"In every fracture of time, there is a choice. And with every choice, a consequence."
The ground shook again, the tremors sending a ripple through the streets. Rentarō didn't waste time looking back—he sprinted ahead, urging the others to follow. Hotaru was already ahead, her movements fluid and fast, a blur in the city's dim light. Karasuma was right behind them, constantly scanning their surroundings, his expression tight with concern. Enju kept pace, her eyes still wide but determined.
But the sense of danger was different now. It wasn't just about surviving anymore.
It was about finding the truth.
Rentarō could feel it. The pieces were slipping into place—too many unanswered questions, too many connections he couldn't see clearly yet.
Who was that man?
The tattoo. The mention of the New World Creation Plan. The way he had moved—almost as if he wasn't human.
It was all connected.
But how?
They reached a dead-end alley. Rentarō cursed under his breath, but Karasuma held up a hand, signaling for them to stop.
"Rentarō, you're going to want to see this," Karasuma said, his voice steady, but there was something else in his eyes—something Rentarō couldn't quite place.
Rentarō approached quickly, his heart racing. "What is it?"
Karasuma gestured to an old, decaying wall where a series of symbols had been carved into the stone. They looked like something out of a long-forgotten history—runic markings, arcane and intricate. Rentarō's eyes narrowed.
"What is this?"
"It's a map," Karasuma replied. "Or a marker. Looks like it's been here for decades."
Rentarō studied the symbols carefully. They didn't make any sense at first glance, but there was a rhythm to them—a flow. His mechanical fingers traced the symbols.
"This isn't just a map," he muttered. "This is a history. A message."
Hotaru stepped forward, peering at the symbols. "A message? From who?"
Rentarō hesitated. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, but he couldn't yet form the picture.
"Someone who was here long before us," he said quietly. "Someone who knew about the Council's plans."
"We can't stand here," Enju urged, her voice sharp. "They'll find us if we don't keep moving."
Rentarō nodded, his mind racing. The symbols might have been a clue, but they couldn't afford to stay and decipher them. Not yet.
"Let's go," he said, turning toward the street again. "Keep moving. We have to get to the extraction point. We need to find out what the Council is hiding."
As they sprinted through the backstreets of the lower districts, Rentarō felt the weight of the situation pressing harder on his chest. The man from earlier, the tattoo, the cryptic message in the alley—everything was spiraling into something he wasn't prepared for.
The truth was always harder to face when it had been buried for so long.
Hours later, they arrived at the extraction point—a dilapidated warehouse at the edge of District 9, hidden beneath layers of abandoned storage units and crumbling buildings. Rentarō's legs burned, but he didn't let up, pushing forward. The rest of the team followed suit, their expressions hardened, focused.
They entered the warehouse, which was eerily quiet. Shadows clung to the walls, and the only light came from the faint hum of old fluorescent bulbs. The air smelled stale, like dust and decay.
"Anyone here?" Karasuma called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.
No response.
They moved deeper into the warehouse, keeping their weapons ready, eyes scanning for threats. But there was nothing. No sign of the extraction team. No sign of life.
It didn't feel right.
Rentarō's instincts screamed at him to be careful, but the silence was deafening. He reached for his comm-link.
"Anything on your end?" Rentarō asked, glancing at Karasuma.
"Nothing," Karasuma replied, his tone tense. "We're clear for now."
Suddenly, a faint noise—footsteps—came from somewhere in the distance.
Rentarō's hand went to his gun, but he stopped. Something wasn't right.
The footsteps weren't human.
They were too light. Too quick.
And then they stopped.
Rentarō's heart skipped a beat.
"Stay sharp," he whispered, motioning for everyone to spread out.
Hotaru and Enju moved to opposite corners of the room, blending into the shadows. Karasuma stayed close to Rentarō, his gun drawn.
The footsteps resumed, echoing through the warehouse.
Rentarō took a deep breath.
And then, out of the shadows, it stepped forward.
The figure was a blur, moving faster than he could react. Rentarō barely had time to raise his weapon before it lunged at him, its speed unnatural, its face hidden behind a black mask.
Before Rentarō could fire, the figure's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and twisting it with a force that sent pain shooting up his arm. He gritted his teeth and snapped his knee up into the figure's midsection. The figure staggered back, but only for a second, before it disappeared into the shadows again.
"Move!" Rentarō shouted.
They all scattered.
Karasuma opened fire, but the figure darted to the side with inhuman speed, avoiding the barrage of bullets. It was too fast—almost as if it had anticipated their moves.
And then it spoke.
"You're persistent, Rentarō Satomi," the figure said, voice muffled behind the mask. "But you're not meant to win this fight."
Rentarō's blood ran cold.
The voice was familiar.
Too familiar.
"Who are you?" Rentarō growled, trying to catch his breath.
The figure stepped into the dim light.
And Rentarō's heart froze.
It was a face he knew. A face he thought he'd lost long ago.
It was his friend.
"Long time no see, Rentarō," the man said, his voice twisted with something darker. "I told you the world was changing. You just didn't listen."