The night felt heavier than it should. Even the air seemed reluctant to move, pressing down like a silent warning. Reiji stepped through the shattered gate of the old research compound, each footstep echoing faintly across the hollow corridor. Behind him, the metallic groan of the security door slowly closing sounded almost like a sigh—one that marked the point of no return.
He did not look back.
"Reiji," Akari whispered from behind, keeping her voice low. "The deeper we go, the more… wrong it feels."
"It's supposed to feel wrong," he replied without stopping. "Places built on lies always leave stains."
His voice had no edge, no frustration—just a calmness that felt unnaturally cold, shaped by years of suppressing everything he never had the chance to voice.
The corridors were lined with peeling white tiles. Rusted pipes wept droplets of dark water. The fluorescent lights flickered with a faint buzz, as if the building itself struggled to stay alive.
Akari kept close behind him, eyes darting toward every branching hallway.
"You said the intel pointed here," she murmured. "Do you think he's still alive after—"
"He's alive." Reiji's tone sharpened just slightly. "He wouldn't die without leaving something behind."
Something—or someone.
Akari swallowed. The implication didn't need to be spoken aloud.
They reached a sealed steel door with warnings etched across its surface. Reiji placed his hand against the cold metal, feeling the faint vibration beneath it—machinery still running somewhere deep inside.
"He used to call this place the 'Archive,'" Reiji muttered. "Not because it stored data… but because it stored people."
Akari flinched. "Then we should be ready for anything."
"We always are."
He pulled out a small blade—not the longest, nor the sharpest, but one sharpened with an intention that made it feel heavier than steel. Akari prepared her rifle, hands tightening on the grip.
Reiji wedged the blade into the control panel, severing the lock with a clean twist. The door hissed open.
Inside was silence.
A thick fog of chemicals lingered in the air, swirling around rows of cylindrical glass chambers that stretched into the darkness. Some were broken. Others remained intact. All were empty—but not clean. Finger streaks, scratch marks, and dark stains clung to the glass.
Akari took an involuntary step back. "What… were they doing here?"
"What they always do," Reiji said flatly. "Trying to create something perfect from people they deemed expendable."
He spoke with a detachment that Akari recognized as a coping mechanism—an instinct to distance himself before the memories could resurface.
But she also recognized the tremor, so faint only someone who moved beside him day after day would notice.
Reiji walked further inside, scanning the floor. Then he stopped.
There—half-buried under debris—lay a faded black tag with engraved characters: SHN-04. The sight of it froze him.
Akari stepped closer. "Reiji… is that—"
"My unit," he whispered. "One of the earlier ones."
His jaw clenched. For a moment, something almost human flickered in his eyes.
He knelt down, brushing away dust from the tag with steady fingers. But just as he reached for it—
A distorted metallic screech echoed from the far end of the room.
Akari instantly aimed her rifle. "Movement at ten o'clock—something's there!"
Reiji didn't react with panic. Only stillness.
"That sound… I know it."
From the shadows, a figure staggered out.
Tall. Gaunt. Wrapped in medical restraints. Tubes dangled from its arms like torn veins. The face—sunken, pale, trembling—was one Reiji could barely recognize.
But he recognized it nonetheless.
"Reiji…?" the figure rasped, voice dry like cracked sand.
Akari's eyes widened. "Is that—?"
Reiji stepped forward, not hesitating, not afraid.
"Hayato."
The name hung in the air like a ghost.
Hayato's eyes twitched with the faintest spark of clarity before clouding again. He tried to steady himself, but his legs shook beneath him, as if every step burned.
"They… said you died," Hayato whispered. "All of you… gone…"
Reiji felt something hollow tug inside his chest—an echo of grief he had buried long ago.
"Not all," Reiji replied quietly. "I never trusted what they said."
Hayato blinked, his expression contorting with a mix of pain, disbelief, and something darker.
"They kept us alive," Hayato groaned, nails digging into his palms. "Not for rescue… but for observation. For control. For… for their next experiment—"
Hayato suddenly convulsed, dropping to his knees.
Akari moved instantly. "Reiji, something's wrong with him!"
Reiji rushed to Hayato's side, catching him before he collapsed entirely. Hayato's body trembled violently, breath hitching in short, sharp bursts.
"They… they injected something," Hayato gasped. "It wakes up when I try to remember."
Reiji's grip tightened.
"Tell me who did this."
Hayato forced his eyes open, staring directly at him.
"It was… the Director."
Reiji froze.
Akari's expression darkened. "The one controlling the shadow programs? The same man from—"
"Yes," Hayato rasped. "He's alive… and watching everything. Watching you, Reiji."
For the first time in hours, Reiji's breathing shifted—just slightly, but meaningfully. The Director was a name that hadn't been spoken aloud in years. The man who ripped their youth apart. The man who turned them into weapons.
The man Reiji was supposed to have killed.
Hayato grabbed Reiji's wrist with surprising strength.
"He wants you to come. That's why he left me alive. To lure you in." Hayato's voice cracked. "Don't follow his path, Reiji. Don't become the thing he molded us to be."
Reiji's expression didn't change, but the silence in his eyes spoke volumes.
Akari knelt beside them. "Hayato, we can take you out. We can find a way to stabilize whatever they did to you."
Hayato shook his head violently.
"No… no, you don't understand! I'm tied to the network, to the system—if I leave this facility, the failsafe will trigger."
Reiji stiffened. "Failsafe?"
Hayato's breathing turned ragged.
"He put a detonator in our bloodstreams."
Akari recoiled in disgust. "That's—!"
"Hayato," Reiji said slowly. "What do you want us to do?"
Hayato's expression softened—just for a moment, the way it did years ago when they were still human, still brothers-in-arms rather than experiments.
"I want… to die free."
Akari's eyes widened. "Reiji, we can't—"
Hayato leaned against Reiji's hand, voice breaking.
"You're the only one I trust to end it. Don't let him control me. Not anymore."
Silence filled the room. A heavy, unbearable silence.
Reiji did not speak, did not breathe, did not move.
Akari watched him, her throat tight. "Reiji… whatever you choose… I'll support it."
Slowly, Reiji helped Hayato sit upright, the dim light reflecting off the broken tubes across his body.
Reiji's voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry."
Hayato smiled—weak but genuine.
"Don't be. You… survived. And that's enough."
Reiji lifted the blade, positioning it with steady precision. Hayato closed his eyes.
"Thank you… Reiji."
The blade sank cleanly.
Hayato exhaled one final time.
The room fell silent again.
Akari bowed her head, letting Reiji have the moment he desperately needed but would never ask for.
Reiji stood up slowly, wiping blood from the blade. His expression was still, almost expressionless—but something beneath it had fractured.
"We're finishing this," he said quietly.
Akari nodded. "The Director?"
Reiji turned toward the next door, the one leading deeper underground.
"He wanted me to come to him."
His grip tightened.
"And now I will."