Makima stepped into the hall, heels clicking softly on the polished concrete floor. Beside her loomed Yoshimura, the silver-haired elder statesman of PSIA. At once, every agent in the room went still and straight as if pulled by an unseen string. Conversations ceased; laughter died on lips. Denji nearly tripped over himself standing at attention. Power, who normally balked at authority, straightened reflexively. Kobeni jumped to her feet so fast her chair scraped loudly. The wave of respect (and perhaps a touch of awe) was palpable.
Makima surveyed the room with cool amber-brown eyes, and those eyes missed nothing. She noted the faint smiles lingering on faces, the slightly eased posture of agents who moments ago had been wound tight. Her gaze flickered to Hiroshi for the briefest moment – and there was a hint of approval in them, as if acknowledging the morale boost he'd orchestrated. Then she stepped forward, Yoshimura just a pace behind, and addressed the assembly.
"At ease," Makima said calmly, her voice cutting through the silence. A collective breath seemed to release as agents moved from rigid postures to a more relaxed stance, though the tension of anticipation remained. Makima walked to the front of the room and stood beside Hiroshi. Yoshimura came to her other side, giving the group a benevolent smile and a nod of greeting.
Makima was dressed as impeccably as ever – a charcoal-gray suit tailored to perfection, paired with a crisp white shirt and a subtle black tie. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, not a strand out of place. Despite the youthfulness of her face, she exuded an aura of authority so potent it was almost tangible. Where Hiroshi's presence warmed the room, Makima's electrified it, demanding focus.
"Firstly," Makima began, her tone measured and clear, "welcome home. Each of you performed exceptionally during Operation Homecoming and the missions leading up to it. You have my deepest gratitude for your hard work and sacrifices abroad." She inclined her head slightly – a gesture of respect from a superior to her troops, and it was not lost on them. Many in the room, Aki included, felt a swell of pride at her words.
Makima's eyes softened just a fraction as she looked from face to face. "It's a rare pleasure to see all of you in one place. You've all grown… stronger." For just a heartbeat, her gaze lingered on Denji, on Power, on Kobeni and Arai – the "children" of the group. There might have been a flicker of relief in her eyes that they were alive and whole. Then the moment passed, and the steel returned to her expression.
She took a breath. "Unfortunately, we have little time for pleasantries. We face a crisis here at home that eclipses any threat we encountered abroad." Her next words dropped like stones in a pond: "The Public Security Intelligence Agency is rotten to the core."
A stunned hush fell. Even though many had suspected as much, hearing it stated so bluntly by Makima herself was jarring. Glances were exchanged; Kishibe's brow furrowed deeply, and he muttered a quiet curse under his breath. Kobeni's hand flew to cover her mouth in dismay. Aki's eyes narrowed, anger and concern tightening his features. Denji and Power looked outright confused – rotten to the core? What did that mean exactly? Angel's head tilted, his lazy posture stiffening slightly as he realized the gravity of those words.
Makima continued, voice crisp and unflinching. "Over the past year, we have uncovered evidence of severe corruption and infiltration across our agency and beyond. To put it plainly: our organization has been compromised from within, at almost every level, in almost every region."
Behind her, as if on cue, the projector screen lit up with a map of Japan. Red dots and circles appeared, highlighting regions and prefectures in a grim pattern. "Kanto," Makima said, indicating Tokyo and the surrounding area which glowed red. "Hokkaido. Iwate. Niigata. Saitama. Chiba. Kanagawa. Shizuoka. Nagano. Ishikawa. Kyoto. Hyogo. Okayama. Kumamoto. Okinawa." With each name she listed, another region on the map turned red. Gasps and low murmurs rippled through the crowd.
It was nearly the entire country.
Hiroshi felt a chill as he watched region after region light up. He had known it was bad – Makima had given him an overview in private – but seeing it laid out so starkly made his stomach drop. He glanced at Yoshimura. The old man's face was grave, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes full of sorrow at the state of the agency he'd once helped build. Yoshimura folded his hands behind his back, his silence reinforcing Makima's words.
"This is the scale of the rot," Makima said. "No branch is untouched. Some are overrun." Her voice never wavered, but the disgust in her tone was evident. "Our enemies have embedded themselves deeply into PSIA's regional offices, into local police forces, into regulatory bureaus – everywhere."
Denji leaned toward Power and whispered loudly, "That's like… half the map."
Power, unusually serious, whispered back, "More than half, you fool."
Himeno's heart sank at the long list of red zones. She instinctively reached for Aki's hand and gave it a squeeze. Aki squeezed back, jaw tight. He'd traveled through some of those places in the past; he'd even trusted colleagues from those branches. Traitors among us… in every city. It was a bitter pill.