"You don't ask for forgiveness when you don't know the sin."
The truck rumbled through the darkened streets of Tokyo's lower districts, its tires screeching on cracked concrete. Rentarō sat in the back with his team, the weight of the data drive still heavy in his hands.
Enju rested her head on his shoulder, her breath steady but her eyes wide open, scanning the alleyways that flickered past. Hotaru was lost in thought, a rare quiet that even Rentarō couldn't break. Karasuma was at the front, eyes glued to the rearview mirror as they passed through the last few checkpoints.
The city seemed eerily calm now, the chaos of the infiltration slowly being replaced by an uncomfortable silence.
"What did we find?" Karasuma asked, his voice low, as if afraid to break the stillness.
Rentarō's eyes flicked to the data drive in his lap.
"Not what we expected," he replied.
Enju raised her head and looked at him, her usual fire dimmed by the unease that clung to them all. "So what now? The boy... Subject 117. What was that?"
"Chrysalis Prime." Rentarō's voice was quiet but firm. "He's more than just a test subject. He's not synthetic. He's human."
Karasuma's face tightened. "A human? But the data..."
"Everything we saw—everything—was about him," Rentarō muttered. "They didn't want the girl. She was just a prototype. The real project is him. He's... important, Karasuma."
"What's so special about him?" Hotaru spoke up, her voice calm but sharp, her usual sharpness cutting through the tension.
"I don't know yet." Rentarō clenched the drive tighter. "But the way that drone reacted... It called him Subject Prime. And it... deferred capture to him."
"Not you," Enju murmured, her face turning pale.
"Not me," Rentarō agreed. "Whatever he is, it's not just a weapon or a tool. He's something more."
The truck came to a screeching halt in a dimly lit alleyway, the tires grinding to a halt against the debris-ridden pavement. Rentarō snapped out of his thoughts and grabbed Enju's arm to steady her, as Karasuma jumped out of the front.
"Everyone, out! We need to move before the Council's response teams track us down!" Karasuma barked.
Rentarō didn't hesitate. He moved swiftly, checking his weapons before following Enju and Hotaru out the back of the truck. The night was cold and sharp, the wind cutting through the thin fabric of their uniforms. But Rentarō barely felt it.
The sudden weight of what they'd uncovered pressed on him more than the cold.
"We can't stay here," Karasuma said. "The longer we wait, the more dangerous it gets."
"Agreed," Rentarō said, glancing at the others. "We need a plan. And we need it fast."
Hotaru folded her arms, looking at the city around them. "You know the Council is already planning their next move, right? They'll be sweeping District 4 soon. If they trace us, we'll be caught before we can blink."
"I know," Rentarō replied, his mind racing. "But I'm not letting them take him."
The next few hours were spent in a cat-and-mouse game through the lower districts. They used every shortcut and old maintenance tunnel they could find, each time looking over their shoulders. Every sound made Rentarō's grip tighten on his gun.
"Move!" Karasuma shouted, urging them forward through a narrow alley. He looked like a man on the edge, no longer giving orders with the calm precision he was known for. "We're almost at the extraction point!"
But Rentarō didn't move.
He paused, his eyes darting to a nearby shadow.
Something was there.
A figure.
Tall. Shrouded in the mist of the city. Rentarō didn't recognize it at first, but something about the silhouette felt wrong. Something familiar.
And then, as if sensing his thoughts, the figure stepped forward.
A man.
Or at least, it looked like a man.
His face was obscured by a black mask, but the eyes—Rentarō recognized those eyes. Deep, calculating, cold.
"Kisara," Rentarō breathed.
The figure tilted his head, eyes glowing faintly under the dim lights of the alley. "Not quite, Rentarō," the voice purred, low and haunting. "But you're close."
Rentarō's heart stopped. He took a step forward, his hand tightening around his gun. "Who are you?"
The man's lips curled into a smile. "You still don't know, do you?"
"Answer me!" Rentarō barked.
The man stepped into the light, his figure fully visible now, tall and composed. His clothes were sleek, like something out of the highest echelons of the Council. But it wasn't his clothes that shocked Rentarō.
It was the mark on his neck.
A tattoo—three circles overlapping, forming an unholy triad.
"The New World Creation Plan," Rentarō whispered.
The man didn't flinch. "You remember, then."
Karasuma stepped forward. "This... This isn't possible. You're supposed to be gone!"
"Am I?" The man's voice was laced with amusement. "The plan never ended, Karasuma. You're just late to the party."
Rentarō's pulse quickened. "Who are you?"
"An old friend," the man replied, his smile widening. "You'll see soon enough."
The man took a step back, raising his hand to signal something. Rentarō's instincts flared. He reached for his gun.
But before he could pull the trigger, the man disappeared into the shadows with an impossible speed. Gone in the blink of an eye.
The silence hung heavy.
Then the ground trembled.
Not a small tremor. A quake.
"Move!" Rentarō shouted, turning to run.
The city was shifting again. Something was coming.
And this time, it was not the Council they had to worry about.