The whole facility was an absolute disaster zone. Smashed to bits, debris everywhere—like the world's messiest junkyard just dumped itself on the concrete.
"What happened here? This thing won't budge," a soldier muttered, fiddling with dead buttons. Power was totally fried. He kept pressing random switches, but it was still pitch black—nothing but silent darkness.
"Jimmy! Power Optic Cable, right now!" the guy snapped, not even looking up. "Maybe I can salvage the Data Analysis Code. We need intel on what's happening with the animals inside. Pluton Code's not the only thing those animals wanted, I bet."
"Roger," Jimmy shot back, following orders like it was second nature. He found this sneaky groove in the wall—pretty much invisible to anyone not in the know—and jammed his fingers in, yanking until a fat slab of iron slid loose. On it? A weird blue square of glass, lined like a chessboard. Some kind of mini desktop computer, with a wonky hand-drawn icon glowing, projecting a holographic ripple in the air, almost like an SOS flare. A line of text: "Please place your hand on the surface." Then, out of nowhere, something slid out from the smooth-as-glass wall. Who knew there was even a compartment there? He pulled out a cable thick as a wrestler's arm and plugged it into the electric socket near the so-called Desktop Computer System.
His partner shot him a look. "Wait, so it's not just about that bug thing? And the pets? This is way bigger than we thought."
He wasn't wrong. "Pluton Code's the real threat. If terrorists get it, innocent people are screwed," the first guy said, voice all grim. "Let's pray we get it back before hell breaks loose. Those psychos are monsters—no conscience, just greed. They deserve to disappear."
"Relax, Gorgoyle. Huagdoh's on it," Amigbah tried to sound confident. "He knows what's up. We just gotta trust him."
Gorgoyle looked edgy. "Hope you're right. If he drops the ball, we're all toast. Still… maybe the thief hasn't made it far. Could be a shot left."
"Don't thank me yet, Gorgoyle."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Amigbah's voice cut in, low and tense. "You ever get a feeling in your gut? Like something's wrong—seriously wrong." He glanced at Gorgoyle, but didn't bother explaining further.
"What? Is there something we're missing?"
"Huagdoh's probably battling the theft of Pluton Code right now, but I can't tell who's winning. It's too far—too much interference," he said, his voice getting heavier. "Maybe fifty miles away. But there's more. Call it instinct, but I think he's up against a Chemira'n Devil."
Gorgoyle's eyes went wide. "You're not kidding?"
"My senses reach seventy miles, easy. I know what I'm feeling."
"So, you're saying the terrorists don't have the Pluton Code?"
Amigbah nodded, stone-faced.
"No way would a terrorist be working with a wild Chemiran Devil. Different agendas, even if both are out of their minds".
"But why would a Chemira'n Devil even want the Pluton Code? What good does it do for them?" Gorgoyle wondered, but Amigbah just sank into his own thoughts, mind spinning with reasons only he could guess.
"That means only one thing."
And then, out of nowhere, a voice from behind cut through the tension: "It wasn't just any Chemira'n Devil who stole the Pluton Code."
"It's you, Rodan," he shot over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, voice dead serious. "We all thought you'd bit the dust. Did he actually drop you? How bad are we talking?"
Rodan barely managed a shaky grin. "You don't get it. That Chemira'n Devil? Guy's a Class A freakshow. I'll admit it—I couldn't do a damn thing. He wiped the floor with me." His legs buckled, body slumping in a puddle of his own blood. Yeah, he looked like a superhero whose cape got caught in a woodchipper.
"Oh, Rodan, man..."
People surged forward, not wasting a second. Somebody wrapped an arm around his shoulders, another started awkwardly patting at the wounds, like that'd help. He was a walking (well, not really) disaster zone.
"Medic! Get a doctor in here, now!" A soldier's voice cracked as he shouted, panic etched on his face. "Move! Go!"
"On the way", someone yelled back.
"Hey, you did what you could," Amigbah muttered, squeezing Rodan's arm.
"Done," Jimmy groaned, like he'd just bench-pressed a truck.
Suddenly, a computerized voice boomed out of nowhere, all robotic and way too cheerful for the moment. "Power System Initialized." The lights stuttered to life, desktop icons popping up one by one like they were testing his patience. The whole thing flickered like bad cable, but Jimmy just slammed a few keys, and, surprise, something popped up on the screen he definitely wasn't ready for.
"Somebody get General Gandamme in here," he barked, sweat dripping down his face. Concrete walls, a million mirrors, heat cranked to eleven—the fancy Aicon system might as well've been a box fan with a broken plug.
"I got it," said one of the soldiers, already on the move.
"So what now, General?" Aluman asked, voice steady but his posture tense. Black Death Squad—these guys didn't rattle easy.
Gandamme just stood there, jaw clenched so hard it looked like he might crack a tooth. He stared into space for a second, then let out a rumbling growl: "Call IMS. Tell 'em everything. And anyone who gave their life for San Sinocob? They need a proper burial. That's an order. No shortcuts, no excuses. They did their part—we do ours."
"Roger that," Aluman replied, crisp.
"Did you hear it, Helldrick!" Auman said.
"Oh yes---yes sir," Helldrick replied, calm as a monk. Guy had about fifteen years on the rest of them, and he carried it like a badge. Chief spy for a reason—he could sniff out a lie from a mile away, even if he was the type to quietly cross himself before a mission.
*******
"Wait, somebody's talking," Yuren blurted, skidding to a stop. "Zero, you hear that?" Something prickled under his skin, like a warning bell going off in his head.
Yuren squeaked—yeah, actually squeaked. He hadn't even moved, but his buddy's sudden shout had him jumping, heart thumping, the whole world suddenly turned up to eleven. Something was lurking just around the corner, waiting for its cue.