Broken Oaths, Burning World

Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and talks about sensitive topics that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

At precisely 10:30 pm on 2nd February, Wen-Li's eyes flickered open to the dim, sterile glow of the overhead light in Shi-Zhon Hospital. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, and the quiet hum of medical equipment seemed to echo the persistent throbbing in her head. As her vision cleared, the concerned faces of those gathered around her slowly came into focus.

Closest to her bed stood Nightingale, Lan Qian, and Lingaong Xuein, their expressions etched with profound relief yet shadowed by lingering worry. Further back, Robert, Commander Krieg, and Gonda watched silently, their postures rigid with tension. In the far corner of the room, Wen-Li's neighbour Irmin Küçükoldan stood with her husband and children, the family huddled together, their faces pale with concern.

Nightingale stepped forward, her composure cracking as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Chief... You're awake," she said, her voice trembling. Her usual steely resolve had melted away in the presence of her relief.

Lan Qian quickly wiped her eyes but failed to mask the emotion in her voice. "You scared us, Chief," she admitted softly. "I thought…" She hesitated, unable to finish the thought, her words heavy with unspoken fear.

Wen-Li managed a faint, reassuring smile, though her throat was parched, and her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "I'm alright," she murmured, though her body felt the weight of the ordeal she had endured.

Her gaze shifted to Gonda and Robert, and her brows furrowed slightly as she caught the unspoken tension between them. Summoning what strength she had, she asked, "Munafiq… What happened to him?"

Gonda sighed heavily, his expression darkening. "He's dead," he replied grimly. "His body was found in your neighbourhood. His spinal cord and brain were torn out, and his remains were hung against a wall like some grotesque message."

Wen-Li's eyes widened in shock, the grotesque image flashing through her mind. "What?" she whispered, the horror evident in her voice.

Irmin Küçükoldan's voice was soft but steady as she spoke. "It was my children who saw it first. They were terrified. They ran to tell us, and Mr. Gonda saw what had happened. When we didn't find you in your home, he immediately informed the authorities."

Gonda nodded grimly. "I was patrolling nearby when I heard the commotion. What I found…" He paused, his voice faltering. "It was like nothing I'd ever seen before."

Wen-Li pushed herself upright, wincing as her muscles protested. Fragments of the night flashed through her mind like a broken reel. Her lips parted as she murmured, "It wasn't human."

The room fell deathly silent, the weight of her words settling like a stone.

"There was… a figure," she continued, her tone distant as she pieced together the memory. "Its eyes—white irises surrounded by black sclera. Its smile... grotesque and unnatural. Whatever it was, it wasn't human, and it killed Munafiq."

Her revelation sent a ripple of unease through the room. Even the hardened officers exchanged uneasy glances, their usual stoicism shaken.

Breaking the silence, Robert stepped forward, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. "Chief, there's more. When we reached Lee Jong Suk's place… we found Agent-90."

Wen-Li's brows knitted in surprise. "Agent-90?" she repeated, the name sparking a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Commander Krieg nodded solemnly. "He was carrying you when we arrived. You were unconscious, wrapped in his jacket. He must have covered you to protect your dignity." Krieg paused, his tone softening. "He didn't say much, but it was clear—he was furious. Whatever he witnessed pushed him to the edge."

Lan Qian added, her voice quiet but firm, "After ensuring you were safe, he vanished. Disappeared into the night before we could question him."

Wen-Li leaned back against the pillow, her mind a storm of unanswered questions. The grotesque figure, Munafiq's brutal end, and Agent-90's involvement—none of it added up.

Nightingale placed a gentle hand on Wen-Li's shoulder. "Chief, you need to rest. You've been through more than enough."

As the others began to leave, Robert hesitated near the door, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched.

"Robert," Wen-Li called, her voice firm despite her exhaustion.

He froze, reluctant to face her.

"You're angry," she observed, her tone sharp but not unkind. "But not at Munafiq, not at the situation. You're angry at yourself. Why?"

His shoulders sagged, and he exhaled slowly. "I failed you, Chief," he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. "I should have seen it. I should have stopped it. But I didn't."

Wen-Li's gaze softened momentarily. "We all missed it, Robert. This isn't just on you. But we can't afford to dwell on what's done. Focus on what we can do next."

As the team filed out, Wen-Li turned to Nightingale, Gonda, and Krieg. "You three, stay. We need to talk."

Her piercing gaze landed squarely on Gonda. "You know something about him, don't you? Agent-90."

Gonda hesitated, avoiding her stare. "I… I know only what's necessary. He's not officially connected to us—more like a ghost who operates independently."

"And yet," Wen-Li pressed, her voice razor-sharp, "he always seems to be exactly where he's needed. His skills are unparalleled. His resources, limitless. Who is he, Gonda?"

Gonda's lips tightened, and he remained silent.

Shifting her attention to Krieg, Wen-Li's eyes narrowed. "And you. You trust him more than anyone else here. Why?"

Krieg sighed heavily. "Because I've seen what he's capable of. Years ago, during a classified mission, our paths crossed. He's not just skilled—he's a weapon, honed to perfection. If he's protecting you, it's because someone important ordered it."

Wen-Li reclined against her pillow, frustration simmering beneath her composed exterior. "So he's a ghost tied to shadowy organisations, yet he's willing to risk everything to protect me? Why?"

No one had an answer.

Finally, Nightingale broke the silence. "Chief, sometimes it's better not to question everything. What matters is that you're alive. The rest... we'll figure out in time."

Wen-Li nodded but remained unconvinced. Turning to Nightingale, she said, "Until I'm fully recovered, you're in charge. Stay by my side—I'll need you."

As the room fell silent, Wen-Li's mind whirred, piecing together fragments of the night. The answers lay just out of reach, but she knew one thing for certain: the game was far from over.

The boy awoke abruptly, his senses disoriented as he tried to adjust to the oppressive darkness surrounding him. His breath was shallow, and his heart pounded like a drum. Nearby, his best friend lay unconscious, her figure faintly illuminated by the feeble light seeping through a crack in the slightly ajar door.

Glancing around the room, the boy's stomach churned as he noticed metal apparatuses, chains, and the faint glint of surgical instruments glistening in the dim light. Gathering his courage, he rose cautiously, stepping silently toward the source of the light.

Peering through the gap, his blood ran cold. Beyond the door lay a nightmarish scene: a group of scientists clad in bloodstained lab coats working feverishly around a series of cold metal tables. Upon those tables lay children, their anguished screams piercing the air like a symphony of despair. Their terror was almost tangible, each cry reverberating through the boy's very core.

As his eyes adjusted further, he noticed a corkboard in the corner of the laboratory. His gaze fixated on the photographs pinned to it. Each photo showed a child, vibrant with life, juxtaposed with another image of an eerily lifelike animatronic or doll. The connection was undeniable. A wave of nausea swept over him as the horrifying truth dawned: the scientists were transforming children into living toys.

The boy's breathing quickened, panic clawing at his chest. Flashes of memory struck him like a whip—he and his friends laughing, playing in the forest, oblivious to the danger stalking them. Then came the abduction: the sharp snap of a trap, the blinding light, and the cold hands dragging them into this hellish place.

He stumbled back into the dark room, his chest heaving. His best friend stirred, her voice groggy as she called his name. He rushed to her, his panic spilling over as he recounted the horrors he had seen. His words tumbled out in a frantic whisper, each syllable filled with dread.

He led her to the door, pointing toward the grotesque tableau unfolding beyond it. She froze, her breath hitching as her eyes widened in terror. Turning back to him, she began to step away, her trembling voice barely audible as she whispered, "You... what are you?"

Confused, he followed her gaze to the cracked mirror mounted on the wall. Horror replaced confusion as he saw his reflection. His left arm had transformed into a grotesque, monstrous limb—a beastly appendage covered in sinewy muscle and razor-sharp claws. His shadow twisted unnaturally, taking on a menacing, otherworldly form.

"No… no, no, no!" he muttered, his voice breaking.

His friend's back pressed against the wall as her face twisted in sheer terror. Her scream shattered the silence, a sound so chilling it seemed to cut through the fabric of reality itself.

Months later, Wen-Li stepped out of Shi-Zhon Hospital, her black suit crisp and immaculate, a stark contrast to her pale complexion. Though her figure appeared slightly diminished from her recovery, her sharp eyes betrayed a fierce determination. Her sleek hair was pulled into a neat ponytail, her every movement exuding quiet authority.

As she exited, a swarm of reporters descended upon her like vultures, cameras flashing relentlessly, and microphones thrust toward her with chaotic urgency. Flanked by Gonda and Nightingale, Wen-Li navigated the chaos with poise, her face calm and unreadable. Lan Qian worked tirelessly to hold the frenzied crowd at bay.

"Chief Wen-Li! Chief Wen-Li!" reporters called out in a cacophony of voices.

Raising a hand, Wen-Li signalled for quiet. Her voice cut through the clamour, firm and commanding. "One question at a time," she instructed.

A journalist from Nightshade Herald stepped forward, his microphone trembling slightly. "Chief Wen-Li, how did Munafiq successfully impersonate Officer Lee Jong-Suk for so long? And why wasn't he caught earlier?"

Wen-Li's expression hardened. "Munafiq was a master manipulator and a highly skilled infiltrator. He didn't just mimic Lee Jong-Suk's mannerisms—he studied his every move, from his smallest habits to his professional conduct. By the time he infiltrated us, his disguise was nearly flawless. We failed to detect him sooner, and for that, we take full responsibility. However, new protocols are being implemented to ensure this never happens again."

Another reporter from Veilmoor Post leaned forward. "Who rescued you from Munafiq? Rumour has it that it wasn't anyone from the SSCBF."

Wen-Li hesitated, her gaze steady but guarded. "The specifics of my rescue remain classified," she replied evenly. "What matters is that Munafiq is no longer a threat, and the SSCBF remains resolute in its mission to protect Nightshade City."

Before more questions could be fired, Gonda stepped forward with a warning glance, silencing further prying.

Then came a question from The Global Gazette that sent ripples through the crowd. "Chief, over 125,000 children are reportedly missing. Their families are protesting despite government suppression. How will you ensure their rescue?"

The weight of the question pressed down on Wen-Li, her jaw tightening visibly. She stepped closer to the microphone, her voice steady but imbued with raw emotion.

"The loss of even one child is an unimaginable tragedy. Over a hundred thousand? That's an unforgivable atrocity," she declared, her eyes scanning the crowd. "We have already launched an exhaustive investigation. Let me be clear: no amount of suppression or resistance will deter us from uncovering the truth. These children will not be forgotten, and their families' pleas for justice will not go unanswered. Every resource, every effort, every ounce of resolve will be directed toward bringing them home."

As the reporters clamoured for more, Wen-Li turned and entered the waiting car. The vehicle glided smoothly through the streets of Nightshade City, its interior quiet save for the faint hum of the engine.

In the car Nightingale's eyes narrowed slightly and broke the silence. "You lied to them," she said bluntly.

Wen-Li stiffened, her hands curling into fists. "What choice did I have?" she countered, her tone sharp. "If they knew how dire the situation truly was, there would be chaos. We're fighting to keep a crumbling foundation intact."

Suddenly, Wen-Li turned to Gonda. "Where is Robert? Why wasn't he at the press conference?"

Gonda's expression darkened. "He's been dismissed, Chief. President Song Luoyang fired him this morning. He's being blamed for Munafiq's infiltration."

Wen-Li's eyes flashed with anger, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "That's absurd. Robert didn't fail us—we failed each other. Firing him is nothing but a cowardly scapegoat tactic."

The car sped on, the weight of injustice pressing heavily on Wen-Li's shoulders as she prepared for the battles yet to come.

The car turned a corner, decelerating as it neared an intersection. Wen-Li's gaze drifted back to the window, her eyes falling upon a group of protesters being forcibly dispersed by riot police. Parents clutching placards, their faces streaked with tears of anguish, were driven away from the imposing government buildings.

Her stomach churned with a visceral pang. "And the government?" she muttered bitterly, more to herself than to anyone else. "They silence those parents—those desperate voices crying out for their lost children. How do they rationalise it? How do they sleep at night, knowing they've abandoned those families?"

"Perhaps they fear what they'll uncover," Gonda remarked quietly. "Or what the truth will cost them."

Wen-Li's fingers unfurled, her palm pressing against the cool pane of glass. "The truth always surfaces, Gonda. One way or another. And when it does, we'll be there to confront it—even if they dare not."

The car continued on its course, laden with an unspoken heaviness of guilt, fury, and unyielding resolve.

Meanwhile, at the Shi-Zhang Corporation Centre Office, Madam Di-Xian observed the live broadcast of Wen-Li's press conference with an impassive gaze. Once the screen darkened, she clapped twice with deliberate slowness. Five agents entered the room in swift synchrony: Agent-90, Jun, Farhan, Masud, and Roy.

"I am assigning you a mission," she began with an imperious tone. "Rescue the 125,000 missing children."

Jun frowned. "How did we fail to extract this information from Gonda?"

"Gonda will preoccupy SSCBF with trivial diversions," Madam Di-Xian said, her voice elegant yet commanding. "We have another source." With an enigmatic smile, she gestured toward the door.

A woman entered, her visage striking—a pair of spectacles perched on her nose, offset by long, vibrant pink hair. She exuded a quiet confidence as she approached.

"Allow me to introduce Alvi Taslim," Madam Di-Xian declared. "She is a data analyst and will assist you in locating the children." Then, fixing her gaze on Alvi, she asked in a tone of mild incredulity, "You will help us, won't you?"

Roy leaned closer to Masud and whispered, "Who on earth is she?"

Masud rolled his eyes. "She's Alvi Taslim. Have you forgotten? She's been with us all along, providing tactical intelligence."

"And Gonda?" Roy pressed.

"An informant, nothing more," Masud replied.

"Hmmm," Madam Di-Xian interjected sharply. "Enough chatter. Boys, prepare yourselves!"

"Yes, ma'am!" they chorused in unison.

The automated doors of SSCBF Headquarters hissed open, revealing Wen-Li. Her resolute strides cut through the frenetic corridors, her expression a tempest of defiance and urgency. Despite the persistent ache from her still-healing wound, her determination was unwavering.

Behind her, Nightingale and Lan Qian struggled to match her pace.

"Chief, slow down!" Nightingale called, her voice tinged with alarm. "You're not fully recovered!"

Lan Qian added with more firmness, "You'll rupture your stitches if you persist like this!"

Wen-Li remained silent, her focus riveted ahead. Her mind was a maelstrom of thoughts, yet one conviction reigned supreme—she would not let this injustice endure.

She stormed into President Song Luoyang's office without preamble, startling the man seated behind a sleek, glass desk amidst a sea of meticulously arranged reports.

"Chief Wen-Li," he began, his brow furrowing. "This is highly improper. Explain yourself at once—"

"You must bring Robert back," Wen-Li interrupted, her voice cutting through his protests with incisive precision. "And you must do so immediately."

Song Luoyang leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "You're fully aware of why I dismissed him, aren't you? Because of his negligence, the Munafiq infiltrated this organisation, leaked classified information to criminals, and—"

"And nearly killed me?" Wen-Li interjected sharply, her tone dripping with acerbity. "Believe me, Mr. President, I am painfully cognisant of what happened. But Robert is not the one culpable for the actions of a psychopath who deceived us all. If you're searching for someone to blame, look at all of us—yourself included."

Song Luoyang's jaw tightened, his composure fraying ever so slightly. "Chief Wen-Li, this isn't merely about you. The public demands accountability. Robert's failure to detect the imposter has rendered him a liability. That psychopath was his subordinate—a member of his team."

Wen-Li stepped forward with purpose, placing her hands firmly on his desk, her eyes blazing with conviction. "You cannot throw him to the wolves to placate public opinion. Robert is one of the most dedicated, astute, and loyal officers in this force. He has sacrificed his life for this organisation, and now, in our hour of greatest need, you choose to cast him aside? Do you realise how myopic such a decision is?"

Song Luoyang remained silent, his expression unreadable as her words reverberated in the stillness of the room.

"Bring him back," Wen-Li insisted, her tone softening but retaining its piercing intensity. "You've witnessed the enormity of what we face—corruption festering within, conspiracies entwining us, organised crime thriving, and now this Munafiq catastrophe. Losing a man like Robert now is a mistake we cannot afford. Yes, he has erred, but who among us hasn't? You need him. We need him."

The tension in the air was palpable, broken only by the faint, monotonous hum of the air conditioning. From the doorway, Nightingale and Lan Qian exchanged furtive, concerned glances.

Finally, Song Luoyang exhaled, leaning forward, his fingers steepled. "You're placing me in an invidious position, Wen-Li. Reinstating him will provoke scrutiny. The press will demand explanations, and I cannot guarantee they will let this matter lie."

Wen-Li straightened, her gaze unwavering and resolute. "Let them scrutinise. I'll face the press myself. Do what is right. Reinstate him and restore his title. Trust me on this."

After a protracted silence, Song Luoyang gave a reluctant nod. "Very well. I'll reinstate him. But understand this—his actions henceforth are your responsibility. If this backfires, the consequences will rest squarely on your shoulders."

Wen-Li's lips curved into a faint, determined smile. "Thank you, Mr. President. You won't regret this."

As she exited the office, her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, though the weight of the battles ahead lingered like an unyielding spectre. Beside her, Nightingale murmured, "You really went all in there."

"Robert deserves it," Wen-Li replied resolutely. "And we need every capable officer we can muster."

Lan Qian added pragmatically, "Let's hope the Captain proves himself worthy."

Wen-Li offered no response, though the steadfastness in her expression spoke volumes.

The dim light of a flickering bulb cast a pallid glow over Robert's decrepit apartment as Gonda ascended the rickety stairs, each creak echoing like a harbinger of unease. The faint hiss of static emanated from within, seeping through the cracks of the weathered door. Reaching the top, Gonda knocked twice—firmly, but with a tinge of hesitation.

"Go back to wherever you came from," barked a hoarse, weary voice from the other side.

Gonda frowned but refused to yield. "Robert, it's me. We need to talk. It's urgent."

A long, tense silence ensued before the door creaked open just a fraction, revealing Robert's shadowed silhouette. As the door swung wider, Gonda stepped inside, only to freeze in dismay.

The room was a chaotic tableau of despondency. Empty bottles of alcohol lay scattered across every available surface, discarded clothing littered the floor, and the acrid stench of sweat and stale liquor pervaded the air. The man before him was a spectre of his former self—a far cry from the sharp, unyielding captain he once knew.

Robert slumped in a battered armchair, his unkempt beard thick and unruly, his bloodshot eyes fixed vacantly on the static-filled television. His entire demeanour exuded hollow despair, as though crushed beneath the weight of his own failures.

"Robert…" Gonda said softly, stepping closer.

No response.

"Robert!" Gonda repeated, his voice firmer now as he shook the man's shoulder. Still, Robert remained unresponsive, as if trapped in the mire of his own desolation.

Exasperated, Gonda grabbed a gallon of water from the floor and, without ceremony, upended it over Robert's head.

Spluttering and startled, Robert leapt to his feet, his eyes blazing with indignation. "What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?!" he roared, water dripping from his dishevelled hair and matted beard.

"You weren't responding!" Gonda countered, his voice steady yet tinged with concern. "You've been holed up in this squalor ever since you were dismissed. Look at yourself, Robert. Is this what you've been reduced to?"

Robert's glare softened, replaced by an air of resignation. He slumped back into the chair, his voice weary. "Why are you here, Gonda? Did the Chief send you to haul me back?"

Gonda sighed, his tone carrying a note of empathy. "No. I came of my own accord—to talk."

Robert's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his features. "I've severed ties with the SSCBF. I'm finished. Why are you still dragging me into this?"

Pausing, Gonda hesitated before speaking. "Because… there's another way. You can still fight for what's right."

Robert turned sharply, his expression hardening into a scowl. "Another way? Don't be cryptic, Gonda. What are you talking about?"

"The Secret Service of Crimson Lotus."

The air in the room grew heavy, the silence laden with unspoken tension. Without warning, Robert's hand darted towards the table, seizing a knife. He lunged, slamming Gonda against the wall, the blade pressed against his throat.

"Are you working with them?" Robert demanded, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Did you leak SSCBF's secrets to them? To Munafiq?"

Despite the peril, Gonda's expression remained calm, his tone measured. "I'm working with them, but not against you," he replied carefully. "And they didn't leak anything to Munafiq."

"Why should I trust you?" Robert snarled, pressing the blade harder.

"Because our goals are aligned," Gonda said, his voice strained but steady. "We want to create a world where justice prevails."

Robert's eyes narrowed, his grip unwavering. "Give me a name, Gonda. What organisation are you working for?"

Gonda hesitated, the words caught in his throat, before finally whispering, "Crimson Lotus."

The name lingered in the air, foreign yet unsettling.

"Crimson Lotus?" Robert repeated, his tone sceptical.

Gonda nodded, wincing as Robert finally released him. He staggered back, clutching his throat as he gasped for air.

Straightening himself, Gonda spoke again, his voice resolute. "It's more than just an organisation. They operate in the shadows, addressing threats that the world isn't even aware of. If the SSCBF cannot act, they will."

Robert's gaze burned with intensity. "Agent-90. He's one of them, isn't he?"

"Yes," Gonda admitted. "He's among their most capable operatives."

Robert sank back into his chair, his mind racing. The flickering television cast eerie shadows across his face as he mulled over the revelation. He finally broke the silence, his voice low and contemplative. "And how can you be sure this organisation will uphold justice?"

Gonda leaned closer, his tone earnest. "Because they understand that justice must sometimes be forged in the shadows. They are not bound by bureaucracy or corruption."

Robert remained silent, then murmured almost to himself, "If the petals of a dandelion lose their light in darkness, the crimson lotus shall bloom."

Gonda's expression brightened slightly. "You've been cast aside, yes. But you are far from useless. Join us, Robert. With Crimson Lotus, you can make a real difference."

After a long pause, Robert's lips curled into a faint smirk. "If this is the only way to fight for justice, then I'll do it. I'll join them."

Gonda exhaled in relief, extending a hand. "Then welcome aboard."

Robert clasped it firmly, his fiery resolve reignited. "But mark my words, Gonda. If this organisation is anything less than you've promised, I'll bring it to its knees myself."

Gonda nodded, confident in Robert's indomitable spirit. "Understood."

The two men stood in the wreckage of the apartment, a silent pact binding them. The storm raging within Robert's heart had found a purpose once more.

The dim glow of a laptop screen illuminated Wen-Li's otherwise shadowy office. Her fingers hovered motionlessly above the keyboard, paralysed by the weight of her thoughts. The words Robert had spoken haunted her: "Agent-90 carried you out. He saved you."

She rested a hand gingerly on her abdomen, the scar a physical testament to her harrowing encounter with Munafiq. A sharp pang surged through her, forcing her to wince. Leaning back in her chair, she exhaled deeply, the amalgamation of lingering pain and relentless introspection rendering concentration an impossibility.

A soft knock on the door jarred her from her reverie. The door creaked open to reveal Lan Qian, a tablet tucked under her arm.

"Chief, you called for me?" Lan Qian inquired, her voice as polite and composed as ever.

Wen-Li blinked a few times, attempting to centre herself. "Yes, I did," she replied distractedly. Her gaze softened momentarily as she asked, "But first—how is Wen-Mi?"

A warm smile spread across Lan Qian's face. "Wen-Mi's doing wonderfully. She's more energetic than ever. And, surprisingly, she and Lan Zong have become inseparable."

"Your German shepherd?" Wen-Li asked, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Wen-Mi and a dog… friends? That's hard to imagine." She chuckled lightly, though a distant haze still clouded her eyes.

"Believe it or not, they're like siblings now," Lan Qian replied, her smile brightening. "Wen-Mi even curls up next to Lan Zong when they nap. It's adorable."

Wen-Li gave her a wry look, shaking her head slightly. "What a peculiar pair," she muttered, her tone carrying an air of amusement despite the fog in her thoughts.

Realising her mental spiralling, Wen-Li straightened in her chair, her expression hardening. She locked eyes with Lan Qian and spoke with renewed focus. "Enough about pets. I summoned you for something critical."

Lan Qian tilted her head, sensing the shift in Wen-Li's tone. "What is it, Chief?"

"I need you to realign our resources," Wen-Li stated, her voice resolute despite the undercurrent of weariness. "We must locate the missing children—every single one of them. I want their locations, their movements, their circumstances—anything we can uncover. These families have suffered long enough."

Lan Qian nodded, her expression growing serious. "Understood, Chief. I'll coordinate with the surveillance teams and data analysts immediately."

"Good," Wen-Li replied, leaning forward slightly, ignoring the persistent discomfort in her abdomen. "And Lan Qian…"

"Yes, Chief?"

"Notify me the instant you find anything," Wen-Li said, her tone brooking no argument.

Lan Qian placed a hand on Wen-Li's desk, her eyes reflecting determination. "I won't rest until we do."

As Lan Qian exited to carry out her orders, Wen-Li closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair. For the first time that day, her mind felt clear, her purpose cutting through the fog of her pain.

The children are counting on us, she thought, her resolve eclipsing the ache in her body.

Robert sat in the car, blindfolded, the vehicle humming steadily along the uneven road. "Where are you taking me, Gonda?" he demanded, his tone sharp with suspicion.

"You'll understand soon enough," Gonda replied cryptically, his voice calm but evasive. "You wanted answers about Crimson Lotus. Now you'll have them."

Robert exhaled heavily, his patience wearing thin. "You trust me with all this but can't even tell me where we're headed?"

"No, Robert," Gonda said with a faint smirk. "This isn't about trust. It's about grasping the larger picture. You'll see soon enough."

In a dimly lit room, the only illumination came from the glow of Alvi's computer screen. The bluish light reflected off her glasses as her fingers danced across the keyboard with relentless precision. Beside her, Farhan and Jun stood, their tense faces illuminated by the screen.

Alvi was engrossed in her search for the missing children. Her method was methodical, involving encryption, deep-web navigation, and hacking into surveillance systems. She finally breached the dark web, a virtual labyrinth teeming with hidden activities.

Her monitor displayed a series of anonymous links, one of which caught her attention—a chat with a user identified as Hacker-569/#.

Jun frowned, leaning closer to the screen. "Who's this Hacker-569/#?" he asked, his voice sceptical.

Farhan nudged him, pressing a finger to his lips. "Quiet," he hissed, gesturing towards Alvi, who was deeply focused.

Alvi began typing to the mysterious user, employing an encrypted phrase code: "Seeking lost light. Guide me through the shadows."

Moments later, a response appeared on the screen: "Children play at the time of evening until Poppies of flame come to shore."

Jun squinted at the message, his brows furrowing. "What does that even mean?"

Alvi repeated the words under her breath, her tone thoughtful. "It's a code. The words are symbolic." Her finger hovered over the monitor as she began to decode it aloud.

"'Children play,' 'time,' and 'Poppies'—if we link these, it points to Poppies Playtime," she concluded.

Farhan's eyes widened in recognition. "Wait—isn't that the amusement facility with all those animatronics?"

Alvi nodded grimly. "Yes. And if this connection is accurate, it means the children are being—"

Jun interrupted, his voice trembling. "Turned into dolls?"

A tense silence gripped the room as the weight of the realisation sank in.

Undeterred, Alvi quickly delved into research on Poppies Playtime—its history, its founding, and its enigmatic creator. In moments, the chilling truth began to surface.

"Poppies Playtime was established in 1998 by Nikolai Egeus," Alvi explained, her voice steady yet tinged with unease. "He wasn't just any founder; he was the Grandmaster of a clandestine occult sect known as the Ark-Templars."

"What?" Farhan exclaimed, stepping closer to the monitor.

"And his 'hobby'?" Alvi continued, her voice dropping ominously. "Crafting dolls. Life-sized, disturbingly lifelike dolls."

Jun's face turned ashen. "This is beyond horrific. We need to act—immediately."

Alvi nodded in agreement. "There's no time to waste. If we delay, the children—"

A sudden notification interrupted her words. The screen displayed another message from Hacker-569/#, this time providing a precise location and a grainy image of what appeared to be the facility.

Before anyone could speak, a knock at the door shattered the tense atmosphere. Masud, another operative, entered briskly. "Captain Robert has arrived," he announced.

Jun and Farhan exchanged startled glances. Moments later, Robert entered the room, his expression sharp and focused.

He was promptly escorted to Madam Di-Xian's office. Despite the opulence of the surroundings, her commanding presence dominated the room. She sat behind an ornate desk, her piercing gaze fixed on Robert.

"Captain Robert," she greeted with a faint smile that belied the gravity of her tone.

Robert nodded, his voice measured. "Madam Di-Xian. It's been a long time."

"You haven't lost your edge," she observed, her smile fading. "But this is no time for nostalgia. I require your expertise."

Robert's eyes narrowed. "I've heard about Poppies Playtime. It's worse than I could have imagined. Who uncovered this?"

Alvi stepped forward confidently. "I did, sir," she said, her voice resolute.

Robert gave her a respectful nod before turning back to Madam Di-Xian. "And Agent-90?"

"He's already been briefed and is prepared," Madam Di-Xian replied with characteristic composure.

Robert processed her words swiftly, his mind racing. "What's the plan?"

Madam Di-Xian leaned forward, her tone turning grave. "Your mission is clear: infiltrate Poppies Playtime, rescue the children, and dismantle the operation. But tread cautiously—this isn't merely a facility; it's a calculated trap."

Robert's eyes burned with unyielding determination. "I won't fail those children."

"Good," Madam Di-Xian said, her voice edged with urgency. "This mission isn't just vital—it's critical. Lives are at stake."

Robert nodded firmly. "Consider it done."

As the room descended into silence, the enormity of the mission loomed over them, unspoken yet palpable. Every second ticked by, heightening the tension in the air.

Later, in the operations room, Masud approached Robert, his curiosity impossible to contain. "Captain," he began hesitantly, "how did you know about Poppies Playtime? The location, the details—everything?"

Robert leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "It was Gonda," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for further questioning.

Masud raised an eyebrow, but the quiet authority in Robert's voice dissuaded him from pressing further.

Turning his attention to Alvi, who was standing by the large monitor, Robert spoke. "Alvi, I need the exact location of the facility."

Alvi nodded and began typing rapidly on the keyboard. The screen flickered, displaying a detailed map. Her finger pointed to a red marker situated on the city's outskirts, an isolated industrial area surrounded by dense woods.

"This is it," she said, her voice steady. "Poppies Playtime. The facility is disguised as an abandoned toy factory. But according to the data I've decrypted from the dark web, it's fully operational. Worse still—there are signs of underground levels."

Uneasy glances were exchanged among the team as Alvi continued.

"Whoever enters that place," Alvi added, her voice faltering slightly, "doesn't come out. The facility is designed as a labyrinth, riddled with traps and layers of security. Surveillance suggests it's heavily guarded—possibly by mercenaries or something even more sinister."

Robert's jaw tightened, his resolve unwavering. "Then we'll take an unconventional approach. We'll send in someone who can handle whatever awaits inside."

He turned to face the team, his gaze sharp and commanding. "Here's the plan: Agent-90 will infiltrate the facility. He's the only operative capable of navigating the dangers and locating the children."

Roy frowned, his expression sceptical. "But Captain, if no one's ever escaped from that place, how can we be sure he'll succeed?"

Robert's tone darkened. "Because Agent-90 isn't like anyone else. If there's one person who can achieve the impossible, it's him."

Alvi stepped forward, continuing the discussion. "We've identified weaknesses in the perimeter," she said, highlighting points on the map. "The northern entrance is the least monitored. They likely assume it's too exposed and wouldn't expect an infiltration from there. However..." She hesitated, her voice tinged with apprehension. "The corridors beyond are equipped with motion sensors, automated defences, and proximity-triggered traps. It's a death trap."

"Perfect," Robert said coldly. "If they feel secure, they won't expect us to exploit it."

A heavy silence descended on the room as the gravity of the mission settled on the team. Robert's gaze swept across their faces, his expression steely.

"We don't have the luxury of hesitation. This mission is about saving those children. Agent-90 will enter, locate them, and relay their position to us. Once we have their coordinates, the rest of the team will execute the extraction."

Masud crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. "And if Agent-90 can't get out?"

Robert's eyes hardened, his voice as unyielding as iron. "That isn't an option."

Alvi looked directly at Robert, her voice hesitant but determined. "Are you absolutely certain about this, Captain?"

Robert nodded without hesitation. "I'm certain. Agent-90 won't fail."

As the team dispersed to finalise their preparations, the weight of the mission pressed heavily on their shoulders. The clock was ticking, and the sinister enigma of Poppies Playtime loomed ahead.

The night was unnaturally still, as if even the wind dared not disturb the eerie silence surrounding Poppies Playtime. The facility loomed like a monolith of dread in the distance, its decrepit facade illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. Rusted metal beams jutted at odd angles, and shattered windows reflected the faint light ominously.

A dissonant, childlike melody drifted faintly through the air, its eerie notes carried by the breeze.

In the shadows of the entrance, Agent-90 surveyed the scene with a calculating gaze. Dressed in a sleek, black suit that blended seamlessly into the darkness, his high-tech spectacles emitted a faint blue glow as he adjusted them.

"Alvi," he murmured, his voice low and composed.

From the Crimson Lotus command centre, Alvi's voice came through his earpiece. "I've got visuals. You're live on my monitor, Agent-90. Be vigilant—the facility's layout is shifting, and the internal systems appear... active."

As the massive iron doors creaked open, emitting a mournful groan, Agent-90 took a step forward.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind him with a deafening clang, plunging the entrance into oppressive darkness. Moments later, red emergency lights flickered on, casting jagged shadows that danced unsettlingly across the walls.

Outside, hidden in the dense foliage, Robert, Masud, and Gonda flinched at the sound.

"That's the signal," Robert whispered, gripping his binoculars tightly. "Stay low and follow the plan."

Meanwhile, Jun, Farhan, and Roy moved soundlessly towards a hidden passage Alvi had pinpointed earlier. Jun nodded to Farhan as they began prying open a rusted hatch leading into the lower levels.

Inside, Agent-90 advanced with deliberate precision, his boots crunching softly against the dusty tiled floor. The corridors twisted and turned unpredictably, their walls adorned with faded murals of smiling children and garish cartoon characters. Under the flickering red lights, the imagery appeared grotesque and malevolent.

"Guide me," he said curtly.

"I'm trying," Alvi replied, her voice tense. "But the blueprints are fragmenting. It's almost as if the system itself is actively concealing parts of the map. Head left. There's an operational chamber nearby."

As he rounded the corner, Agent-90's footsteps halted abruptly. At the far end of the corridor stood a female animatronic, her porcelain-like face frozen in a grotesque, haunting smile. Her faintly glowing eyes fixed on him as she raised a metallic arm, beckoning him silently with an unnerving grace.

"Don't," Alvi's voice cut through sharply in his earpiece. "Do not engage her. She's luring you into a trap."

Agent-90's gaze didn't waver, his focus unbroken. "Acknowledged," he replied curtly. Yet despite the warning, he began to follow the animatronic.

The figure led him into a vast chamber, dimly illuminated by flickering, dangling bulbs. Around him, animatronics and dolls stood eerily motionless, their lifeless eyes staring at him with silent malice. Their grotesque designs—stitched-together features, jagged claws, and bloodstained dresses—oozed a sinister aura.

Meanwhile, Jun, Farhan, and Roy moved stealthily through the facility's lower levels. The air grew steadily colder, the stench of decay clawing at their throats as they descended. They eventually emerged into a sprawling underground chamber.

What lay before them froze them in their tracks. Tables and vats filled with grotesque remains sprawled across the room. The dismembered limbs of children, preserved in jars or scattered carelessly, painted a macabre tableau. Rusty surgical tools lay strewn across blood-splattered surfaces, and faint, disembodied whispers seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, as if the chamber were alive with malevolence.

Jun's face twisted with revulsion. "This is far worse than anything we imagined," he muttered, his voice trembling.

Farhan clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on his weapon. "We need to find whoever's behind this abomination—and end it."

Back in the animatronic chamber, Agent-90 tilted his head slightly, his calculating gaze sweeping across the unnervingly still figures. "Alvi, any movement from these things?"

"They're dormant... for now," she replied, though her voice carried an edge of unease. "But something's not right. There's an energy spike near your position—be ready."

Before Alvi could finish her warning, the animatronics' eyes lit up in unison, a sickly yellow glow piercing the dim chamber. The room filled with the mechanical whirring of gears and the distorted cacophony of laughter, dissonant and malevolent.

Agent-90 smirked faintly. "About time," he murmured, reaching for his weapon.

The animatronics and dolls, once inert, now jerked into motion with unsettling, unnatural movements. Their glowing eyes fixed on him as they closed in, their approach deliberate and predatory.

With a swift, fluid motion, Agent-90 unsheathed his blade—a sleek, obsidian weapon designed for brutal efficiency. His breathing was calm, almost meditative, as his sharp eyes scanned for weaknesses amidst the mechanical horde.

The first animatronic, a malformed bear composed of tangled wires and rusted metal, lunged at him with clawed hands outstretched. Agent-90 sidestepped effortlessly, spinning as he swung his blade. The bear's arm was severed with surgical precision, sparks cascading in its wake. The creature let out a high-pitched, grating screech before collapsing.

But they kept coming.

A grotesque doll, its hollow eyes and jagged metal teeth unnervingly human-like, sprang towards him with uncanny speed. Agent-90 ducked, thrusting his blade upward into its chest. With a decisive twist, he tore the creature apart, its pieces clattering to the ground in a cacophony of metal and plastic.

The heat in the chamber intensified.

Agent-90's movements grew faster, more fluid, his strikes devastatingly precise. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, and the air around him began to shimmer, as if charged with an unnatural energy.

Suddenly, a smaller, eerily human-like doll darted towards him with astonishing speed, weaving unpredictably through the chaos. It collided with him, its force sending him crashing to the ground.

The impact was brutal, momentarily disorienting him. The world blurred as he lay motionless, the animatronics closing in, their glowing eyes casting elongated, menacing shadows over his prone form.

Then he stirred.

Slowly, Agent-90 rose to his feet, his movements deliberate, almost unnatural. His head tilted slightly, and his posture exuded an eerie calm. When his eyes opened, they no longer retained their usual colour.

They now glowed with an ethereal, white brilliance, encircled by pitch-black sclera.

The animatronics faltered, as if sensing the shift in power.

A chilling smile crept across Agent-90's face—a grotesque imitation of joy that sent an icy shiver through the room.

"Let's play," he whispered, his voice deep and resonant, tinged with an otherworldly menace.

The malformed bear lunged again, but this time Agent-90 didn't evade. He caught its arm mid-swing, the metal sizzling and melting under his grip. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled it across the chamber, where it shattered into twisted fragments.

The remaining dolls charged en masse, their movements erratic and frenzied. Agent-90 met them head-on, his blade glowing red-hot as it cleaved through steel and wire with effortless ferocity. His every strike was a symphony of destruction, precise and unrelenting.

A hulking animatronic, towering over the rest, lumbered towards him. Composed of rusted iron and armed with a massive hammer-like appendage, it roared as it swung its weapon with tremendous force.

Agent-90 leapt onto its arm mid-swing, running up its length with impossible agility. Reaching its head, he plunged his blade downwards, splitting the machine in two. He landed gracefully as the monstrosity collapsed behind him with a deafening crash.

The chamber was a battlefield.

Shattered remains of animatronics littered the floor, their sparking, twitching fragments the only signs of their once-menacing presence. At the centre of the carnage stood Agent-90, unscathed, his glowing eyes scanning the destruction. The faint, unnerving smile on his lips remained.

Alvi's voice crackled through his earpiece, trembling. "Agent-90… what—what are you?!"

Agent-90 didn't respond. His gaze shifted toward the next corridor, where even darker horrors lay in wait. The heat radiating from him intensified, the air around him thick with the promise of devastation yet to come.

"Time to finish this," he muttered, his voice echoing with a chilling finality.

The dimly lit corridor echoed with the grinding of gears and the guttural groans of a massive animatronic beast as it lumbered toward the four agents. A grotesque amalgamation of twisted metal, tangled cables, and patchwork flesh, it towered over them with an air of menacing purpose. Its glowing red eyes scanned the room, and its maw—lined with serrated metallic teeth—emitted a low, resonant growl that reverberated through the space.

Jun's voice shattered the tension. "What are we waiting for?! Let's take it out!"

Farhan shot him a sharp glance, his jaw tightening. "Stick to the plan, Jun!"

Masud, ever calm under pressure, unslung his shotgun with a grim expression. "There's no time to argue. Focus and bring it down."

The animatronic swiped its colossal claw, tearing through the wall like paper. The agents scattered with the precision of seasoned operatives, each moving to their assigned positions.

Jun rolled forward, firing bursts from his semi-automatic rifle, aiming for the creature's joints. Sparks erupted as the bullets struck its reinforced metal plating, but the beast pressed on, undeterred. Jun gritted his teeth and continued firing, his primary goal to distract the monstrous construct while the others manoeuvred.

Farhan darted to the side, pulling the pin on a grenade. He timed his throw with precision, sending the explosive hurtling toward the creature's torso. The detonation rocked the corridor, the blast enveloping the animatronic in a thick cloud of smoke.

When the smoke cleared, the beast emerged unscathed, its red eyes glowing brighter with a terrifying intensity.

"Damn thing's armoured!" Farhan spat, his frustration evident as he reached for another grenade.

Masud charged forward without hesitation, shotgun at the ready. He fired at the exposed section of the creature's neck, the deafening blast forcing it to stagger momentarily. "Now's our chance!" he barked, reloading swiftly.

Roy took advantage of the opening, darting beneath the animatronic's massive frame to plant a C4 charge on its undercarriage. He barely avoided a vicious swipe from its claw, rolling clear just as Farhan unleashed another volley of gunfire to keep the beast distracted.

"Roy, move!" Farhan bellowed.

Roy scrambled behind a pile of debris, his finger poised over the detonator. "Give the word!"

Masud's sharp eyes caught sight of a panel jarred loose on the creature's midsection, likely weakened by the earlier explosion. "Aim for the chest! Hit the exposed section now!"

Farhan nodded, loading armour-piercing rounds into his rifle. He fired with relentless precision, each shot striking the vulnerable spot. Sparks, oil, and fragments of metal sprayed into the air as the beast roared in fury, its movements becoming erratic and unsteady.

"Jun, now!" Masud shouted.

Grinning fiercely, Jun slammed his thumb onto the detonator. The C4 exploded with a thunderous boom, ripping through the animatronic's underside. Its legs buckled as it collapsed, twitching violently and emitting an earsplitting mechanical screech.

Farhan stepped forward, aiming his rifle directly at its head. "Stay down, you ugly piece of junk." He fired a final round, silencing the monstrosity for good.

The agents stood amidst the smoking wreckage, their chests heaving as they caught their breath.

"That," Jun muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, "was way too close."

Farhan smirked, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. "You're welcome for the save."

Masud, ever stoic, finished reloading his shotgun and cast a wary glance down the dim corridor. "We're not done yet. Whatever's ahead will be worse than this. Roy, stay sharp."

The four exchanged a brief look of understanding before nodding. Weapons raised, they pressed forward into the unknown, bracing themselves for the horrors awaiting them.

The room buzzed with tension, the soft glow of monitors casting shadows over the anxious faces of the operatives. Wen-Li stood behind Lan Qian, her arms crossed and her expression sharp with worry.

"Have you located the site yet?" Wen-Li demanded, her tone clipped with urgency.

Lan Qian's fingers flew across the keyboard. She shook her head, frustration creeping into her voice. "Chief, I've combed through every encrypted channel, but there's nothing definitive yet."

"Then look harder," Wen-Li commanded, her voice firm and unwavering.

As if on cue, a notification chimed on Lan Qian's screen. She opened it with a sharp intake of breath, revealing an image of Poppies Playtime. Accompanying it was a chilling message:

The children are being captured and turned into animatronics.

Lan Qian's voice trembled slightly as she turned the monitor toward Wen-Li. "Chief… you need to see this."

Wen-Li's brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed the message. "Still no word from Robert," she muttered, her voice edged with concern. "And Gonda remains silent."

Before Wen-Li could say more, Lingqiong Xuein burst into the room, her face pale and her breathing uneven. "Chief, it's Robert!"

Wen-Li turned sharply, her eyes widening. "What's his status?"

Lingqiong Xuein took a steadying breath. "He's requesting full tactical enforcement at Poppies Playtime. He sent us the exact location."

Lan Qian's face fell as realisation dawned. "That means…"

"Ready your teams," Wen-Li commanded, her tone cutting through the tension like steel. Her eyes blazed with determination. "We move now."

Jun, Farhan, Masud, and Roy advanced into a sprawling operative chamber. The air was thick with the acrid stench of antiseptic and blood, the metallic tang almost suffocating. The walls were lined with grotesque machinery—mechanical arms, grinding gears, and tools streaked with rust and crimson.

"Positions," Farhan ordered tersely, motioning for the others to fan out.

Roy crouched by the front door, carefully attaching a timed explosive. Moments later, the door erupted in a fiery blast, the shockwave reverberating down the corridors.

The agents surged into the room, weapons at the ready. Scientists in white coats froze in terror, their tools clattering to the floor. Some cowered, backing away, while others scrambled toward hidden alarms.

Farhan trained his weapon on the nearest scientist, his voice cold and commanding. "Move an inch, and you'll regret it."

Jun growled, his eyes blazing. "Surrender now, or we take you down where you stand."

The tension was shattered by muffled cries from a nearby room. Masud immediately moved to the door, wedging a crowbar into the crack. With a grunt of effort, he pried it open.

What they saw froze them in their tracks. Over a hundred children—bruised, emaciated, and wide-eyed with terror—huddled together. Some were tethered to grotesque machines, their frail bodies bearing the scars of cruel experiments, while others exhibited horrifying signs of irreversible mutilation.

"By the gods…" Roy whispered, his voice barely audible, choked with revulsion.

Masud's jaw tightened as he scanned the room, his expression resolute. "We get them out. Now."

The agents moved with care, guiding the children away from the machinery, whispering reassurances as they began the extraction, one fragile child at a time.

Suddenly, one of the scientists lunged toward the alarm panel on the far wall. Jun reacted instantly, firing a single, precise shot. The bullet struck the man's hand, splintering bone and sending blood splattering across the room. The scientist collapsed, clutching his mangled hand and screaming in agony.

"Nice try," Jun muttered coldly, lowering his weapon.

The silence was broken by Alvi's voice crackling urgently through their earpieces.

"You need to leave now," she warned, her tone tense and filled with dread. "A demon is approaching."

"What demon?" Farhan demanded, his voice sharp and strained, though a dark suspicion already gripped him.

Alvi's reply was grim, almost a whisper. "Its eyes… they're not human."

Farhan turned to Masud, his face hardening. "What do we do about these bastards?" he asked, motioning toward the remaining scientists.

Masud's glare was icy as he looked at the quivering captives. "They don't get to walk away free."

Farhan smirked faintly, brushing his hair back with an air of mock indifference. "Tie them up. Lock them in the dark room. Let karma handle the rest."

With mechanical efficiency, the agents bound the scientists and shoved them into a pitch-black storage room. Roy, moving with chilling nonchalance, twisted the valve on a gas pipe, releasing a sedative vapour into the room. The faint hissing sound mingled with the muffled screams of the trapped scientists as the agents exited with the children in tow.

The moon hung low over the horizon, casting a silver glow across the landscape as the SSCBF convoy sped toward Poppies Playtime, its grim silhouette looming ever closer. Inside the lead vehicle, the tension was palpable.

Wen-Li sat near the front, her posture rigid, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Her finger tapped lightly against the edge of her mouth—a subconscious habit betraying her inner turmoil. Her gaze flickered toward the dim glow of her tablet, though her thoughts were far too scattered to process the screen's contents.

"Chief," Lan Qian called softly from the backseat, pulling Wen-Li from her reverie. Lan Qian hunched over her laptop, its screen glowing faintly with streams of data and grainy images. "I've been digging into the facility's history."

"What have you found?" Wen-Li asked, her tone calm yet edged with intensity.

Lan Qian adjusted her glasses, her fingers tapping rapidly at the keys. "Poppies Playtime was officially established in 1998 as a toy manufacturing plant. But the deeper I dig, the more red flags appear. Its founder, Nikolai Egeus, wasn't just a reclusive toymaker. He had ties to an occult organisation—the Ark-Templars. Some of the patents for his animatronics match the technology we suspect has been used to... modify children."

Wen-Li's brow furrowed deeply, her lips thinning with disgust. "And no one in the government thought to question this place?"

Lan Qian shook her head grimly. "This goes beyond negligence. It looks like someone was actively covering for them."

From the driver's seat, Sakim interjected without turning his head. "This isn't just about Egeus. There's something bigger at play here. Something far more insidious." His hands tightened on the wheel, the tension in his voice betraying his usually composed demeanour.

Nightingale, seated next to Lan Qian, crossed her arms as her expression darkened. "Does it matter how deep this goes? Our job is to stop this nightmare, rescue the kids, and make sure these monsters get what's coming to them."

Lan Qian hesitated, her fingers pausing above the keyboard. "It's not that simple. If we charge in blindly, we risk missing something crucial. We need the full picture to end this for good."

Wen-Li's gaze flicked briefly toward the backseat before turning to the window, her mind churning with unanswered questions.

How did Robert and Gonda uncover this before we did? How did it remain hidden for so long?

"Chief?" Sakim called, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. "You all right?"

Wen-Li blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "I'm fine," she said curtly. "Just keep driving."

In the trailing vehicle, Demitin, Tao Ren, and Daishoji prepared themselves for the inevitable.

Daishoji checked his rifle, the sound of the magazine snapping into place breaking the tense silence. "This place… it already feels wrong."

Tao Ren, seated beside him, gave a solemn nod. "Doesn't matter how it feels. We go in, we find the kids, and we get them out. No exceptions."

Demitin, his hands steady on the steering wheel, kept his gaze fixed on the darkened road. "Stay sharp. If even half of what we've read is true, we're about to step into hell itself."

As the vehicles neared Poppies Playtime, its towering silhouette became fully visible against the night sky. The oppressive structure seemed to exude malevolence, its darkened windows like watchful eyes. The convoy slowed, and a chilling stillness settled over its passengers.

Wen-Li took a deep breath, steeling herself against the flood of emotions threatening to surface.

"Lan Qian," she said softly.

"Yes, Chief?"

"Whatever happens tonight... keep digging. I want every piece of evidence exposed. No one involved in this atrocity is to escape justice."

Lan Qian met Wen-Li's gaze, her own resolve mirrored in her expression. "Understood."

The air was heavy with a metallic tang, a mix of antiseptic and blood that clung to the walls. Inside the operative chamber, muffled cries echoed faintly, growing louder as a shadowed figure strode purposefully down the corridor.

The door creaked open, revealing Agent-90. His once-pristine suit was splattered with crimson, his blade dripping with fresh blood. Behind him lay the mangled remains of scientists, their grotesque, mutilated bodies a grim testament to his unrelenting wrath. The faint sound of tearing flesh and dying screams lingered, haunting the cold, sterile halls.

The SSCBF operatives disembarked, their boots crunching against the gravel as the moon's pale glow illuminated the grim facade of Poppies Playtime.

Wen-Li led the charge, her sharp gaze scanning the area before landing on a group of frightened children being tended to by Gonda and Robert.

Robert stood at the edge of the group, his shoulders hunched and his eyes avoiding hers. The exhaustion etched on his face was palpable, but beneath it lay a deep sense of shame.

Wen-Li approached with measured steps, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You've done well, Robert," she said softly. "You've earned your title back."

Robert looked up, his eyes misting as he nodded silently, his gratitude overwhelming his words.

Gonda stepped forward, his expression sombre. "When we arrived, the children were already secured and being led out. But inside…" He hesitated, his face darkening.

"But what?" Wen-Li asked, her tone unyielding.

Gonda's voice lowered, laced with dread. "It's unlike anything I've ever seen. It's a massacre. A bloodbath. The scientists—" He broke off, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the gruesome images seared into his memory.

At that moment, an officer emerged from the facility, his face ashen and trembling. "Chief Wen-Li," he began, his voice quaking. "The scene inside…" He faltered, struggling to articulate the horror. "It's… a massacre. Whoever did this… didn't just kill them—they obliterated them."

Wen-Li's fists clenched at her sides, her emotions a maelstrom of relief, revulsion, and unease. Taking a steadying breath, she turned to Nightingale, her tone brisk yet tinged with urgency. "Call the ambulances. The children must be transported to the hospital immediately."

"Yes, Chief," Nightingale replied, already moving swiftly to relay the order.

From the edge of the treeline, four agents observed the unfolding scene with quiet detachment.

Farhan, leaning lazily against a tree, exhaled a plume of smoke, his cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. His expression was inscrutable, his tone wry. "Finally, the captain lives up to his reputation."

Jun, standing beside him with his arms crossed, let out a low chuckle. "About time." His keen eyes scanned the chaos below, catching sight of Agent-90 near the facility's entrance. The blood-soaked operative stood eerily still, his silhouette illuminated only by the flickering lights above the doorway. Agent-90's gaze was fixed, unblinking, on Wen-Li. An intensity shimmered in his expression—subtle, yet unmistakable.

Jun smirked, nudging Farhan with an elbow. His tone turned teasing. "Look at him, staring at the Chief like that. What do you reckon? You think he's gone soft on her?"

Farhan let out a low laugh, taking another drag from his cigarette. "If he has, I'd pay good money to watch that train wreck."

Masud, standing a short distance away, turned his head to glance at them. His voice was calm but carried a quiet authority. "Enough. It's done. Let's leave this place and head home."

The agents fell silent, exchanging brief looks before turning to follow Masud's lead.

As SSCBF personnel worked tirelessly to escort the children to safety, Wen-Li's gaze lingered on the darkened facade of the facility. The faint hum of machinery inside had fallen silent, replaced by the cries of frightened children and the quiet murmurs of attending officers.

For just a fleeting moment, her sharp eyes caught the retreating figure of Agent-90. He was barely visible, slipping into the encroaching shadows as if he'd never been there at all.

She exhaled slowly, the breath carrying a weight she hadn't realised she was holding. Turning her attention back to the children, her features softened. Whatever horrors had transpired within those walls, the mission was clear: they were safe now. That was all that mattered.

Far away, in the darkened grove where the agents had been standing, the faint flicker of a cigarette glowed one last time before being snuffed out. The night, heavy and sombre, reclaimed its eerie stillness.

From the Shadows

Farhan leaned against a tree, watching the scene unfold. His cigarette glowed faintly in the dark. "Well, looks like the captain earned his stripes," he said with a faint smirk.

Jun glanced at Agent-90, who stood silently in the distance, his eyes fixed on Wen-Li. Jun grinned, nudging Farhan. "Looks like someone's got a soft spot for the Chief."

Agent-90 shot him a glare that could freeze lava.

"Alright, alright," Farhan said with a chuckle. He stubbed out his cigarette. "Time to go home."

The five agents disappeared into the shadows, leaving the SSCBF to finish what they had started.