"In a city built on broken glass, even hope has a price in blood."
The plan was simple.
At least on paper.
District 9's elevated cargo line—an old magrail track from the early days of the Monolith era—cut through the edge of the abandoned industrial zone. The Council was using it to ship restricted payloads quickly between sectors, away from public roads and resistance ambushes.
A three-vehicle transport.
Heavily armed. Two side-runners and one central armored truck—the one carrying Project Chrysalis.
Rentarō had two hours to prepare.
The team assembled beneath a shattered overpass, moonlight filtering through cracks in the concrete like scattered daggers. The resistance fighters wore mismatched gear—civilian body armor, scavenged optics, knives wrapped in rags to keep them silent. No uniforms. Just survivors.
Hotaru crouched beside Enju on a rusted support beam above the tracks.
"You've done this before?" she whispered.
Enju grinned. "More times than I've done homework."
Hotaru didn't know what homework was.
She just nodded.
Below, Rentarō checked the charge on his handgun. His mechanical fingers hummed as he tightened the magnetic clamps on the detonators lining the bridge column.
"Convoy ETA six minutes," Karasuma reported from the far tunnel, holding a short-range commlink. "Only light drone patrol. They're confident."
Rentarō's expression darkened.
"They won't be by the end."
The first sign was the distant vibration.
Then came the rumble of magnetic wheels—metal screeching against old rail.
Three black vehicles appeared from the mist, headlights off, engines cold and efficient. The lead runner swept a cone of infrared across the track.
"Hold," Rentarō whispered.
His finger hovered above the trigger.
"Now."
He pressed the switch.
With a roar, the right support column detonated—just enough to tilt the track and derail the lead truck. The vehicle crashed sideways, blocking the central lane. The other two screeched to a halt, doors opening.
Resistance fighters surged forward.
Gunfire erupted—short, controlled bursts from both sides. The convoy guards wore full synthetic armor, Council-grade. But they weren't expecting Initiators.
Enju shot forward, a blur of red ribbon and bone-snapping speed. She kicked one guard into the air, caught his rifle mid-spin, and used it to break the next's helmet open.
Hotaru was quieter. She moved through the smoke like a shadow, her knives flashing once, twice—silent, surgical. A third guard fell without a sound.
Rentarō advanced toward the central truck.
He knew the prototype was inside. Knew that whatever was in there wasn't just a weapon—it was a message.
He tore the rear doors open with a scream of metal.
What he saw froze him in place.
It looked like a girl.
Twelve, maybe thirteen. Hair suspended in nutrient gel, eyes closed, breathing shallow. Wires ran into her spine, chest, skull. But her face…
It was wrong.
Emotionless. Manufactured.
"Is this… Project Chrysalis?" Karasuma asked, stepping up behind him.
Rentarō nodded slowly.
There was no infection marker. No Gastrea virus detected.
This girl wasn't cursed.
She was created.
A synthetic Initiator.
A child built for war.
Enju appeared beside him. "What is this?"
He stared at the girl in the tank.
"A new kind of soldier," he said. "Without a soul to break."
And then the girl's eyes opened.
Blank white.
No irises. No pupils.
Just light.
A pulse of energy exploded from the tank, shattering the containment glass. Rentarō was thrown backward into the dirt as warning sirens in the vehicle screamed.
The girl stepped forward from the ruins of the tank, naked but unshivering.
She looked at Enju. Then at Hotaru.
Then she spoke.
Voice synthetic. Chilling.
"Identified: defective models.
Synchronization incomplete.
Begin purge."
She lunged.
Hotaru moved first.
She darted low, knife sweeping for the leg—but the girl twisted mid-air, grabbing her wrist and slamming her into the side of the truck. Hotaru coughed, dazed.
Enju flew in next, eyes glowing.
She punched—
But the girl blocked it with one hand.
Then returned the blow with enough force to send Enju flying across the rail line.
Rentarō's eyes widened. He'd seen power like that before.
Not in any Initiator.
But in… Level V Gastrea.
This wasn't just a synthetic child.
It was a designed apex predator—a man-made fusion of Gastrea adaptability and cursed child instinct, without the virus. Without the limits.
Karasuma shouted, "Fall back! We're not ready for this!"
But Rentarō didn't move.
He stared at the girl as she scanned him.
And for a fraction of a second, her eyes flickered. Recognition?
"Subject 074: Rentarō Satomi.
Biological anomaly.
Termination postponed."
She turned—and leapt thirty meters straight into the night sky, disappearing into the skyline.
Silence followed.
Just breathing.
And pain.
Later, at the base, Hotaru lay bandaged but stable. Enju sat nearby, arms crossed tightly.
"That wasn't a cursed child," she said. "That was…"
"A ghost," Rentarō whispered. "Of the world they want to build."
Karasuma leaned in. "So what do we do?"
Rentarō didn't look away from the broken data drive he'd pulled from the transport.
"We fight smarter," he said. "And we find out who's behind Chrysalis."
Enju's voice was soft. "You know who."
He nodded.
Kisara.
He stood slowly.
"Tell Seitenshi," he said to Karasuma. "We're in this war. All the way."