facial recognition algorithms, and incoming transport logs. She muttered under her breath, eyes flicking between frames.

"Three false matches. Lazy data entry. This one's birthdate is '0001'? Who coded this—prehistoric gremlins?"

Just beyond, in the candidate evaluation hall, a cluster of elite field officers were gearing up—armour half-buckled, weapons checked, tension veiled behind their professionalism.

Demitin Koğlulanci, the fierce and fearless close-quarters combat specialist, tied her hair back into a tight bun and cracked her knuckles, rolling her shoulders.

"It's a bloody warzone out there. I've seen less chaos during counter-terror drills."

Next to her, Sakim Massersi—a towering brute of a man with a voice like distant thunder—lifted a riot shield one-handed like it weighed nothing.

"Just don't knock over any more recruits, Demitin. Last time, that lad flew six feet and cried like a kettle on boil."

Koizumoto Daishoji, perched quietly with his sniper toolkit beside him, adjusted his glove with surgical precision.

"If the recruits can't survive her elbow, they won't survive the field."

Leaning back against the wall, arms folded, Louisese Langermans smirked beneath his breath.

"We're really selling the place today, aren't we?"

Just then, Captain Lingaong Xuein strode in, a woman whose every step conveyed unflinching control. Her eyes swept the room like a targeting system. Beside her walked Captain Robert Voreyevsky, a man of stoic demeanour, all tact and discipline, coat perfectly pressed and boots shining like polished obsidian.

Xuein's voice was brisk but not unkind.

"So, children—how are we holding up?"

Demitin turned from her locker, exhaling dramatically.

"It's pure mayhem out here, Captain. If one more fresh recruit asks me where the toilets are, I'm throwing them in the suspect interrogation unit."

Robert raised a brow and gave a rare smirk.

"Good. Keeps your reflexes sharp."

He let out a short, controlled laugh. The kind that sounded like it had been cleared for release by three separate regulations.

Xuein folded her arms and tilted her head slightly toward Robert, deadpan.

"Yes, speaking of sharp—Captain Voreyevsky almost drew his sidearm on the janitor this morning. Thought he was a disguised assassin."

The team froze, then burst into stifled laughter—muffled snorts, side-eyes, and smirks passed like contraband.

Robert blinked.

"He was carrying a suspicious mop."

Louisese chuckled.

"And wearing a neon vest."

Robert's lips pursed as if he were recalculating how to assassinate them all silently.

Xuein gave a faint grin and tapped his shoulder lightly.

"Don't worry, Robert. Your paranoia keeps us all safe. And mildly entertained."

He sighed, straightened his cuffs with exaggerated composure, and muttered,

"God help us when the candidates arrive. They're going to eat us alive."

Xuein's grin widened slightly.

"No, Captain. We'll eat them first."

The team straightened as the intercom chimed across the headquarters.

"Candidate transport arriving in five minutes. All personnel to designated posts."

The air tensed.

Jokes faded.

War mode returned.

The buzz of the main floor hadn't slowed in the slightest—staff rushing, screens flashing, last-minute diagnostics echoing through earpieces. Amid the commotion, Demitin Koğlulanci was halfway through adjusting her gauntlets when a bright, familiar voice rang out from behind her.

"Demitin!"

She turned, blinked, and broke into a grin as Tao-Ren came bounding toward her, waving with all the restraint of an over-caffeinated squirrel.

"By the saints, if it isn't Tao-Ren!" Demitin laughed, arms flung open as they collided in a fierce hug. "Where the hell've you been hiding? You owe me three sparring matches and an apology for that elbow to the jaw!"

Tao-Ren laughed brightly, stepping back and brushing a loose strand of teal-dyed hair from her face.

"BAEPSA had me crawling through dimensional tears and entity fields. Trust me, I missed being able to punch something without it phasing into mist."

Captain Robert Voreyevsky approached from the side, hands tucked behind his back, expression unreadable save for a slight quirk of an eyebrow.

"It's been a while, Tao-Ren. How was your transfer to BAEPSA?"

"Unrelenting," Tao-Ren replied with a wry smile. "We've been balancing awakened entities and mutated anomalies while trying to keep civilians from losing their minds. Oh, and enforcing treaties with ghosts. Very diplomatic."

BAEPSA—the Bureau of Administration Enforcement Prevention & Supernatural Affairs—was known for its silent war: policing mutations, rehabilitating rift-born monstrosities, and managing entities born from spiritual corruption. Their agents walked the thin veil between dimensions.

Captain Lingaong Xuein now approached, her typically stoic face softening at the sight of her old comrade.

"You look well, Tao-Ren. I take it BAEPSA didn't manage to break you... yet."

Tao-Ren smirked.

"Not for lack of trying. But I didn't come alone."

Before anyone could ask, a set of approaching footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Then a calm, steady male voice:

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

Lingaong Xuein's eyes widened, her posture stiffening in disbelief.

The others turned—Robert, Demitin, Sakim, Koizumoto, and Louisese all did a double take as a tall, sharp-featured man stepped into view. He wore an air of quiet authority and walked with military precision. Standing beside him were six operatives—each distinctly trained, each subtly formidable.

Xuein's voice caught in her throat before she managed,

"...Xuemin?"

She strode forward, disbelief melting into emotion. Her brother, Lingaong Xuemin, gave a lopsided smile as he opened his arms.

"Long time, sister."

They embraced tightly, the moment stretching just long enough to betray two years of silence.

Xuemin pulled back with a grin.

"Still lecturing subordinates until they fold like paper?"

"Only the ones who deserve it," she replied dryly.

As they stepped aside, Xuemin gestured to his team.

"Allow me to introduce my squad."

One by one, they stepped forward.

"Feng Shaoyun" – regal and composed, with eyes like ancient silver. She gave a curt nod, hands clasped in front of her.

"Qu Yexun" – hands behind his back, posture razor-straight. He barely blinked, merely scanning the room like it were a chessboard.

"Zhai Linyu" – bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, already fiddling with the handle of his electro-hammer. "This place has better lighting than our barracks. Do we get coffee?"

"Yang Shaoyong" – arms crossed, chest puffed, flashing a broad grin. "Ready to plug into the front line, Captain!"

"Ping Lianhua" – offering a soft, motherly smile to everyone, her voice gentle. "It's an honour to meet you all."

"Gu Zhaoyue" – silent, her eyes shadowed beneath her fringe. She nodded once, then retreated a step behind Xuemin, ever watchful.

Captain Robert stepped forward with crisp professionalism, extending a hand to each operative.

"Welcome to SSCBF. Let's hope your talents outweigh the paperwork you've brought."

As introductions concluded, Robert turned with an incredulous smirk.

"So, we've got new candidates… and it turns out they're led by Xuein's brother. What a coincidence."

Xuein arched a brow, arms folded.

"Jealous, Captain? Must sting knowing my family brings a tactical unit while yours brings holiday cards."

Robert's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"I... I'll have you know my cousin runs a bakery. It's very strategic."

Everyone burst into laughter—even Koizumoto's lips twitched.

The mirth dimmed slightly as Robert leaned forward.

"Now, if you don't mind me asking—what's BAEPSA playing at? Why would your team leave field ops to join SSCBF candidate lists?"

At that, the mood shifted. Feng Shaoyun and the others exchanged glances. Even Xuemin's playful confidence faltered. Shoulders tensed. Lianhua's hands gently folded tighter. Zhai Linyu scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Actually, Captain," Tao-Ren cut in quickly, "they're under strict gag orders. You'll need to speak to the Chief of BAEPSA directly. Let's just say... you'll want to sit down for that briefing."

Lingaong Xuein narrowed her eyes, now glancing sharply at her brother.

"Xuemin... what did you do?"

Xuemin raised both hands in protest.

"Oi! Don't look at me like that—I didn't cause it. I just... escalated it. Slightly."

Before more interrogation could happen, Robert clapped his hands.

"Alright! Enough family therapy. The interviews start in a few minutes. Let's move."

He shot Demitin a nod.

"Take Xuemin and his crew to the waiting room."

"Aye, Captain!" Demitin replied, clearly enjoying herself. "Right this way, family reunion unit—try not to destroy anything on the walk."

As they were ushered out, Xuemin leaned back toward his sister.

"You've got lovely friends. Might stay a while."

"Behave," Xuein muttered, already regretting everything.

Agent-90 stood poised on the edge of a brutalist rooftop opposite the SSCBF headquarters. His long black coat fluttered gently in the morning wind. From behind his mechanical spectacles, augmented with multi-layered HUD overlays, dozens of moving outlines shimmered into clarity—20 guards, 10 surveillance drones, all weaving across the perimeter like a net of iron precision.

He exhaled through his nose.

"Tighter than last time."

A small flick of his gloved hand shifted the lens range. His fingers twitched subtly, calculating angles, blind spots, and signal cycles. He already knew the internal grid—the bureau was flooded with staff preparing for the candidate intake. Chaos. The perfect cover.

With catlike movement, Agent-90 descended the adjacent fire escape, landing with a barely audible tap beside the west wall of the complex. He crouched low, unholstering his Phantom Blade—a custom silenced shooter—and locked his gaze on three rooftop surveillance nodes.

Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.

Each shot struck with surgical precision. The cameras jerked, sparked faintly, and powered down with a series of cranky whirrs.

He moved to the rear service door, produced a compact multi-bit lockpick, and began working quietly. Just as the tumblers shifted, his right eye twitched—a micro-alert triggered. One of the patrolling micro-surveillance bots was approaching.

In a fluid motion, he flattened against the wall and extended his wrist. From beneath his cuff, a mechanical beetle detached and whirred into life, hovering mid-air with eerie grace. It zipped toward the surveillance drone, latched on, and initiated a remote hack pulse.

Agent-90 waited. Click... green.

Then, without hesitation, he shot the drone cleanly. It dropped. Silent.

He slipped inside.

Inside SSCBF – Surveillance Control Room

Lan Qian narrowed her eyes at the blinking feed.

"Three rooftop cams just went dark. One... two... three."

Her fingers danced over the keys, opening a secondary panel. Then her gaze snapped to another monitor.

"Why is the backdoor ajar?"

A creeping suspicion curled through her chest. Her pupils tightened.

"Unit Bravo, status check on the rear sector."

She pressed a command button on her console, activating the 'SentinelComm Node'—a secure tactical earpiece interface used by security personnel.

"Security Bravo, do you read? Investigate back access. Now."

High-Security Cells | Sub-Level 3, SSCBF

The lift doors opened with a soft mechanical chime. Chief Wen-Li stepped out, a vision of authority in minimalist black, her coat collar neatly upturned. Her face was calm—serene, almost—yet her eyes shimmered with the quiet storm of someone carrying too many burdens with too little sleep.

Her boots clicked across the polished corridor, echoing sharply between steel and glass. The prison guard, stationed at the access terminal, straightened and gave a firm nod.

"Chief. As ordered, we've brought them."

He keyed a passcode. The cell door hissed open.

Inside, the air was thick with tension and static charge.

Two girls sat side by side, their gazes sharp, worlds of pain stitched into their postures. Hecate Jones, draped in dystopian streetwear interwoven with glowing runes, exuded an otherworldly calm. Her heterochromatic eyes shimmered faintly. Next to her, Hella Bexley leaned against the bench with arms crossed, lavender-pink eyes swirling like a cyclone under her fringe of blue-purple gradient hair.

Wen-Li paused at the threshold, adjusted her coat, then stepped in with composed poise. She pulled a chair forward and sat, legs crossed, hands folded—neither confrontational nor disarmed.

"Good morning, Hecate. Hella."

Her tone was warm, but weighed with gravity.

"I've come to talk about you two. You're young... yet your records are filled with charges most people wouldn't survive."

She inhaled through her nose. Her fingers interlaced gently.

"Tell me. How? Why?"

Hella scoffed, tilting her head.

"What, you here to play saviour now? You law types are all the same. Talk big, do nothing."

Wen-Li met her gaze, unwavering.

"Hella, I can't help you if you won't speak. I'm not here to pretend I understand everything. But I am here. That's more than most."

"Hella, enough," Hecate murmured, placing a calming hand on her friend's arm. "Let her speak."

Wen-Li nodded, then opened the file on her lap.

"Let's begin with you, Hella."

She flipped a page, tapping the highlighted section.

"Scapegoated at the age of six. Wein-Jing District. Accused of a murder you didn't commit. Care to explain?"

Hella's shoulders rose with irritation, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of hurt.

"How'd you even find that?"

"Because someone should've looked sooner," Wen-Li said quietly. "The late Chief tried. He failed. But he tried. I want to do more than that."

She closed the file slowly.

"I know what it's like to grow up in a world that doesn't care whether you're a victim or a threat."

Hella stared at her for a long second, then sighed.

"Fine. We were on holiday—me, my parents. Things were normal. My dad went off to buy food. Mum was chatting with an old friend. Then this woman—dressed like a priestess—walks straight up to me, hands me a sealed envelope, and starts screaming bloody murder. Said I was possessed. The cops came... and next thing I know, they're dragging me away, saying my fingerprints were on a corpse found ten minutes later."

Wen-Li listened, expression unreadable.

"I see..."

She turned to Hecate, who sat silently. Just then, her phone buzzed. It was Nightingale.

"I'll speak with you both again shortly."

She rose to her feet. Hella leaned forward slightly.

"So... what now? You letting us out?"

Wen-Li paused at the door, then turned back. Her voice was steady, her smile soft but unshakable.

"I'll speak with the High Officials. If they approve... you'll walk free."

Hecate tilted her head.

"And if they don't?"

Wen-Li gave a faint smile—one that somehow warmed the cold air of the cell.

"Then I'll keep pushing. As long as I breathe."

With that, she exited. The door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss.

Inside the Cell

A long silence passed. Then Hella exhaled, glancing sideways.

"She's... different."

Hecate turned toward her, expression faintly amused.

"You mean not a corrupt bureaucrat or a sanctimonious idiot?"

"Exactly. It's annoying. She's too pretty to be this nice. I don't know whether to cry... or flirt."

Hecate smirked faintly.

"You'd only embarrass yourself."

Hella rolled her eyes but said nothing more. She stared at the ceiling, an unfamiliar warmth quietly lingering in her chest.

Chief Wen-Li stood alone in the lift, the gentle hum of its descent barely audible beneath the whir of her thoughts. Her arms were folded, her gaze distant, yet sharpened by a rising storm of suspicion. Names and memories circled in her mind like birds over carrion.

Hecate. Hella. Gon-Whiel Orphanage.

The pieces were starting to align—obscure reports, suppressed files, and whispers of Agent-90's past. Something about that place lingered like smoke, and now the threads were tangling around her own history... and her father.

Dad… what were you hiding? Did you save him—or were you saving me?

She exhaled softly, composed but conflicted, a crease forming between her brows. One decision settled quietly in her mind: after the candidate interviews, I will go to Gon-Whiel myself.

The lift gave a muted chime.

The doors parted with a smooth mechanical sigh.

On the threshold stood a prison guard, face obscured by the shadow of his cap, posture ramrod straight. He stepped in as she stepped out. For the briefest moment, they passed each other—mere inches apart.

Something tugged at her instincts.

Her sharp gaze flicked to his I.D. card—standard issue, nothing outwardly suspicious. But it was his silence... the stillness... his unblinking posture. She didn't stop walking, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Odd.

Still, she pressed forward, heels clicking sharply against the corridor floor as she resumed her path toward her next destination.

Behind her, inside the lift, the "guard" stood perfectly still until the doors slid shut once again.

His face remained in shadow.

But beneath the cap and fabricated credentials, Agent-90 stood in silence, eyes glowing faintly behind falsified spectacles.

Target one observed. Operation proceeding as planned.

He reached up and adjusted his earpiece with clinical precision, before the lift continued its rise—quiet as a ghost.

Nightingale stood posted by the hallway junction, clipboard in hand, eyes sharply scanning the perimeter when she caught sight of Wen-Li approaching, purposeful yet slightly hurried.

"Did you cover the rest of the interviews for me?" Wen-Li asked, her voice low but steady.

Nightingale gave a curt nod.

"Yes, Chief. President Song and Chairman Zhang Wei are already inside. The next candidate's due in a few minutes. Though..." she paused, voice dipping with uncertainty, "...I can't say how they'll respond."

Wen-Li offered a calm, reassuring smile.

"Don't worry. I'll handle it."

She turned and approached the double doors, pausing only to knock once before easing them open.

Inside, the Interview Chamber air was still, taut with formality. Seated at the head of the long table was President Song Luoyang, his expression as stony as ever, fingers folded in front of him. Beside him, Chairman Zhang Wei, older but sharply observant, adjusted his glasses with a discerning eye.

As Wen-Li stepped in, President Song looked up, brow faintly raised.

"Chief Wen-Li. Late, I see?"

She bowed her head slightly in apology before stepping to her seat.

"My apologies, President. I was handling a priority matter. It won't happen again."

Song nodded, though the frown remained faintly etched across his face. Wen-Li took her place beside them, composed and watchful.

Moments later, the doors opened again.

Lingaong Xuemin entered with a quiet confidence, his coat sharp, boots polished to perfection. He moved with a natural poise, flashing a modest but unmistakably self-assured smile as he stood before them.

"Candidate number forty-two," announced the attendant.

President Song leaned forward slightly.

"You must be Lingaong Xuemin... younger brother of Captain Lingaong Xuein, is that correct?"

At this, Wen-Li's brows rose ever so slightly, surprise flickering across her face. Xuemin nodded with a composed grin.

"Yes, sir. That's correct."

"You've served with BAEPSA—the Bureau of Administration Enforcement Prevention & Supernatural Affairs. Impressive. Tell us briefly about your background there, and why you believe you're suited for the SSCBF."

Xuemin's smile faded into a more professional posture. He folded his hands neatly over his lap and spoke with measured clarity.

"For the past six years, I operated as both a tactical commander and field liaison for interdimensional incidents under BAEPSA. My unit was responsible for the containment of Class-Echo anomalies and negotiation with non-corporeal intelligences. I specialised in containment logistics, field strategy, and post-incident rehabilitation. I've faced entities that don't bleed, don't speak, and don't obey physics—and I'm still here."

President Song exchanged a glance with Chairman Zhang, then nodded, clearly impressed.

"That's the sort of answer we'd expect from someone of your calibre," Song said. "Thank you, Xuemin."

Wen-Li, composed again, leaned forward slightly.

"BAEPSA is a prestigious and purpose-built agency. May I ask—what led you to leave it and seek a position within SSCBF?"

Xuemin paused, glancing briefly at the floor—his confidence tempered with something quieter.

"To be honest, Chief... it wasn't entirely my decision. BAEPSA's internal restructuring left my unit dissolved. There were... complications regarding an unsanctioned mission we conducted. I'll spare the bureaucratic drama, but the results of our operation saved lives. Still, politics don't always reward results."

He looked up again, steady now.

"I want to continue protecting people. And SSCBF... offers that chance."

Wen-Li studied him for a moment, then gave a nod.

"A fair response."

"Thanks," Xuemin replied, his smile more subdued this time.

Now Chairman Zhang Wei leaned forward, tapping a pen lightly on the dossier in front of him.

"You mention unsanctioned operations. Some might view that as a lack of discipline or disregard for protocol. How would you respond to that concern?"

Xuemin didn't flinch. His tone turned resolute.

"With respect, Chairman—there are times when protocol is too slow. When red tape costs lives. My team and I acted with integrity, not recklessness. We recorded everything, filed reports after the fact, and stood by our decisions. If given the same scenario again... I would still make that call."

Chairman Zhang nodded slowly, clearly weighing the answer. Then, he gave the faintest of smiles—rare for him.

"Conviction tempered by procedure. Not bad."

Wen-Li allowed herself the briefest glance toward Xuemin—one of approval. Song reclined slightly in his chair, folding his arms.

"We'll take your answers under advisement. You may return to the waiting area."

"Thank you, sirs. Chief." Xuemin stood, bowed lightly, and exited with composed strides.

The waiting room was unusually serene, considering its occupants were six of the most volatile recruits BAEPSA had to offer. The futuristic room was sleek—curved walls, glowing glass panels, and a faint hum of smart lighting reacting to ambient emotion.

Ping Lianhua, sitting primly with her hands folded on her lap, leaned toward the others and murmured with a sigh:

"How long does an interview usually take? I feel like we've aged slightly."

Gu Zhaoyue, lounging in the far corner with one boot on the coffee table, glanced at her wristwatch implant.

"It's been an hour. Either he's being interrogated... or they've adopted him."

Qu Yexun, perfectly upright and crisply composed, turned his head slightly and said in his usual deadpan:

"This place is impressively designed. Sterile. Clean. Everything here screams 'top-tier military dystopia meets minimalist sci-fi.' Honestly, it's quite like BAEPSA—except the furniture isn't haunted and the staff don't mutter ancient Latin in the corridors."

Zhai Linyu, sprawled upside down across two chairs, blinked at him.

"How exactly is that different?"

Qu adjusted his glasses.

"At BAEPSA, the walls stared back."

The room fell quiet for a beat.

"Right…" muttered Yang Shaoyong, who was preoccupied trying to see if his biceps looked bigger in the reflective wall panels.

Just then, the door slid open.

Captain Lingaong Xuein stepped in with the grace of someone who'd been born on a training ground. She surveyed her misfit recruits with arms folded and a slight smirk playing on her lips.

"So. You lot passed your interviews?"

All six replied in unison like trained schoolchildren:

"Yes, Captain!"

"Then why are you all still here?" she asked, glancing around. "Did your legs fall off, or...?"

Feng Shaoyun, sitting perfectly upright like a porcelain statue, responded sweetly:

"We're waiting for our Captain, of course. Loyalty before logistics, Mrs. Captain."

Xuein arched an eyebrow.

"I see. You've all decided to loiter around like furniture because Xuemin's still inside, hmm? What is this, emotional support loitering?"

Shaoyun simply smiled.

"It would feel rude to explore your esteemed halls without the fearless leader who drags us into danger."

Xuein gave a dry chuckle, shaking her head.

"Touching. But this is a military bureau, not a spa retreat. Walk around. Stretch. Harass the vending machine if you must."

Right on cue, the door slid open again—and in walked Lingaong Xuemin.

The team snapped to attention with the grace of half-bored cats suddenly offered tuna. Zhai Linyu leapt up dramatically, nearly knocking over a lamp.

Xuein turned to face her brother, arms still folded, expression expectant.

"So… how was the inquisition?"

Xuemin paused with a blank face, scanned the room theatrically… then cracked a grin.

"I have…" he said slowly, dragging the moment…

"…PASSED!"

His squad erupted.

Zhai Linyu whooped and fist-pumped the air.

Yang Shaoyong slapped his shoulder so hard it probably rearranged a vertebra.

Ping Lianhua clapped gently, beaming with sisterly pride.

Gu Zhaoyue gave a ghost of a smirk, then returned to her usual brooding pose.

Xuein, mildly amused, stepped forward and gave her brother a few light claps.

"Congratulations, Xuemin. You didn't implode. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, sis." He grinned and bowed with mock flourish. "Didn't embarrass the family. This time."

Before the laughter could subside, the door opened once more, and in strode Captain Robert Voreyevsky, followed closely by Tao-Ren, Demitin, and Koizumoto Daishoji.

Robert wore a rare smile—one that could melt glaciers or announce doom depending on context.

He approached Xuemin and extended a firm handshake.

"Congratulations, Mr. Lingaong. That was quite the showing."

He leaned in slightly, smile sharpening.

"Welcome to the SSCBF... family."

The word hung in the air with a sort of playful menace.

Xuein, arms still crossed, raised her brows.

"Just be warned, little brother—Robert's idea of 'family bonding' involves tactical drills at 5 a.m. and grenade etiquette over tea."

The room chuckled.

Robert narrowed his eyes, smoothing his coat.

"You make it sound like a war crime."

"It's not?" she asked innocently.

Robert sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Why do I talk to you willingly?"

"Because deep down, under all the protocols and pressed shirts, you enjoy it," Xuein replied with a wink.

Robert muttered something inaudible but vaguely under his breath and retreated with as much dignity as he could muster.

The room, of course, laughed.

The mood in the waiting room had settled into a mixture of celebration and mild chaos when the door slid open once more. Chief Wen-Li, flanked by Nightingale, stepped in with the quiet authority of someone used to commanding every space she entered.

Nightingale's boots clicked neatly against the floor. She folded her arms, a rare smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she surveyed the newly-inducted group with something akin to pride.

"Congratulations, kids of BAEPSA," she said, her voice warm but clipped, eyes scanning over each face. She gestured subtly with her hand, palm turned just slightly upward, as if presenting them like rare assets. "You've all passed the interview. As of now, you're officially members of our organisation."

The squad stood a little straighter, chests lifted slightly. There was a glimmer of pride in each expression—subdued in some, wild in others—but unmistakably present.

"Thanks, Chief!" they chorused, some louder than others.

Wen-Li stepped forward with a file in hand, flipping it open as she glanced from face to face.

"Your team will be led by Captain Lingaong Xuemin," she announced, then added with a light turn of her head, "and Feng Shaoyun will serve as vice-captain."

A round of reactions followed immediately.

Xuemin, visibly pleased, squared his shoulders and gave a crisp nod, pride dancing behind his usually measured gaze.

Feng Shaoyun bowed her head gracefully, hands lightly clasped in front of her, though the faintest smile curved at her lips. Her usually serene composure was interrupted only by the soft blush that crept onto her cheeks.

Zhai Linyu whispered, "Oooh, big promotion," before getting a discreet elbow in the ribs from Qu Yexun.

"Your squad designation," Wen-Li continued, closing the folder with a soft snap, "will be Celestial Seal Unit."

Xuemin responded with a respectful bow.

"It will be an honour, Chief."

From the side, Captain Xuein—his elder sister—watched him in silence, her usually austere face softened by the faintest glimmer of pride. Her gaze lingered for a beat longer than usual, eyes unreadable, then she nodded once to herself.

Leaning toward her, Captain Robert Voreyevsky smirked and murmured under his breath:

"Didn't know talent ran in the family. You lot breed excellence or just lucked out with him?"

Xuein arched a brow, lips twitching.

"Let's just say he took after me… and then improved the model."

Just then, Wen-Li raised a brow sharply, her arms crossing in mock suspicion as she glanced at the duo.

"Huha… huha…" she exaggerated a small cough, a sly grin spreading across her lips. "Captain Xuein and Captain Voreyevsky, what exactly are we whispering about, hmm?"

The room chuckled lightly.

Robert straightened up immediately, face the picture of innocent discipline.

"Nothing at all, Chief."

Xuein gave a short, faux-serious nod.

"Professional remarks only, of course."

Wen-Li gave them both a mock glare, then laughed softly and turned back to the Celestial Seal Unit.

"Welcome aboard," she said sincerely. "Now rest while you can. I doubt you'll have another quiet day this year."

Just as the laughter from the previous moment faded, Lan Qian appeared from the far corridor at a brisk pace, her tablet clutched tightly against her chest. Her usual calm demeanour was replaced by something colder—shaken. She moved straight to Nightingale, leaned in, and whispered urgently into her ear.

Nightingale's entire posture shifted.

Her face paled, lips tightening. Her eyes snapped to Wen-Li.

"Chief," she said quickly, voice low but clipped with urgency.

Wen-Li turned, instantly alert.

"Yes, Nightingale?"

Nightingale stepped closer and whispered something directly into her ear.

Wen-Li's eyes widened—sharp, immediate.

Her composure cracked for just a second as she inhaled through her nose and stepped forward, voice ringing like a command bell:

"Seal every access point. Lock all exterior entrances and window ports. Full internal lockdown—now."

An alarm blared—but only for a moment. It cut off abruptly, as if smothered.

Suddenly, a nearby officer sprinted in, panic on his face.

"Chief! The alarm systems have just gone dark—the internal alert was disabled remotely. Surveillance across sectors 4 through 9... hacked and offline!"

The atmosphere shifted instantly—celebration evaporated into dread.

Feng Shaoyun tensed, her eyes narrowing.

"So we've got an intruder…"

Robert Voreyevsky shook his head, voice lower and heavier.

"No. Not just any intruder."

Xuemin stepped forward.

"Then who the hell is it?"

Wen-Li's voice dropped to a murmur—almost to herself.

"...Ninety."

A beat of silence.

Then her breath caught—a memory flashing like lightning:

The lift earlier. The prison guard who passed her. No voice. No blink. Just a flicker of a shadowed face and an I.D. card too perfect.

Her jaw clenched, and she snapped back into action.

"Captain Voreyevsky. Captain Xuein. Nightingale. With me—now. We're heading to High-Security Cells—Sub-Level 3."

She turned sharply, then pointed to Xuemin and the Celestial Seal Unit.

"You six—secure the northern quadrant. Nothing gets through. If you see anyone moving out of uniform—don't engage alone. Signal code red and hold ground."

Xuemin nodded crisply.

"Understood. We'll cover the corridor grid and maintain containment."

Feng Shaoyun tightened her gloves.

"Permission to deploy spectral seal tech, Chief?"

"Granted. Don't hold back."

Wen-Li spun toward Lan Qian, her tone urgent.

"Lan—restore surveillance. Prioritise cell block feeds and ventilation shafts. I want eyes on every level, and I want it yesterday."

Lan Qian nodded sharply and sprinted back toward Command Ops.

"On it!"

"Where the hell is Commander Krieg?" Wen-Li barked, scanning the hall.

As if summoned, the broad-shouldered Commander Krieg arrived from the west stairwell, clad in urban armoured gear, helmet under his arm. He raised a brow.

"Chief. Report."

Wen-Li faced him squarely, voice hard.

"It's Agent-90. He's breached the perimeter. Possibly already inside Sub-Level 3. Hacked surveillance, bypassed lockdown—he's here for the High-Security Cells."

Krieg's expression hardened.

"Tactical directive?"

"Mobilise your response division. Grid formation. Staggered sweep across sectors 2 to 7. No lethal shots unless directly engaged. I want him captured alive—if possible."

Krieg nodded once, sharp and decisive.

"Understood. Squad Seraph—mobilise full containment pattern, sector sweep alpha-to-echo. Breach formation. Let's move."

He turned and shouted commands to his elite force, boots already thundering behind him down the corridor.

Wen-Li exhaled slowly, steel in her eyes.

"Let's find him before he finds them."

And with that, they surged forward.

The ping of the lift echoed through the corridor as Chief Wen-Li, Captain Voreyevsky, Captain Xuein, and Nightingale stepped in. The doors hissed shut behind them.

Inside the lift, the silence was taut.

Wen-Li stood rigid, repeatedly pressing the Sub-Level 3 button with a clipped motion. Her jaw was set, eyes forward, yet her thumb kept tapping—as if pressing it hard enough would make the lift move faster.

Captain Xuein glanced at her.

"Chief, you look... tense."

Wen-Li didn't look away.

"It's nothing like that," she said sharply. Then, softer, "Just focus."

The others exchanged glances but said nothing more.

Meanwhile – Northern Quadrant, Sector D

Lingaong Xuemin and his squad from the Celestial Seal Unit were sweeping the corridor in a tight formation, weapons drawn but lowered. The tension was palpable—silent footfalls, the low hum of emergency power, lights flickering.

Zhai Linyu muttered under his breath.

"This place feels like a haunted ship."

Feng Shaoyun kept her eyes ahead, her voice calm.

"Stay alert. If it's him, he won't make a sound."

Gu Zhaoyue suddenly froze, narrowing her eyes. Then she pointed.

"There."

A figure in a prison guard uniform was calmly approaching—alone, silent, unhurried. No ID tag. No comms. Just movement.

Xuemin raised a hand, halting the squad.

"Hey! Who are you?"

No reply.

The figure continued walking, brushing past them as if they didn't exist.

Xuemin's brow furrowed. Instinct took over. He reached out and grabbed the man's shoulder.

"I said—who the hell are you?"

In a single motion, the "guard" spun, seized Xuemin's arm, and slammed him to the ground with crushing force. The impact rattled the floor.

The team reacted instantly.

Yang Shaoyong charged forward first, swinging a heavy shock baton—Agent-90 sidestepped, caught his wrist, and dislocated it with a clean pop. Yang collapsed with a cry.

Zhai Linyu activated his Smogshock Maul, swinging wide, but Agent-90 ducked low, elbowed him in the ribs, then swept his leg—sending him crashing head-first into the corridor wall.

Qu Yexun fired a compact sonic emitter—Agent-90 rolled under it, slid forward, and swept his legs from beneath him with a brutal precision, then stomped on the emitter, shattering it.

Gu Zhaoyue lunged to interfere but was met with a sudden pressure jab to her throat—non-lethal, but enough to drop her to her knees, choking.

Ping Lianhua attempted to engage, her calming pulse ready to emit—but he flung a small counter-frequency disk at her vest. It sparked and disabled the lattice before she could activate it.

Within twelve seconds, the entire squad was on the floor—groaning, stunned, defeated.

Agent-90 adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, then calmly drew his revolver—a matte black sidearm with a quiet menace.

He glanced down at Xuemin, who was attempting to rise.

"You're Lingaong Xuein's brother."

Xuemin looked up, dazed but defiant.

"And you're the ghost they can't seem to kill."

Agent-90's icy blue eyes glinted beneath the artificial light.

"Then I suggest—since you're new—you don't try."

"Or what?" Xuemin spat, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.

Agent-90 stepped closer, the barrel of the revolver levelled without tremble.

"You'll lose your life. And your sister will bury a brother she barely had time to forgive."

Silence followed.

The squad groaned behind him, injured, barely conscious.

Feng Shaoyun, clutching her side, looked up and called hoarsely:

"Xuemin… don't. It's not worth it."

He turned to her, breathing hard. His fists clenched, pride and fury swirling behind his eyes.

Agent-90 lowered the revolver slightly—not out of mercy, but calculation.

"You've got the instincts. Don't waste them."

He turned without another word, disappearing into the corridor.

Xuemin slowly got to his feet, helping Feng up first.

"Get the others stable. We'll regroup at Section E. Now."

Suddenly, from the shadows behind a maintenance terminal, two figures emerged cautiously.

Hella and Hecate.

They had seen everything.

Hecate's face was unreadable. Hella's jaw hung open slightly.

"Was that… him?" she whispered.

"Yes," Xuemin muttered, eyes still on the corridor. "And we follow."

"Where's we going?" Hella asked, already moving.

"Sub-Level Parking." reply Agent-90

They broke into a run, disappearing into the passageways, shadows moving with shadows.

Dim lights flickered across rows of parked tactical vehicles and civilian staff transports. The stillness was cut by the distant clack of footsteps—Agent-90, flanked by Hella and Hecate, strode forward with surgical precision.

From his coat pocket, he retrieved an old-fashioned key fob—sleek, matte black, custom-modified. He pressed a single button.

With a satisfying beep-beep, a jet-black 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing purred to life and rolled forward on its own, headlights blinking to attention. The iconic gullwing doors rose with smooth hydraulics, like the opening wings of some predatory bird.

Hella blinked.

 "Wait... only two seats? You planning to leave one of us here or stack us like luggage?"

Agent-90 turned slowly, staring at her with a gaze that could crack marble.

 "Get in."

Hecate didn't hesitate. She slid into the passenger seat like mist slipping through iron bars.

Hella scoffed, arms crossed.

 "I don't sit on laps unless they pay rent."

In a flash, Agent-90 grabbed a fistful of her hair, twisted her sideways, flipped her into the car, then booted her backside with a swift, deliberate kick. She landed half-curled in the back compartment—technically not a seat, but close enough.

 "Oi! You absolute cyborg-faced sociopath!" Hella barked, trying to right herself.

Agent-90 got in, closed the door with a heavy thunk, and gripped the wheel with calm control. The engine vibrated like a coiled beast.

"Seatbelts."

"There aren't any in the back!" Hella snapped.

 "That's your problem."

He slammed the accelerator.

The 300SL surged forward, tyres screeching across polished concrete as the car shot through the garage with supernatural smoothness.

Just as they rounded the bend towards the exit ramp, a figure stepped directly into their path.

Chief Wen-Li.

Behind her—Captain Voreyevsky, Captain Xuein, and Nightingale.

The car screeched to a halt inches from her boots.

Agent-90 and Wen-Li locked eyes across the bonnet, the air between them thick with history and threat. Neither flinched. Neither blinked.

Then, without breaking the stare, Agent-90 reversed the car—fast.

Wen-Li, eyes narrowing, drew her sidearm—a SIO-PX7 tactical handgun, glossy grey with chrome detailing—and fired.

Bang!

The round pinged off the rear-view mirror—Agent-90 caught the movement in the hood mirror. He cranked the wheel, veering left just in time to avoid the inbound squad.

Commander Krieg appeared at the far end of the garage, storming in with his tactical unit.

Demitin, Sakim, Tao-Ren, Daishoji, and Louisese flanked him—weapons raised, angles covered.

 "Damn it!" Agent-90 hissed under his breath.

He slammed the gearstick, downshifted, and drifted through a concrete column.

The chase began.

 The Mercedes roared through the multi-level garage like a panther let loose in a labyrinth.

Hecate clutched the door frame, deadpan but observant.

 "We're being hunted by half the building. You could've warned us."

 "You got in the car," Agent-90 replied flatly.

 "Technically, I was shoved in the car!" Hella shouted from the back, bracing herself as the car fish-tailed around a blind corner.

Gunfire erupted behind them—stun rounds pinging off support beams and ricocheting across the walls.

Tao-Ren appeared on the upper level and flung down an EMP disc. Agent-90 tapped a button on the dash, and the car released a counter-field—neutralising the pulse with a brief shimmer.

"Did your car just block an EMP?" Hecate asked.

 "It's German style," he replied.

Demitin leapt down from a level above, her gauntlets slamming into the concrete, ready to intercept. Agent-90 clipped the edge of a loading ramp and used it as a ramp, vaulting over her.

Sakim tried to block the exit with a bulk truck, but Agent-90 executed a flawless handbrake turn, spinning between concrete posts with inches to spare.

 "Are we flying or dying?" Hella yelled.

 "Why not both?" Agent-90 murmured.

They burst through the final checkpoint. Voeyevsky fired again—this time a stun net—but Agent-90 jinked right, clipped the edge of a bollard, and drifted sideways through the final gate barrier, which shattered in a rain of plastic and sparks.

The moment they hit the open road, the tyres bit into tarmac and the 300SL took off like a missile.

Behind them, Wen-Li, watching from the rooftop ramp, lowered her pistol and cursed under her breath.

Nightingale, beside her, blinked.

 "Did he just backflip his car through our internal checkpoint?"

Xuein muttered, arms crossed.

 "I told you we should've installed speed bumps."

Robert Voreyevsky sighed, adjusting his gloves.

 "No... what we need are tactical bollards with reinforced souls."

Wen-Li's eyes didn't leave the road.

 "He has the girls. And he's heading into the city."

 "We pursue?" Xuein asked.

Wen-Li gave a sharp nod.

 "Assemble pursuit units. We're not letting Ninety vanish this time."

Inside the 300SL – On the Run

Hella exhaled from the back seat, half-strangled by her own knees.

"If I survive this ride, I'm suing you for emotional damage."

Agent-90 didn't respond—he simply shifted gears again as the neon blur of the city crept into view.

Hecate turned her head slightly.

 "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere they won't follow."

The night city blurred around them—neon signs bleeding across polished roads, chrome reflections streaking under streetlamps. The Benz 300SL roared down the arterial road, its engine howling like a beast let loose.

Behind them, a convoy of black SSCBF tactical SUVs thundered in pursuit. Sirens wailed, blue lights strobed. Their tyres screeched with every hard turn.

Inside the lead SUV, Chief Wen-Li sat stiff-backed in the passenger seat, her lips tight with fury.

Captain Voreyevsky, hands on the wheel, was stone-faced.

Nightingale, beside him, scanned a tactical map on her console, eyes darting.

Captain Xuein leaned forward between the front seats, barking orders into comms.

"Maintain pursuit formation. Lock off the cross-streets and funnel him towards the Zhaoxiang underpass!"

Back in the Benz—

Hella, jammed awkwardly in the back compartment, peered through the rear window.

"Geez, they're chasing us like we stole the Queen's last biscuit. Do they ever blink?"

Hecate, still eerily composed in the front seat, turned to Agent-90.

"Velvet Guillotine, stop the car. This is absurd. What do you even want?"

Agent-90's hands never left the wheel.

"You'll find out."

Hella, huffing, folded her arms.

"Yeah well, if this ends with brain implants or cult rituals, I swear I'm biting someone."

Without replying, Agent-90 tapped his wristwatch interface, a hidden commlink activating.

"Jun. Deploy."

High above, six blocks ahead—

Agent-Jun, perched atop a glass-paneled tower, knelt silently in a tailored grey gentleman's suit. His face was unreadable beneath tinted goggles. The Widowmaker A500—a monstrous, matte-black sniper rifle with magnetic coils glowing faintly—was braced against his shoulder.

Through the thermal-enhanced scope, he locked onto the incoming convoy.

His voice was calm.

"Roger that."

Trigger squeeze.

CRACK!

The first shot hit the lead SUV's front tyre—a direct blow that caused the vehicle to skid sideways, nearly flipping before colliding into the side railing. Sparks flew.

CRACK!

Second SUV—rear left tyre. The vehicle spun out and clipped a civilian car, causing a spectacular pile-up.

CRACK—CRACK—CRACK!

Three more precision shots took out tyres in rhythmic succession. Each impact caused vehicles to crash, swerve, or ram into one another, forming a chain-reaction of metal and chaos. Sparks, smoke, and slamming steel filled the intersection. Horns blared. Civilians screamed and scrambled.

Traffic came to a screeching halt. The SSCBF convoy crumbled into a perfect, chaotic blockade.

From the SUV, Wen-Li leapt out with clenched fists.

"Damn it!" she barked, scanning the skyline. "There's a bloody sniper!"

Captain Xuein and Nightingale spilled out behind her, weapons drawn.

Voreyevsky narrowed his eyes.

"Top floor, southeast tower. High-angle ballistics. He's gone."

Sure enough, Agent-Jun was already gone. The rooftop was empty—just a swaying antenna and a faint trace of thermal residue. He vanished into shadow like smoke into the night.

Meanwhile, the Benz 300SL zipped clean through the chaos—untouched.

Hella, still curled awkwardly in the back, blinked.

"Okay. That was horrifying. And impressive. But mostly horrifying."

Hecate narrowed her eyes slightly, her gaze shifting.

"Why are you wearing a gasmask?"

They both turned.

Agent-90 now had a matte black rebreather mask fixed over his face, silent and cold. He didn't speak. Instead, a faint hiss began to issue from the car's air vents.

A pale mist began to seep through the dashboard, swirling like dry ice.

Hella coughed once.

"Oi—what the hell's this? You fogging us like pests?!"

Hecate, blinking slowly, tried to open the door. It was locked.

"Sedative gas. He's knocking us out."

"I knew it! I'm suing you twice now!"

Hella tried to rise, stumbled, then collapsed sideways onto Hecate.

Hecate, even as her eyelids fluttered, gave one final dry remark:

"At least give me a reason next time, Velvet Guillotine…"

Their limbs went slack.

The mist settled.

Agent-90, unmoved, drove in silence.

Only the sound of the road beneath the tyres, the whirr of his breathing mask, and the sirens growing distant behind them filled the cabin.

The city swallowed the black Benz as it disappeared under the cover of night.

The skyline of Nin-Ran-Gi stretched out beneath Gavriel Elazar like a glowing, suffocating sprawl—endless steel veins pulsing with artificial life. He stood motionless before the floor-to-ceiling porthole, hands clasped behind his back, his reflection warped by the reinforced glass. Behind him, shadows danced beneath the dim light of flickering chandeliers. The room, lined with old-world wood panels and towering bookshelves, felt less like an office and more like the den of an aristocratic predator.

The silence fractured with the click of polished heels.

Ilse Richter, the Chief of High Chaebols' secret police, strode in—her platinum hair a blade of moonlight beneath the room's subdued glow. Her face was carved in porcelain cruelty, unreadable and elegant. She didn't pause to bow—formality between monsters was redundant.

"Agent-90 has infiltrated SSCBF," she announced. "He's extracted two of the Sinners—Hella Bexley and Hecate Jones. Chief Wen-Li and her task forces gave chase but failed to intercept."

Gavriel didn't turn.

Then—he chuckled. A soft, slow laugh that carried the weight of venom.

"Of course he did. There's no one else alive with that kind of operational nerve. The bastard always was too competent for his own good."

Ilse's lips thinned.

"Do you know why he took them?"

"To Zhaoxiang," she replied. 

"Zhaoxiang where Shin-Zhang Corporation is situated" ask Gavriel

"Yes, they're under Madam Di-Xian's roof now." reply Richter

That made him pause. Slowly, Gavriel turned to face her, eyes gleaming like smouldering embers beneath his brow.

"Di-Xian…" he muttered. "Well, she's still technically Continental Bloc. So we won't push... for now."

"But if she breaks the rules—"

"—She pays," Gavriel finished with a nod. "As they all do."

Flickering chandeliers cast dappled light across a sprawling Victorian chamber. Shadows curled around carved mahogany and velvet drapery. At the head of an absurdly long table sat Madam Di-Xian, draped in a deep burgundy gown embroidered with silver threads that caught the light like spider silk. Her raven-dark eyes glinted beneath immaculately coiled hair, pinned with silver lotus clasps.

On either side of her stood Jun, Roy, Masud, Farhan, and Alvi Taslim—her elite operatives. Each had the stillness of wolves watching prey sleep. Weapons holstered, but hands near them.

Across the room, Hella and Hecate stirred on a tufted chaise lounge, consciousness returning in a slow, crawling wave. Their senses were met not with hostility—but refinement. Velvet, aged books, soft incense, and... anticipation.

Hella, groggy but defiant, squinted at the imposing woman before her.

"Where... what is this? What do you want?"

Madam Di-Xian smiled, faint but piercing.

"Not want, my dear. Need. You've been tempered in fire. The world now needs firewalkers."

Hecate, eyes narrowing, rose more slowly. Her tone was cutting, arms crossed.

"And if we say no?"

Before Di-Xian could speak, Alvi Taslim stepped forward—dark blazer immaculate, data-pad in one hand. Her voice was soft but razor-sharp, the kind of tone that didn't need volume to command respect.

"Then you resign yourselves to chains—metaphorical or otherwise. Do you think the world will ever let you live freely again? You are anomalies. Weapons. The only way to walk forward is to own what you are. Shape the outcome. Or be shaped."

Hella frowned, rubbing her temple.

"So... you're asking us to fight. After everything we've done—you want us to play heroes?"

Madam Di-Xian stood with slow, deliberate elegance.

"I ask you to stand. Not for sainthood. But for equilibrium. You call yourselves Sinners, yes. But sin is often the result of circumstance, not malice. Your future needn't mirror your past."

Farhan, leaning against a tall window, let out a low chuckle.

"And let's be real—you've already pissed off everyone else. Might as well fight for the side with taste."

Hecate tilted her head, assessing.

"So what is this? A cult? A rebellion?"

"A covenant," Alvi said crisply. "The Shadow Defensive Force—or Crimson Lotus if you prefer. We are the wall that no one sees. The threat that ends threats."

Hella, still suspicious but intrigued, asked,

"And if we join... then what?"

Madam Di-Xian approached, heels clicking softly on polished floorboards. She extended a gloved hand, voice both lyrical and commanding.

"Then you are free. Not shackled by your sins—but armed with them. We offer purpose. Power. Redemption, if you desire it. Or at the very least, a target worth shooting."

The silence hung like theatre.

Hecate looked to Hella. Her friend gave a short nod—tense, but willing.

Hecate exhaled and muttered:

"This had better be worth it."

Di-Xian's smile returned, serene and sharp.

"Oh, it will be."

She turned toward her operatives.

"Welcome... to the Shadow Defensive Force."

The chandelier dimmed above them as the new alliance was sealed—not in ceremony, but in shared understanding. The game had changed. The board had tilted. And two Sinners had just crossed into something... far more dangerous than crime.

They'd joined the shadows that defend the light.

The briefing room was thick with tension. Chief Wen-Li stood at the head of the table, arms folded tightly, as her officers—Captain Voreyevsky, Captain Lingaong Xuein, Nightingale, and the wounded members of the Celestial Seal Unit—looked on. Silent. Bruised. Frustrated.

Xuemin sat with his arm in a sling, a quiet scowl darkening his otherwise calm face. Feng Shaoyun, still wincing from a cracked rib, said nothing, though her gaze remained locked on Wen-Li—resolute, not accusatory.

Before Wen-Li could continue her debriefing, a female junior officer approached quickly, her steps clipped and precise.

"Chief Wen-Li," she said with a salute. "President Song Louyang has requested your presence in his office. Immediately."

The room stiffened.

Captain Xuein raised an eyebrow.

Robert Voreyevsky glanced at the others, then muttered under his breath,

"That's never a good sign."

Wen-Li nodded once, her face unreadable. She turned and left the room without a word.

The grand doors shut behind her with a heavy click. The lights in the office were dimmer than usual. A fire crackled gently in the hearth, though it did little to warm the atmosphere.

President Song Louyang sat behind his polished ebony desk, fingers steepled before his lips. His gaze, usually measured, was now piercing—almost cold.

He didn't stand.

He didn't smile.

He simply looked at her.

"Chief Wen-Li," he said at last, voice low and deliberate. "Would you care to explain to me how Agent-90 managed to stroll into our facility, assault our personnel, and escape with not one—but two high-risk detainees?"

Wen-Li stood straight, shoulders squared.

"Sir, I take full responsibility for the breach. Agent-90 exploited our temporary vulnerability during the candidate induction. He used a false security ID and—"

Song raised a hand, silencing her mid-sentence.

"You brought him in, Chief," he said, voice tightening. "He was your asset. Recruited to assist with a cold case. Instead, he infiltrated our walls, crippled our rookies, and abducted two criminals under federal custody."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

"How fascinating. Tell me, Wen-Li—was this always part of the plan? Or have you simply lost control of your own judgment?"

Her fists clenched at her sides, but she kept her tone calm.

"Sir, we don't yet know why he took them. But we will. I have reason to believe his actions, though unapproved, may connect to a deeper operation beyond our current scope."

Song exhaled through his nose, his tone laced with bitter irony.

"Oh, I'm sure it will all make sense in hindsight."

He stood at last, walking around the desk slowly, his presence looming.

"Your confidence is commendable. But do remember—command is not a shield from consequence. You make another mistake like this, Chief, and you won't be explaining it to me. You'll be answering to the Council."

Wen-Li bowed her head slightly. Not submissive—controlled.

"Understood, sir. It won't happen again."

She turned, preparing to leave.

But just as she reached for the door, she paused.

Something was off.

She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Is something wrong, President?"

Song's expression remained composed—but the tension in his jaw betrayed it. His reply came a moment too late.

"No. Nothing at all."

A beat passed.

Then Wen-Li gave a brief nod and exited, her eyes lingering on the closed door behind her as it shut.

Outside, in the hallway, she allowed herself a single breath of release—but her mind remained racing.

He's hiding something.

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