Darkness ruled the subterranean chamber. Only a handful of blinking red emergency lights reminded Mayu that this place had been built for crises. The heavy silence was broken only by the low hum of backup generators. Every footstep echoed off the concrete walls, as if the room itself were holding its breath in tandem with her.
She advanced deliberately, muscles coiled, knuckles white around her daggers. Her breathing was tight but controlled—yet instinct roared within her. This place… it wasn't ordinary. The chill in the air wasn't just from the cold—it radiated from the walls themselves, as though they had witnessed too many horrors.
A shape emerged from the gloom without warning.
Mayu snapped to face it, narrowly evading a blade that flashed toward her throat. Metal clanged against metal in the hush, her crossed daggers locking the intruder's weapon mere inches from her face. The attacker was fast—incredibly fast—an elite soldier, or perhaps something more.
Their eyes met for a brief instant. No words passed between them.
She sprang backward, sizing him up. He wore a sleek black infiltration suit; his mask concealed his face, but not the precision of his strikes. He did not strike blindly—every blow was measured, surgical. Like her.
The duel resumed with brutal grace.
Mayu spun, her daggers slicing through the air as she sought a crack in his defense. The stranger countered with terrifying fluidity, deflecting or dodging with inhuman agility. Their weapons clashed in a deadly dance—steel against steel, breath against breath.
But as she parried a flank attack, something felt wrong.
This style…she recognized it.
An image flashed through her mind: a dojo, hours of repetitive strikes, a deep voice correcting her stance. Her heart skipped.
> "…Seth?" she murmured, disbelief in her voice.
The assailant hesitated. That fleeting pause was all she needed.
Mayu slid one blade under his guard, tearing through his shoulder armor. Blood spurted—bright red.
Her opponent staggered back, pressing a hand to the wound, but Mayu paid him no mind.
> "This can't be…."
She moved closer, daggers still raised, searching the eyes behind the mask for any spark of humanity, any memory.
> "You fight… like him."
A long silence followed. Then the figure stepped back into the shadows, as if fearful of the truth.
A rough voice answered—deeper than Seth's, more wounded:
> "They taught me to fight… to forget."
With a rustle of footsteps, he vanished into darkness.
Mayu stood frozen, fists trembling. Was it hallucination? A clone? Another cruel manipulation?
She closed her eyes, fighting to steady herself. But the impact was there, lodged deep in her chest. That style, that look… it wasn't coincidence.
She pressed on, uncertainty gnawing at her gut. The corridors plunged deeper into the complex—the sealed-off experimental chambers were supposed to be decommissioned. Yet everything still felt… alive.
Walls were laced with cables; doors sealed by biometric locks. She found a terminal and used one of her coded keys to hack the locks. Door after door clicked open.
And then she discovered them.
Rows of stasis vats. Dozens. Some shattered, others still filled.
Inside floated human figures, alive or drained of life. Clones, no doubt. Mayu's throat tightened.
> "Subject… 32, 34… 38…"
The labels blurred past. Then she came to an empty tank, its glass recently broken.
Subject 45.
She recoiled, breath catching. The glass was shattered. Blood still stained the floor—but no body remained.
> "No… This isn't possible…"
Memories assaulted her: running, the lab, muffled screams, the sting of injections. And the other her—his gaze.
She stumbled, bracing her hand against the steel wall to stay upright. She couldn't falter now.
A cold voice crackled through the corridor speakers:
> "You draw nearer, Mayu. But are you prepared to see what remains of you after failure?"
It was the Professor.
Her heart froze. He knew. He had guided her here deliberately. A final lesson? A trap?
She did not hesitate.
Her jaw clenched, she strode forward. Memories swirled within her like a storm—the other clones, the endless drills, the pain inflicted to test her resilience.
But she was no longer a mere experiment.
She was Mayu. And she had come for answers.
One last door. She flung it open.
Inside lay a circular chamber lined with monitors. At its center stood a single chair, and in that chair sat a frail figure.
The Professor.
He turned slowly, a tired smile playing on his lips. His eyes gleamed with a chilling fervor.
> "You are perfect," he murmured. "You have surpassed them all… even my wildest projections."
Mayu said nothing. She drew closer, blade raised.
> "You stole my childhood. My memories. My family."
He shrugged, unconcerned.
> "You never had a family. You were born here. Created here. That is your truth."
She ground her teeth.
> "No. My truth is what I choose to become. And I am no longer your weapon."
He laughed—a broken, almost sorrowful sound.
> "You may be the final subject… but not the end. There will be others. Killing me changes nothing."
Mayu raised her blade higher.
> "Perhaps not. But it will be a beginning."
She lunged—and in the charged silence that followed, a new era was born.