Broken Oaths, Burning World

*Warning: This chapter talks about the sensitive and contain mature scene, if you have the courage, you can proceed

The rain poured relentlessly, a torrential downpour that mirrored the grief and chaos that gripped the city. In the heart of Nin-Ran-Gi, an enormous screen loomed over the main square, broadcasting a live press conference from the SSCBF headquarters. The sombre visage of Chairman Zhang Wei filled the frame, his voice steady yet tinged with gravity.

"We mourn the loss of President Song Luoyang, a stalwart defender of justice and a beacon of hope for this world," Zhang Wei declared, his words slicing through the rain-soaked air. "Tragically, his life and that of his family were cruelly taken in an act of unimaginable violence. The perpetrator of this atrocity has been identified as none other than the rogue assassin known as Agent-90."

Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd, umbrellas shaking as the weight of the revelation sank in. Beside Zhang Wei stood SCP Governor Gavriel Elazar, his hawk-like eyes scanning the journalists. He stepped forward, his voice laden with disdain.

"Agent-90," Gavriel sneered, "has proven himself to be a blight upon this city, a monster with no regard for life or law. The SSCBF and the SCP are now unified in their resolve to eliminate this threat. Let it be known—we will bring him to justice, no matter the cost."

Among the SSCBF officers present, their faces were etched with mixed emotions. Wen-Li, the stoic Chief, stood rigidly, her lips pursed, but her eyes betrayed a deep unease. Nightingale's usual confident demeanour had faded; her gaze was downcast, a shadow of guilt crossing her face. Robert Krieg clenched his fists tightly, the veins on his hands visible as he wrestled with suppressed rage. Tao-Ren exchanged a glance with Lan Qian, their silent conversation revealing shared scepticism.

As the rain intensified, the camera panned to the audience where reporters scribbled furiously. Madam Di-Xian watched the broadcast from a concealed room in the Shadow Defensive Force headquarters. Her ornate gown glistened under the dim light, and her face remained an unreadable mask. The SDF agents around her were less composed.

Hella slammed her fist on the table, her frustration palpable. "They're framing him! We know he didn't do this."

Jun leaned back in his chair, a rare frown marring his usually nonchalant expression. "This is a clever move by the SCP. They've made him the perfect scapegoat."

Farhan crossed his arms, his voice a low growl. "The public will buy it. They're already terrified of him."

Masud spoke cautiously, his eyes flickering to Madam Di-Xian. "What's our play here? We can't let this stand."

Madam Di-Xian finally broke her silence, her voice a sharp counterpoint to the storm outside. "Agent-90 is no saint, but this isn't his doing. The timing, the precision—it reeks of something far more insidious."

Alvi added, "With the SSCBF and SCP aligned against him, they'll hunt him down with every resource they have."

The room fell silent, save for the rain hammering against the windows. Madam Di-Xian's lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile. "Then we must ensure Agent-90 is prepared for what's to come. The storm is upon us, my children. Let us not falter in its wake."

Meanwhile, back at the SSCBF press conference, Zhang Wei concluded with a resolute tone. "To the citizens of Baegyeong, we ask for your patience and vigilance. Justice will prevail. To Agent-90, hear this: there is no place for you to hide."

The cameras cut to Wen-Li once more, her face an unreadable mask. But as the conference ended and the crowd began to disperse, she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible over the rain: "Agent-90... if you truly didn't do this, then may the truth find you before we do."

Further at the Black Castle loomed amidst the dreary landscape, its gothic spires piercing the rain-heavy clouds. Inside, a grand chamber was illuminated by the faint glow of candelabras, their light reflecting off dark mahogany walls adorned with cryptic tapestries. At the head of the long table sat The Lady, dressed in a sumptuous Victorian gown of raven black with crimson trim. A veil of shadows concealed her face, adding an ominous mystique to her commanding presence. Around her sat the infamous Sinners, each a mastermind of chaos and terror.

Zoyah, cloaked in a fitted emerald trench coat with intricate golden embroidery, leaned forward. Her auburn hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her sharp eyes glimmered as she tapped her gloved fingers on the polished wood.

"The artefact," Zoyah began, placing a weathered chest on the table, "was retrieved during our raid on the Forgotten Vault Library. Within its depths, we uncovered a hidden passage." Her voice carried a lyrical quality, juxtaposed against the gravity of her words.

She opened the chest with a flourish, revealing an obsidian idol—an amalgamation of human and bestial forms, its eyes inlaid with rubies that seemed to glow. "This is the Khalidar Relic, an ancient key said to unlock pathways sealed by blood rituals. The passage we found beneath the library bore grim evidence: walls engraved with stories of human sacrifice, and chambers littered with the skeletal remains of children."

The room grew silent, the rain outside hammering against the castle's stained-glass windows. Adela, dressed in a velvet burgundy dress with an intricately woven shawl, covered her mouth in feigned shock. "Chilling," she murmured.

Wolverine, a hulking figure clad in a sleeveless leather vest revealing his muscular arms inked with tribal tattoos, grunted. "And this helps us how?"

Chelsea, perched elegantly on her chair, adjusted her layered gold chains that draped over her cropped top. Her pink trousers shimmered subtly in the dim light, and her dulcet voice cut through the tension. "Exactly. What's the grand plan here, Boss?" She fidgeted with a diamond pendant, her pink hair falling in soft waves as her red lips curled into a sly smile.

The Lady chuckled, a sound as cold and sharp as breaking glass. She reclined in her chair, her gloved hands resting on the lion-headed armrests. "Agent-90," she began, her tone dripping with contempt. "He has become a thorn in our side. The Noctum Hollow massacre, the annihilation of 73 our operatives, and now, the president's death. He has taken too much from us."

She turned to Zoyah, Bai-Yu, Bloodhound, Venom, Demolia, Ravok, and Rahu, her voice gaining a venomous edge. "You six will track him down. He will not evade us any longer."

Bai-Yu, dressed in a flowing qipao of deep jade, accented with silver embroidery and slit high for mobility, bowed slightly. Her long braid swayed as she asked, "And should Di-Xian's agents or SSCBF forces interfere?"

The Lady's lips twisted into a cruel smile beneath the veil. "Kill them all. Let their blood serve as a warning."

Rahu, garbed in a dark kurta with intricate red detailing, adjusted his belt of throwing knives and spoke in a low, gravelly voice. "Consider it done. But the assassin's skill is legendary. If he's as dangerous as they claim—"

"He is," the Lady interjected sharply. "That's why I'm sending you. You are the most ruthless among us. Do not fail me."

The Sinners nodded in unison, the room thick with the weight of their mission. As the rain lashed against the windows, the chamber doors creaked open, revealing Demolia in her armoured bodysuit of matte black, and Venom, clad in a combat suit with shimmering crimson highlights.

"Shall we begin?" Venom asked, his voice dripping with anticipation.

The Lady raised a gloved hand, dismissing them with a flick of her wrist. "Go. Bring me Agent-90—alive or in pieces."

The rain tapped rhythmically against the wide glass window, a steady cadence that mirrored the tension in Wen-Li's mind. She sat at her polished mahogany desk, chin resting on her hand, her other hand idly toying with a pen. The sombre light filtered through the overcast skies, casting muted reflections across the room. Her thoughts spiralled back to Agent-90—the enigmatic figure Madam Di-Xian had described as a "monster," yet one who carried an unwavering code of only harming those who threatened his own.

His presence lingered in her thoughts like a shadow she couldn't escape. The way he dismantled their forces with precision, the inexplicable decision to take Hecate and Hella with him, and Madam Di-Xian's cryptic intentions—none of it made sense. Wen-Li sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

A knock at the door jolted her from her reverie. She looked up sharply, composing herself. "Enter," she called.

The door creaked open, revealing Nightingale, a tall and elegant woman in a crisp navy uniform. Her long, siler-greenish hair was tied neatly into a braid, and her piercing blue-green eyes softened slightly as she stepped in. "Chief," she began, holding a bundle of documents. "May I?"

"Yes, yes, come in," Wen-Li replied, gesturing towards the desk. "The files I requested?"

Nightingale nodded, placing the papers on the desk. "Everything you asked for. Details on SCP's latest movements, their known operatives, and their collaboration proposals with Chairman Zhang Wei."

As Wen-Li glanced at the files, her gaze flickered up, catching the faint shimmer of a deep crimson lipstick on Nightingale's lips. She raised an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Nightingale, the lipstick suits you well," she remarked casually.

Nightingale froze, a blush creeping up her neck. Her expression flickered between flustered and indignant as she abruptly grabbed the topmost file and slammed it onto Wen-Li's desk with a resounding thwack, narrowly missing her face.

"Focus on the files, Chief!" Nightingale snapped, her voice an octave higher than usual.

Before Wen-Li could respond, the door opened again, and Lan Qian entered, a lopsided grin on her face. The rainwater glistened on her raincoat as she hung it on the nearby stand. She took in the scene—the awkwardly blushing Nightingale and the startled Wen-Li—and let out a low chuckle.

"Did I interrupt something?" Lan Qian teased, folding her arms.

"What are you laughing at, you twit?" Nightingale barked, her blush deepening.

Wen-Li chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Lan Qian, I need you to gather all available information on Agent-90. Every detail, no matter how insignificant."

Lan Qian's smile faded as she raised an eyebrow. "You're still stuck on him, Chief? The man's a walking storm, and you want to know more?"

"Exactly," Nightingale interjected, crossing her arms. "Why can't you just admit he's the monster everyone says he is? He infiltrated our HQ, abducted two Sinners, and butchered the president's family. What more proof do you need?"

"And let's not forget," Lan Qian added, "the audio recording of him threatening President Song to his face. Surely you've heard it?"

Wen-Li's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. "Recording? What recording?"

Nightingale and Lan Qian exchanged incredulous glances. "Chief," Nightingale began, "it was part of the evidence package submitted two days ago."

"No one told me!" Wen-Li snapped, rising from her seat. "Bring me that recording immediately."

"I'm on it," Lan Qian said with a mock salute, her grin returning.

"And gather every shred of Agent-90's history," Wen-Li added, her voice resolute. "I don't care how long it takes. I want answers."

As Lan Qian left the room, Nightingale leaned against the desk, her expression softening slightly. "Chief," she said, her voice quiet, "are you sure about this? Sometimes, digging too deep reveals truths we'd rather not face."

Wen-Li stared out of the rain-speckled window, her fingers brushing the edge of the file. "Perhaps," she murmured, "but it's better than living in the dark."

The storm outside mirrored the tension in the room. Heavy rain lashed against the reinforced glass windows of the SCP Tower's high-rise conference room. A polished mahogany table stretched across the room, surrounded by gravely serious figures whose faces reflected ambition, deceit, and determination.

Gavriel Elazar, the head of SCP, sat at the head of the table. His steely gaze swept across his audience, a blend of SCP officials and SSCBF chairpersons. The dim lighting gave his face an almost spectral quality as he leaned forward, fingers steepled.

On his left sat Arindam Rao, a shrewd tactician with a hawkish expression. Next to him was Yuan Meiling, a poised yet sharp-eyed strategist. Edward, ever composed, scribbled notes on a sleek tablet. Otto Kohlmann adjusted his tie, his stoic demeanor betrayed by the faint tapping of his shoe. Diego Cervantes, a man with a flair for the theatrical, leaned back casually, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Akihiro Takahashi sat silently, his sharp features and unreadable expression adding an air of quiet menace.

On the opposite side sat the SSCBF representatives: Zhang Wei, tall and stern, his arms crossed as his piercing eyes scanned the room. Fahad Al-Farsi whispered to his neighbor, his neatly trimmed beard and traditional attire reflecting his gravitas. Elizabeth Carter tapped her manicured nails on the table, her icy glare fixed on the SCP delegates. Kim Ji-Soo adjusted her glasses, sighing impatiently. Hiroto Nakamura observed silently, his face a mask of neutrality. Selim Kaya and Rahim Ahmed exchanged whispers, while Andreas and Aarav sat with measured stillness.

Gavriel broke the silence, his voice low but commanding. "Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to extend my congratulations. Our plan has succeeded in casting Agent-90 as the scapegoat. He is now the villain the world fears, the pariah that shields our ambitions. With this narrative firmly in place, we are one step closer to establishing the *One World Government."

A faint murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Zhang Wei leaned forward, his sharp gaze locked onto Gavriel. "And what role do I play in this grand design?"

Gavriel's lips curled into a calculating smile. "You, Chairman Zhang, will become the next President of SSCBF. Your leadership will cement our influence within the organisation, ensuring our plans proceed without hindrance."

Zhang Wei gave a curt nod, his expression betraying neither excitement nor hesitation. "Your offer is... appreciated."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, broken only by Aarav's low, skeptical voice. "But what of Chief Wen-Li? She won't accept this quietly. That woman is as stubborn as a mule and twice as sharp." He ran a hand through his hair and muttered under his breath, "That insufferable cow will be the death of us yet."

Gavriel exhaled slowly, his irritation evident though controlled. "SCP will collaborate with SSCBF. Through this partnership, we will gain access to all information about its officers, including Chief Wen-Li."

Kim Ji-Soo furrowed her brow, her voice tinged with skepticism. "And how do you propose to achieve that?"

Gavriel's smile was cold and calculated. "We have developed a device—an innovation that connects to human DNA. This technology will allow us to extract every piece of information from those who dare to stand against us. Resistance will be futile, and we will make them suffer for their insolence."

Yuan Meiling shifted in her seat, her tone cautious. "Agent-90 was one of our weapons, our crowning achievement, but Chief Wen-Luo ruined everything."

At the mention of Wen-Luo, Zhang Wei slammed his fist on the table, his voice a venomous snarl. "Damn that fool and his entire cursed family. If only the assassin had taken them all years ago!"

Rahim Ahmed joined in, his voice laced with contempt. "Wen-Luo's ideals have infected SSCBF like a plague. His daughter's no better—a thorn in our side."

Elizabeth Carter added with a bitter laugh, "His legacy will burn with the ashes of his foolish principles."

Gavriel raised a hand, his commanding presence silencing the outburst. "Enough," he said with a measured tone. "Yes, Agent-90 was designed as our weapon, and he remains so. We will wield him to destroy SSCBF, the Sinners, and every secret organisation he aligns with. Let us not lose sight of our goal."

Diego Cervantes leaned forward, his smirk widening. "And when he's served his purpose?"

Gavriel's eyes gleamed with cold resolve. "Then he will be discarded, like all tools of war."

The rain outside intensified, drowning the city in its relentless downpour. Inside the room, the conspirators sat in grim agreement, their shared ambition overshadowed only by the storm they were unleashing upon the world.

As the evening settles over Fēnghuáng, known as "Phoenix City" for its architectural brilliance and resilience through history, a torrential rainstorm sweeps across the metropolis. The heavy downpour transforms the city into a shimmering vision of light and water, reflecting its futuristic elegance amidst nature's chaos.

As the atmosphere of the city's towering skyscrapers, their sleek designs inspired by the legendary phoenix, pierce through the misty veil of rain. Neon lights of warm gold and fiery red illuminate their facades, casting a phoenix-like glow across the drenched streets below.

Floating drones equipped with luminous advertisements hover between buildings, their projections distorted by the rain, adding an ethereal quality to the urban scenery.

The streets, paved with reflective smart-glass technology, shimmer as the rain cascades in torrents. Puddles form intricate patterns, mirroring the fiery hues of holographic billboards above.

Automated vehicles, their exteriors sleek and weather-adaptive, glide smoothly through the waterlogged roads. Their headlights cut through the sheets of rain, creating beams of light that dance on the slick surfaces.

The rhythmic pattern of rain hitting the city's surfaces creates a soothing yet dramatic symphony, interrupted occasionally by the hum of electric engines and the distant murmur of street vendors.

The storm amplifies the city's vibrant sounds—raindrops splashing against metallic rooftops, the swish of auto-cleaners sweeping away debris, and the faint chatter of citizens huddled under glowing umbrellas.

As the landmark of Fēnghuáng has the fascinating design the centerpiece of Fēnghuáng, a spiraling tower shaped like a phoenix rising, glows with golden and crimson hues. In the rain, its LED panels display vivid animations of flames, as if the mythical bird is reborn amidst the storm.

Public gardens designed to capture and recycle rainwater turn into serene oases. Water flows through cascading channels, feeding glowing bioluminescent plants that light up the darkened pathways.Beneath elevated highways, vendors set up stalls under retractable roofs, selling steaming bowls of phoenix dumplings and flame lotus tea. Their glowing signs reflect in the wet pavement, creating a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors.

Citizens equipped with advanced raincoats and holographic umbrellas navigate the rain-soaked streets. Their silhouettes blend into the neon-lit backdrop, creating a scene that feels simultaneously futuristic and timeless.

Delivery drones dart through the storm, their soft hums merging with the rain's melody.

Despite the weather, performers in traditional phoenix-inspired attire entertain onlookers under sheltered plazas. Their holographic props create dazzling illusions of firebirds soaring through the rain.

The heavy rain symbolises renewal and resilience, fitting for a city named after the phoenix. It's a moment of quiet reflection amidst the storm, as citizens carry on with their lives under the glow of innovation and tradition. Fēnghuáng stands as a testament to humanity's ability to endure and adapt, even in the face of overwhelming challenges.

The cityscape below glistening with streaks of light as droplets refracted the glow of street lamps, car headlights, and towering billboards. One such billboard loomed prominently over the skyline, its screens flashing news of Agent-90, the purported assassin of the SSCBF President. The headlines screamed accusations in bold letters, accompanied by grim footage of Song Luoyang and his family's demise.

Agent-90 stood motionless on the edge of a skyscraper, his figure shrouded in darkness. The rain traced rivulets down his black combat attire, his mask concealing his face, save for the piercing gaze that remained fixed on the billboard.

The city buzzed with activity below, SCP and SSCBF drones flitting through the rain-laden air, their searchlights combing the nooks and crannies of the urban labyrinth. Yet, Agent-90 remained unseen, a phantom blending seamlessly with the shadows.

A faint vibration from his earpiece broke the silence. With a deft motion, he tapped it, answering the call.

"Agent-90," came the unmistakable voice of Madam Di-Xian, her tone steely yet carrying an undertone of urgency. "The situation has escalated. Return to headquarters immediately. We need to formulate a strategy to put an end to this chaos."

Agent-90 remained silent for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the glowing billboard. The rain danced off the edges of his hood, dripping onto the ledge beneath his feet. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, with a sharp edge of determination.

"Madam," he began, his tone clipped yet composed, "you need not trouble yourself with this matter. I've already devised a plan to quell this storm."

"Agent-90—" Madam Di-Xian began, but he interrupted her with measured confidence.

"I assure you, the resolution is already in motion. Allow me to act."

With that, he ended the call, his hand dropping to his side. The city sprawled out before him, an intricate tapestry of light, sound, and chaos. He took a step back from the ledge, the distant hum of a drone passing overhead unnoticed.

The rain intensified, the skyline blurring into a watery haze. Agent-90's silhouette vanished into the night, a shadow slipping seamlessly into the depths of the storm.

The rhythmic patter of heavy rain against the glass windows of the SSCBF headquarters filled the air as night descended upon the city. A subdued glow from the desk lamp illuminated Lan Qian's workspace, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with meticulous precision. The hum of the data analysis system accompanied her focused expression, her brow furrowed as she sifted through encrypted files.

Her search for information on Agent-90 had so far yielded nothing but dead ends, his identity shrouded in a veil of mystery. Yet, as she delved deeper, something peculiar caught her eye—a mention of Gon-Whiel Orphanage. She leaned closer, her curiosity piqued.

The deeper she dug, the darker the story became. The orphanage, which had once presented itself as a haven for vulnerable children, revealed its sinister underbelly. Lan Qian's expression turned grim as the details unfolded before her.

A facility disguised as a place of refuge was, in truth, the epicenter of grotesque experimentation. Vulnerable children were subjected to inhumane tests, stripped of their emotions and identities to create bioweapons—living, breathing tools of destruction. The name of late Chief Wen-Luo surfaced, the father of her superior, Wen-Li. His investigation had been pivotal in exposing the Gon-Whiel horrors, leading to public outrage and the eventual shutdown of the facility in 2035.

Lan Qian's throat tightened as she read further. Chief Wen-Luo had risked everything to bring these atrocities to light, an act of courage that had cost him dearly.

She pushed her chair back abruptly and grabbed the printed dossier, making her way to Wen-Li's office. The sound of her hurried steps echoed in the quiet hallway, accompanied by the relentless drumming of rain outside.

Wen-Li sat at her desk, gazing at the downpour through the wide windows, her expression contemplative. Nightingale was perched on a chair across from her, scrolling through a report, her presence as sharp and attentive as ever.

A knock broke the silence, and Wen-Li's eyes snapped to the door.

"Come in," she called.

Lan Qian entered, her face a mixture of urgency and unease. "Chief Wen-Li, I've found something you need to see." She placed the printed papers on the desk.

Wen-Li picked them up, her eyes scanning the pages. As she read, her hands trembled slightly, though her composure remained intact. The mention of her father, Wen-Luo, struck a nerve, but she remained stoic.

Nightingale leaned forward, catching the gravity of the situation. "What is it?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Lan Qian explained, her voice steady despite the weight of the revelation. "The Gon-Whiel Orphanage wasn't just a facility for children—it was a covert site for biological experiments. Vulnerable children were turned into weapons. Your father, Chief Wen-Luo, was the one who uncovered this atrocity and exposed it to the public."

Wen-Li's gaze darkened, her grip on the papers tightening. The rain outside seemed to match the storm brewing within her.

Nightingale broke the silence. "Do you think Agent-90…?" She left the question hanging, but the implication was clear.

Lan Qian nodded gravely. "There's a strong possibility. The timelines and circumstances align too closely to ignore."

Wen-Li stood abruptly, pacing to the window. The rain streamed down the glass, distorting the city lights below. She spoke quietly, her voice laced with a mixture of determination and sorrow. "If what you're suggesting is true, then Agent-90 is not just a weapon. He's a victim of the same system my father fought against. That's why they make him silence by killing him"

Nightingale crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful but resolute. "Victim or not, he's dangerous. What do we do now?"

Wen-Li turned back to face them, her gaze firm. "We find the truth. And then… we bring justice—for my father, for those children, and for everyone who's suffered because of this."

The three women exchanged a look of solidarity, the rain outside intensifying as if heralding the storm to come. As Wen-Li ask "Before we must hear the recording. If the voice isn't Agent-90 his innocence will approve"

Nightingale: I don't think so

Wen-Li: Let's see

The dimly lit chamber of the SDF's underground headquarters echoed with the faint hum of machinery and the occasional dripping of water from unseen pipes. Around a circular table sat the agents: Masud, his arms folded with a scowl etched on his face; Roy, leaning back in his chair, idly twirling a pen; Alvi, composed but visibly tense; Jun, fidgeting with a small gadget; and Farhan, who looked on the verge of an outburst. Beside them, the enigmatic members of the Sinners, Hecate and Hella, sat silently, their expressions inscrutable as always.

At the head of the table stood Madam Di-Xian, her commanding presence casting a shadow over the room. Her dark eyes scanned the room, gauging each member's mood before speaking.

"We are at a crossroads," she began, her tone measured but firm. "Agent-90 is now the most wanted man, hunted by the SSCBF, the SCP, and even the outlaws who once feared him. But we know better."

Farhan slammed his fist on the table, the sudden sound startling some of the others. "Better? He's out there, working on his own, leaving chaos in his wake! How are we supposed to prove his innocence when he's not even cooperating with us?"

"Farhan," Alvi interjected, her voice calm but stern, "he's not the type to cooperate in the traditional sense. You know that. He works in shadows, not in meetings like these."

Madam Di-Xian raised a hand to silence the bickering. "Enough. Farhan, I understand your frustration, but let us not forget that Agent-90 has saved lives—even if his methods are... unconventional." She turned to Hecate and Hella. "And you two? Do the Sinners still suspect him?"

Hecate, draped in her dark cloak, spoke with an air of detached calm. "The Sinners are divided. Some see him as a threat; others as an asset gone rogue. But make no mistake, Madam Di-Xian—there are those among us who would see him dead before the truth comes to light."

Hella, sitting cross-legged in her bright attire, smirked and added, "And let's not forget the SSCBF. They've painted him as the devil incarnate. It's almost... flattering, really."

Roy chuckled despite himself, earning a glare from Masud. "This isn't a joke, Hella," Masud said, his tone heavy with exasperation. "If we don't act soon, they'll kill him, and we'll lose any chance of clearing his name."

Madam Di-Xian nodded. "Precisely why I called this meeting. Agent-90's current strategy—if you can call it that—has left him vulnerable. The SSCBF and SCP have resources we can only dream of, and they will stop at nothing to hunt him down."

Jun, who had been quiet until now, looked up from his gadget. "So, what's the plan, Madam?"

Madam Di-Xian took a deep breath. "We find him first. Bring him back safely. If something goes wrong..." She paused, her gaze sweeping across the room. "We will protect him. No matter the cost."

Farhan threw his hands in the air. "And what if he doesn't want to be protected? What if he fights us too?"

Madam Di-Xian's lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Then you'll have to remind him who his allies are. And if that fails..." Her voice dropped to a deadly calm. "We do what must be done."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the gravity of her words sinking in. The faint sound of rain drumming against the underground vents echoed, a reminder of the storm raging above ground.

Hecate broke the silence, her voice soft but cutting. "If you want him alive, you'd best move quickly. The Sinners won't wait, and neither will the SSCBF."

Madam Di-Xian straightened, her presence once again dominating the room. "Then it's settled. Each of you has a role to play. I want every resource, every contact, and every lead pursued. Find him, and bring him back."

The agents and Sinners exchanged glances, a mixture of determination and trepidation in their eyes. Madam Di-Xian's gaze lingered on each of them before concluding.

"And remember," she said, her voice steely, "if we fail, the world loses more than just a man. It loses the truth."

With that, the meeting was adjourned, and the group dispersed into the shadows, each carrying the weight of their mission like an unspoken oath.

The atmosphere in Wen-Li's office was heavy, as though the storm outside had seeped into the room. Rain pattered relentlessly against the tall windows, streaking the glass in uneven lines. A recording device sat ominously in the center of the table, its blinking light the harbinger of a damning revelation.

Wen-Li, seated with her back straight and hands clasped tightly, glanced around the room at her officers—Nightingale leaning against the wall with arms crossed, Lan Qian scrolling through her tablet, Krieg standing rigid like a sentinel, and Tao-Ren fiddling with his watch. Lingaong Xuein and Robert shared a tense exchange of glances. Each awaited the words that would either confirm or challenge their beliefs.

The recording began to play, the static crackling before the unmistakable voice of President Song Luoyang filled the room, fraught with fear and trembling conviction.

President Song's Voice: "You think you can intimidate me, Agent-90? You think threats will bend my will? You're mistaken. I will not betray what I've built. If my death is the price to pay, so be it, but mark my words—you will be exposed for the monster you are!"

The sound of labored breathing, followed by an eerie silence, gave way to muffled noises—papers shuffling, the click of a gun, and finally, the abrupt cessation of sound.

The recording ended, leaving a void in its wake. No one spoke, each grappling with the gravity of what they had just heard.

Breaking the silence, Lan Qian placed an envelope on the table. "This was found in the late President's desk," she said quietly. Nightingale picked it up and began to read aloud.

Nightingale (reading):

"Dearest Wen-Li,

By the time this missive finds your hands, I shall have shuffled off this mortal coil. Grieve not for my passing, for the tides of fate have ever been immutable, and my demise was but a necessary tribute to the greater cause.

I pen these final words to beseech you to look beyond the veil of deception that clouds your path. Our adversary has long worn the guise of a friend—Agent-90, the serpent coiled within our midst. Gavriel, for all his ruthlessness, is the harbinger of order in an otherwise dissolute world. His designs, though austere, are forged from necessity.

It is Agent-90 who orchestrated the atrocities befalling the SSCBF and conspired in the murder of your beloved parents. Do not be misled by fleeting sentiments or misbegotten loyalties. Gavriel's path, however severe, is the sole course to securing the future of our organisation and the fragile world we safeguard.

Enclosed, you shall find the particulars of Agent-90's insidious machinations—proof irrefutable of their treachery. Trust in Gavriel's hand, and join him in rooting out this malignancy. Only through their elimination can the SSCBF endure and ascend to heights unchallenged.

The mantle of leadership now rests heavy upon your shoulders, Wen-Li. Wield it wisely. Do not falter, for the weight of the world hangs in the balance.

With resolute trust,

Song Luoyang."

Nightingale's voice wavered on the final line. Wen-Li's face was ashen, her usual poise replaced by visible turmoil. She stood abruptly, almost stumbling. "Excuse me," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Chief!" Nightingale called, rushing to her side, but Wen-Li raised a trembling hand. "Don't worry. Please, keep going. I'll return in a few minutes."

As she exited the room, Lingaong Xuein turned to Krieg. "What's wrong with her?"

Krieg adjusted his tie, his expression grim. "She's shaken. That letter confirmed what we all suspected about her father, Wen-Luo, and Lieutenant Ren-Li's murders."

Tao-Ren scoffed, leaning back in her chair. "So why doesn't she admit that Agent-90 is the main culprit? Chairman Zhang Wei and Governor Gavriel are right."

Robert sighed, glancing at the lightbulb above them as though seeking divine intervention. "You lot are looking at the surface, but none of you see the depths."

"What do you mean, Captain?" Lan Qian asked, crossing her arms.

"If Agent-90 wanted to kill Song Luoyang, he wouldn't need to threaten him—he'd do it with his own hands."

Nightingale frowned, shaking her head. "Then who? Look at the evidence against him!"

Robert countered, his tone resolute. "The evidence is too neat, too convenient. Someone's framing him. But who?"

Krieg spoke up. "By the letter's tone, I'd wager it's the SCP."

"Why would Governor Gavriel frame him?" asked Demitin, eyebrows furrowing.

Robert leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It's a geopolitical game, and we're all pawns. Their ultimate goal is still obscured, but it's tied to the late Chief Wen-Luo's investigation."

Lan Qian interjected, "Captain, we've analysed the surveillance footage from Agent-90's infiltration. He blends into shadows. Nothing clear."

"Then we investigate," Robert said, standing. "Sakim, Daishoji, Tao-Ren—you're with me. We'll search Song Luoyang's mansion."

"You can't," Krieg said sharply. "The SCP's secret police are patrolling. They won't let anyone in."

"Then we'll find another way," Robert replied, his gaze hard as steel.

Meanwhile, atop a distant rooftop, Kenji smirked as he monitored the conversation through hacked feeds. The rain drenched his coat as his fingers danced across the keyboard. "Interesting," he murmured, transmitting the data to Gavriel at SCP Tower.

Gavriel, seated in his opulent office, received the report with narrowed eyes. "So, Wen-Li's team has discovered the Gon-Whiel Orphanage?"

Kenji's voice crackled through the speaker. "Indeed. Lan Qian traced the location to Fēnghuáng."

Gavriel's lips curled into a dark smile. "Send men to intercept Robert's team. And keep an eye on Lan Qian. I want her movements monitored."

In the restroom, Wen-Li splashed water on her face, her mind replaying Agent-90's cryptic words: "You're looking for your parents' killer, so am I." The thunderclap outside mirrored her inner turmoil. Staring at her reflection, she whispered, "Something's off."

Exiting the restroom, she encountered Nightingale in the hallway. "Ready the team," Wen-Li ordered. "We're heading to Gon-Whiel Orphanage."

Before Nightingale could respond, Lan Qian approached hurriedly. "Chief, the orphanage is in Fēnghuáng."

Wen-Li frowned. "Where's Robert and the others?"

Krieg stepped forward, his expression grave. "They've gone to Song Luoyang's mansion."

The car sped through the glistening streets, the rain hammering against the windshield in an erratic rhythm, like a dissonant symphony conducted by the storm. Inside, the vehicle was a cacophony of contrasting moods. Robert gripped the steering wheel with the intensity of a man on a mission, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Beside him, Lingaong Xuein sat poised, her gaze wandering out the rain-streaked window, lost in thought. In the backseat, Daishoji, Tao-Ren, and Sakim jostled for space, their occasional quips punctuating the solemn atmosphere.

The windshield wipers struggled against the deluge, their mechanical groan barely audible over the patter of rain. Robert broke the silence, his tone both curious and wry. "Xuein, if I might inquire—what compels you to grace us with your presence tonight? A sudden yearning for a nocturnal excursion, or are you merely keen on critiquing my driving skills?"

Lingaong Xuein turned her head slowly, her expression a mixture of indifference and mild irritation. She adjusted her collar, the damp air clinging to her coat.

"I thought someone ought to keep an eye on you, Captain. After all, your tendency to rush headlong into peril is almost legendary. Besides, who better to add a modicum of finesse to this otherwise lackluster entourage?"

From the backseat, Daishoji snickered, leaning forward with a grin that was equal parts mischief and amusement.

"She means to say she doesn't trust you, Captain. Not that I blame her. Last time you drove, we ended up in a ditch."

Sakim let out a low chuckle, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"And let's not forget the dent you left in that poor lamppost."

Tao-Ren, perched on the edge of her seat like a hawk ready to strike, rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Can we focus on the mission? Or are we destined to catalogue every misstep Robert's ever made?"

Robert shot a quick glare at the rearview mirror, his voice laced with mock exasperation.

"Thank you, Tao-Ren, for restoring some semblance of decorum. And for the record, that lamppost came out of nowhere."

Lingaong Xuein smirked faintly, her fingers tapping against the car door in a slow rhythm.

"I came because you'll need my perspective. President's mansion isn't just a building—it's a labyrinth of secrets, each more perilous than the last. I'd rather not leave you lot to stumble blindly in the dark."

The mood shifted subtly, the levity dissolving into a shared sense of purpose. Robert's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as he navigated a sharp turn, the rain blurring the world outside into a mosaic of lights and shadows.

"Touche, Lingaong Xuein," he said, his voice softening. "But make no mistake—this mission isn't a sightseeing tour. Song Luoyang's secrets could very well be our undoing if we're not careful."

Sakim leaned closer, his usually jovial tone tinged with unease.

"Do you think we'll find anything? I mean, besides the obvious."

Robert's gaze flickered toward the rear view mirror, meeting Sakim's eyes briefly before returning to the road.

"I don't think—I know. President left breadcrumbs, but the trail won't be easy to follow. And with SCP breathing down our necks, every step could be our last."

Tao-Ren crossed her arms, her gaze piercing.

"Then why risk it? If SCP's watching, we're walking straight into their trap."

Robert smirked faintly, a trace of defiance in his voice.

"Because the truth doesn't reveal itself to the timid Tao-Ren. And because someone needs to prove that Agent-90 isn't the monster they've painted him to be."

The car fell silent, the rain filling the void with its relentless percussion. Each occupant wrestled with their thoughts, their reflections as turbulent as the storm outside. In that fleeting moment, amidst the humor and solemnity, a fragile camaraderie took root, binding them together in their pursuit of truth.

The headlights pierced through the murk, illuminating the wrought-iron gates of Song Luoyang's mansion. The sprawling estate loomed ahead, a monolith of shadows and secrets, its windows glinting like watchful eyes. Robert cut the engine, his voice steady but resolute.

"We're here. Stay sharp, and remember—whatever we find in there, we face it together."

As they stepped out into the rain, the storm seemed to welcome them with open arms, its cold embrace a harbinger of the trials yet to come.

However, the jeep rumbled along the uneven path, its headlights cutting through the misty shroud of rain that veiled the landscape. The rhythmic drumming of droplets against the windshield was both a lullaby and a torment, filling the vehicle with an incessant white noise. Demitin's hands gripped the steering wheel with unyielding focus, her eyes locked on the glistening road ahead. The flickering streetlights outside cast erratic shadows across their faces, each flash like a ghostly whisper of forewarning.

Nightingale, slouched in the backseat, her arms folded tightly, murmured under her breath as her gaze flitted between the raindrops streaking down the glass.

"The rain won't stop. It's as if the heavens themselves are reluctant to let us see clearly."

Wen-Li sat in the passenger seat, her posture stiff, her gaze distant. The storm outside mirrored the tempest within her mind, her thoughts spiraling in a cacophony of doubt and resolve. The low rumble of thunder seemed to punctuate her turmoil, drawing her back to the present.

Breaking the silence, Demitin's voice cut through the monotonous din of the rain, tinged with curiosity and frustration.

"Why does Captain Robert support Agent-90? Of all people, why him?"

Lan Qian, seated behind Wen-Li, leaned forward slightly, her voice carrying an undercurrent of agreement.

"I feel the same way. Agent-90's every move screams treachery. And yet, Robert defends him like a man possessed. What's his game?"

Wen-Li exhaled slowly, her fingers curling tightly around the armrest. Her voice, when she spoke, was deliberate, each word laden with thought.

"Robert isn't blind, nor is he reckless. He sees what most choose to ignore. Agent-90... he's not the villain everyone paints him to be. At least, not in Robert's eyes."

Demitin glanced at Wen-Li briefly, her brows furrowing as the wipers squeaked across the windshield.

"And what does Robert see that we don't? A man who threatened President Song Luoyang? A shadow who infiltrates and leaves bodies in his wake?"

Wen-Li turned her head slightly, her expression inscrutable as the lightning illuminated her features.

"Robert sees the cracks in the narrative. He knows that if Agent-90 wanted Song Luoyang dead, he wouldn't rely on threats. He would have done it cleanly, decisively, and without hesitation."

Nightingale straightened, her voice sharp with skepticism.

"So you're saying someone framed him? That this is all an elaborate ploy to paint him as the villain?"

Wen-Li nodded slowly, her gaze fixed ahead, though her eyes seemed to look past the rain-soaked horizon.

"Precisely. Robert isn't defending Agent-90 out of naivety or sentimentality. He's pursuing the truth. He knows that finding it might mean unraveling a web so vast it stretches beyond even the SSCBF. That's why he's willing to risk everything."

Lan Qian tilted her head, her tone softening, though doubt lingered in her words.

"But why go to such lengths? What's driving him?"

Wen-Li's lips pressed into a thin line, her voice dropping to a near whisper as another bolt of lightning illuminated the cabin.

"Because Robert believes that justice isn't about punishing the guilty—it's about ensuring the innocent aren't collateral damage. If we condemn Agent-90 without proof, we might as well surrender to the chaos Gavriel seeks to impose."

Nightingale's fingers tapped against the door, her voice quieter now, tinged with an unspoken guilt.

"And what about you, Chief? Do you believe in Agent-90's innocence?"

Wen-Li hesitated, her breath catching as the memories of her parents' death flared briefly in her mind. Her voice, when it came, was heavy with conflict.

"I believe... there's more to him than what we've been told. And until I uncover the truth, I won't rest."

Demitin tightened her grip on the wheel, her jaw clenching as the road grew narrower and darker.

"Then we'd better hope this orphanage holds the answers. Because if it doesn't, all we're chasing is shadows in the rain."

The jeep descended into a silence thicker than the storm outside, each occupant lost in their thoughts. The Gon-Whiel Orphanage loomed closer, its silhouette obscured by the deluge, a foreboding reminder of the secrets it held. The journey continued, the rain relentless, as their resolve hardened against the storm ahead.

The rain lashed down like a ceaseless torrent of silver needles, drenching the desolate grounds of the late President's mansion. The mansion loomed before them like a monolithic spectre, its once-proud façade now obscured by shadows and the downpour's melancholy shroud. Robert and his team—Lingaong Xuein, Daishoji, Tao-Ren, and Sakim—stepped out of the vehicle, their boots splashing in the puddles that mirrored the fractured moonlight.

As they approached the wrought-iron gates, they were halted by a wall of SCP secret police officers, their black uniforms blending into the stormy backdrop. At the centre stood two imposing figures: Elan Mordecha, his presence like a granite boulder, unyielding and implacable; and Shira Malachai, her piercing eyes reminiscent of a hawk's, sharp and watchful even amidst the storm.

Robert adjusted his coat, the rain sliding off its shoulders, and stepped forward with measured steps. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of his authority.

"We are officers of the SSCBF, tasked with the investigation of President Song Luoyang's death. Stand aside and allow us entry."

Elan's lips curled into a sardonic smirk as he took a deliberate step forward, the steel tip of his boot splashing water onto the cobblestone path.

"The investigation is concluded. You have no jurisdiction here, Captain Robert. No one enters the mansion."

The tension was palpable, a taut string waiting to snap. Thunder growled overhead, its menacing voice reverberating through the storm. Robert's composure remained intact, but a flicker of ire danced behind his piercing gaze. He took another step closer, his voice dropping to a low, controlled timbre that carried the quiet menace of a blade unsheathed.

"Look, Captain Mordecha. The SSCBF answers to no one but justice itself. Our duty is to uncover the truth, not to bow to political expediency or bureaucratic obstruction. Let us do our work, and we'll see to it that the true culprits are brought to light."

Elan folded his arms across his chest, his broad frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light of the flickering streetlamp above. Shira Malachai, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward, her voice as sharp and cold as the rain slicing through the night.

"The mansion is under SCP's jurisdiction. Any trespass without authorisation will be met with consequences. Need I remind you, Captain Robert, that this isn't your playground?"

Robert turned to her, his jaw tightening. The lightning chose that moment to tear through the heavens, illuminating the faces of the two captains—his features etched with restrained fury, hers with unwavering defiance. For a fleeting moment, they appeared like mythic figures locked in an eternal stalemate.

Lingaong Xuein shifted uncomfortably, her hand brushing the hilt of her weapon as she whispered to Robert.

"Captain, this isn't worth a confrontation. We can't risk..."

Robert raised a hand, silencing her without turning. His voice, though tempered, bore the weight of a tempest ready to break.

"Captain Mordecha, I won't repeat myself. We're not here to meddle; we're here to investigate. Every delay, every obstruction, only serves to dishonour President Song Luoyang's memory."

For a moment, Elan seemed immovable, a stone wall against the battering storm. Then, slowly, he exhaled through his nose, a sound akin to the rumble of thunder.

"Five minutes. No more. If I see anything out of line, I'll personally escort you out in cuffs."

Robert inclined his head, his lips curling into a wry smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Much obliged, Captain Mordecha."

The gates groaned open as the SCP officers stepped aside reluctantly, their glares burning holes into the SSCBF team. The storm pressed on, relentless and unyielding, as Robert and his team entered the mansion's grounds. Behind them, Elan and Shira watched, their silhouettes stark against the blinding light of another thunderstrike, as if the storm itself bore witness to the uneasy truce between two forces bound by justice but divided by distrust.

The orphanage loomed like a silent monument to despair, its towering silhouette etched against the roiling sky, an unyielding testament to forgotten horrors. Thunder cracked through the heavens, illuminating the building momentarily—a flash of stark brilliance revealing rusted fences and crumbling walls. The rain fell in heavy sheets, each droplet striking the earth like the drumbeat of some grim procession.

"This is it," Wen-Li murmured, her voice a fragile echo swallowed by the storm. She stood before the hulking gates, their iron grates hanging ajar, the rusted hinges weeping with the passage of time. The playground beyond was barren save for a sea of mud, where sand once cradled the laughter of children now lost to history.

The team pressed forward, their boots squelching in the muck, until they reached the cracked glass doors. Wen-Li raised a gloved hand and pressed it against the surface. The door creaked open with a reluctant groan, as if the building itself recoiled from their intrusion. A chill surged outward, carrying with it the fetid breath of decay, wrapping around them like an unwelcome embrace. Inside, darkness reigned, broken only by the occasional flicker of lightning through boarded windows.

Nightingale tightened her grip on her weapon, the barrel trembling slightly under her fingers. Demitin glanced at Wen-Li, her face stoic but her knuckles white as they clutched the strap of her rifle. Lan Qian adjusted the strap of her tactical gear, nodding toward the yawning abyss of the hallway before them.

"Stay vigilant," Wen-Li commanded softly, her voice steadier than the storm raging outside.

The team moved cautiously, their steps echoing in the cavernous corridors. The walls were smeared with the remnants of a grotesque past—stains of blood, jagged gashes where clawing hands had raked against plaster, and crude drawings in crayon. The air hung heavy with the sickly-sweet stench of rot and abandonment. As they ascended a narrow staircase, the wooden steps groaned beneath their weight, protesting every movement.

On the second floor, the group entered a dormitory. The room was a cacophony of chaos, with broken beds and tattered sheets strewn haphazardly. Crayon drawings covered the walls—smiling suns and stick figures juxtaposed against ominous words scrawled in frantic handwriting. One message, bold and defiant, screamed from the wall: "HELP!" beneath it, a child's small, bloodied handprint.

"This place is a mausoleum of sins," Lan Qian whispered, her voice trembling.

"More like a slaughterhouse," Demitin muttered, her eyes scanning the room for movement.

Wen-Li approached the wall, her fingers grazing the word as if to decipher its anguish. A crash from somewhere deeper in the orphanage made them all freeze. The sound reverberated through the halls, a hollow echo like a cry from the grave.

"Stay sharp," Wen-Li ordered. "We're not alone."

Meanwhile, in the neon-drenched streets of the Tai-Yon Weiy district, Jun and Farhan moved through the bustling labyrinth. Rain cascaded off the glowing signs, pooling on the cobblestones, and turning the air into a kaleidoscope of colour. Their boots splashed through puddles, the echoes lost in the symphony of the city's restless heart.

"Does Agent-90 even know we're here?" Jun asked, her voice cutting through the din.

Farhan, ever composed, glanced at her and replied, "His location shows he might be nearby, but nothing's certain."

Jun paused, her head tilting slightly as she strained her ears against the cacophony. "Farhan," she said sharply, her tone shifting. "Did you hear that?"

Farhan's demeanour changed instantly, his body tense like a bowstring. His hand went to his earpiece as he relayed instructions to the other teams.

"Roy, Masud, Hecate, Hella—stay alert. Something's off."

As if summoned by her words, a melody floated through the air, haunting and surreal. The voice of a woman sang softly, each note laced with foreboding:

"Rains of dandelions flow by the wind,

The skies are gloomy with celestial bloom,

Black Rose lit up until dawn breaks,

Crimson Lotus drenched in bloodshed,

Wait for the lies as sin approaches,

Rippling thunder illuminates the deaths."

Jun and Farhan turned toward the source, their weapons drawn. A figure emerged from the shadows—a woman dressed in a black tank top and long trousers, her jacket open to reveal a toned midriff. Her black hat obscured her face, but her piercing, dual-hued eyes—pink and purple—glowed with an unnatural light. She smiled faintly, her voice cutting through the rain.

"It's a pleasure to meet you again, Agent Farhan."

"Deren," Farhan muttered, his tone both wary and venomous.

*Deren Barnett, she is the member of Sinner her rank-A. She cause countless looting and stealing even charge of murdering as well. Her ability name is Echo Malafication, which means her ability to creat a sound that can destroy her opponent as well.

Behind her, another figure appeared—a towering man with white hair, his muscular frame draped in a black-and-yellow jacket. The katana at his side glinted in the sporadic flashes of lightning. His voice was deep and unyielding as stone.

"You've got nowhere to run, you sods. Let's end this."

*Demon, he is the strongest member of the Sinner his rank is SSR-Rank. He is ruthless and have angry issue and even sentimentle person. He doesn't show any mercy to his opponent and has the ability name Brute-Devastation, which means he use his force by slashing with his katana to eliminate by cutting into pieces and even moves fast before his opponent could do.

Back in the orphanage, Wen-Li and her team reached a sealed door at the end of the hallway. A metallic scent wafted from the edges, mingling with the pervasive stench of decay. Wen-Li gestured for silence as Nightingale knelt to examine the lock. Thunder illuminated their faces, pale and resolute against the darkness.

"Chief," Nightingale whispered, "there's something on the other side of this door. And it's alive."

Wen-Li's grip tightened on her gun. The storm outside roared in unison with the battle about to unfold.

The dark room greeted them like the maw of a beast, its silence oppressive, its shadows vast and unyielding. Each step they took was swallowed by the void, their footfalls muted as if the room itself sought to conceal their presence. The air was thick, laden with the acrid tang of chemicals and the faint metallic scent of blood. Thunder rumbled in the distance, its low growl vibrating through the walls as if echoing the anguish embedded in this space.

Wen-Li's flashlight beam swept across the room, revealing horrors piece by piece—each revelation more grotesque than the last. Against one wall stood a rusted bedframe, its mattress stained and torn. Chains dangled from its sides, the cuffs still attached and stained with dark rust that might not be rust at all. Beside the bed stood a machine, cold and clinical, its screen cracked but still faintly glowing. A barcode scanner rested atop it, its purpose disturbingly clear.

"This… this isn't an orphanage," Demitin whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm outside. "It's a bloody dungeon."

Lan Qian moved to the other side of the room, her eyes narrowing at the walls lined with shelves. The shelves bore files, each stacked in perfect, disconcerting order. No names adorned the files—only numbers scrawled in a precise, mechanical hand. It was as if the identities of the victims had been erased, reduced to cold statistics in a ledger of suffering.

"Chief," Nightingale called, her voice wavering as she pointed to the far end of the room. "Over there."

Wen-Li followed the beam of Nightingale's flashlight, her breath hitching as it landed on a single file left carelessly atop a desk. The file was thicker than the others, its cover stained and dog-eared. She approached it with a mixture of dread and determination, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted it.

Opening the file, Wen-Li's eyes scanned the contents—charts, diagrams, and grotesque photographs of the experiments conducted here. Her gaze stopped on one page: a list of the "subjects." Each was identified only by a number. Her eyes locked onto the last entry on the page.

Her blood ran cold as she stared at the number, its stark simplicity hiding an unfathomable weight. A flash of lightning illuminated her face, casting shadows that mirrored the storm within her mind. The rain pelted against the windows, an unrelenting symphony of nature's rage, as if the heavens themselves mourned what had transpired here.

"This… this was no orphanage," Wen-Li said, her voice a whisper, a blade of truth cutting through the darkness. "This was a factory. A factory for breaking minds and bodies."

Nightingale stepped closer, peering over her shoulder at the file. "Subject-90," she murmured. "Could it be—"

"It is," Wen-Li interrupted, her voice now firm, though a quiver of emotion lingered beneath. "This is where it began. This is where he began."

Demitin's flashlight landed on a crude drawing taped to the wall—a child's depiction of the building itself. The words beneath it read: "Don't come here. We are not safe." The ink had bled into the paper, as if the child's tears had mingled with the ink.

Lan Qian turned to Wen-Li, her voice breaking the suffocating silence. "What now, Chief? If this is tied to him…"

Wen-Li closed the file, her jaw set. Her eyes burned with a mix of fury and resolve. "Now, we uncover the truth. And those who built this nightmare—who turned innocence into weapons—will answer for it."

As if on cue, a loud crash reverberated through the building. The team turned as one, their weapons raised, their breath caught in their throats. The storm outside seemed to pause for a moment, the stillness pregnant with danger.

"Prepare yourselves," Wen-Li said, her voice a steel blade slicing through the tension. "We've awakened something, and it's not going to let us leave unscathed."

The shadows around them seemed to thicken, the darkness growing alive with the echoes of forgotten screams. Somewhere in the depths of the orphanage, something stirred.

*One World Government refers to a centralised global authority that exerts control over every aspect of societal, economic, political, and even personal life across the globe. It represents the ultimate consolidation of power, where traditional nation-states no longer exist as independent entities, and the planet is governed as a single, unified political system.