"It does not require her understanding!" Kase yelled.
Fitran examined the pressurized plate beneath her locked fingers. "It requires her physical hand. You made that abundantly clear." Fitran looked down at Kase without a hint of warmth in his eyes. "Now stay quiet."
A dark wave of Void Seal surged from Fitran's fingers, spreading across the metal frame of the operator chair like frost on glass. The outer circuit stopped its rhythmic pulsing instantly, though the countdown timer on the display continued its ruthless descent.
[SKILL ACTIVATION | VOID SEAL]
Target: Operator-chair outer circuit
Local Circuit: Suppressed
Countdown: ACTIVE
Fallback Trigger: Still armed
Caution: Suppression is not equivalent to complete disconnection.
Makima lightly gripped the woman's wrist between two fingers, her touch firm and unwavering. "I can give you three seconds of absolute stability," Makima said calmly.
"Give those three seconds to her," Fitran said. He leaned down close to the young woman, ensuring she could see his eyes clearly. "When Makima releases your hand, lift it immediately. No matter what the plate tries to tell your mind, lift your fingers."
The woman swallowed hard, her throat straining against the glowing metal collar. "It... it says I will die," she whimpered in a fractured whisper.
Kase's arrogant grin flickered back across his face.
Fitran positioned the razor sharp edge of his void coated blade directly beneath the neck contact. The blade's edge was so impossibly thin that Kase could see the reflection of his own shoes through the metal.
"It lies," Fitran told her softly. "It will hurt—I cannot promise you a painless escape. The system's lingering command is forcing your muscles to stay down. We are going to sever it."
"And what if my body refuses to move?" she sobbed softly.
Makima adjusted her hold on the girl's wrist, her gaze fierce and protective. "I will physically lift it for you. Tell me right now if that is what you want."
The woman looked between Makima's steady hand and Fitran's dark blade. "Yes," she whispered fiercely. "Yes!"
"Now!" Fitran shouted.
Makima pulled the woman's hand upward in a single fluid motion. Simultaneously, Fitran sliced clean through the throat contact's return filament before the plate could register the drop in pressure. The moment the wire snapped, Fitran slammed a Void Seal over the severed, sparking end.
For one terrifying second, every light in the entire floor went completely pitch black.
The raw energy of the interrupted transmission slammed straight into Fitran's Void Seal.
[NEXUS INTERFACE | OVERLOAD WARNING]
Skill: Void Seal
Incoming Load: External transmission backlash
Seal Integrity: Deteriorating
Physical Condition: Injured arm under extreme strain
Emergency Priority: Protect Aya | Prevent route completion.
Fitran's injured arm buckled under the immense shockwave. He grabbed the chair frame with his good hand, using his full body weight to force the sparking filament flat against the metal casing.
Deep within the sealed space, a distorted, inhuman voice echoed through the static, repeating Fitran's true name in an unnatural, distorted warble.
"Say one more word," Fitran snarled at the void, "and I will seal this channel permanently with you trapped inside it!"
Makima leaned her shoulder against the back of the chair to keep it anchored to the floor. "The feedback pressure is spiking!"
"I can feel it!" Fitran gritted his teeth, veins bulging along his neck.
"Your seal is cracking on the outer edge!" Makima warned.
"Keep her behind you!" Fitran ordered through clenched teeth.
With a final, deafening crackle, the unnatural voice cut out. Fitran held the scalding filament pressed against the iron frame until the wire finally cooled to a dull grey.
Emergency lighting flickered back to life through the shattered window. On the central monitor, the status ping updated: TRANSFER INCOMPLETE. NO DESTINATION RESPONSE.
[QUEST UPDATE | THE STOLEN NAME]
Objective: Prevent forced transfer of protected identity data
Status: COMPLETED
Transmission: INCOMPLETE
Destination Acknowledgment: NONE
Aya: Freed from active relay control
Unresolved: Recipient identity and upstream archive exposure remain unknown.
Makima reached down and unlatched the heavy copper collar from the woman's neck. The pale skin beneath it was covered in jagged, painful scars from old electrical burns.
"What is your name?" Makima asked softly, her hands gentle as she freed the girl's wrists.
"Aya," the girl sobbed, tears finally breaking through as she collapsed forward into Makima's arms. "My name is Aya."
Fitran slowly let go of the chair, his hand trembling as he wiped sweat from his brow.
Kase slumped back against the compartment wall, all the fight draining from his face. "You destroyed the nexus route..." he muttered in disbelief. "Do you have any idea what you just threw away?"
Fitran walked back over to the overturned table, bending down to retrieve his dropped knife. His blood slicked fingers couldn't catch a proper grip on the handle, so he switched to his left hand, scooping it up smoothly.
"I threw away a route that required a terrified girl to burn in that chair," Fitran said quietly.
"It was a route home!" Kase screamed at him.
The room fell dead silent, save for the distant sound of city traffic outside.
Fitran flipped the knife once in his hand, checked its edge, and set it down well out of Kase's reach.
"Well then," Fitran remarked, his theatrical tone returning like a mask. "It appears I have lost something exceedingly expensive. How utterly embarrassing for me."
Makima stood up, looking at him with searching eyes. "You recognized that archive address. We will be having a thorough discussion about it later."
"Another private meeting?" Fitran teased softly, leaning his hip against the desk. "My dear, you certainly know how to spoil a man."
On the floor near the entrance, Mori groaned and began dragging his body toward the open corridor.
Fitran stepped over, catching the collar of Mori's heavy tactical coat and slamming him back down next to his dismantled rifle. He brought his heavy boot down, pinning Mori's wrist firmly to the glass strewn carpet.
"The recording studio," Fitran demanded, his voice dropping all pretense. "Who receives the raw data feed there?"
Mori spat blood, his eyes darting frantically toward Kase.
Fitran waited silently, applying just enough pressure with his boot to make Mori groan.
Makima followed Mori's panicked glance toward a small, red lensed security camera mounted above the hidden door. "He is still broadcasting," she noted coldly.
Kase's breath stabilized, a dark grin returning to his lips. "You have physically assaulted a licensed operator, sabotaged a state registered relay, and battered private security officers. That camera recorded every single second."
"Did it really?" Fitran asked, looking up at the lens. "What about the outgoing line?"
"It is a split feed," Makima analyzed quickly. "I can sever it."
Aya clutched Makima's sleeve in terror. "No! My daughter's home address... it's programmed to automatically dump the encrypted files onto the public net if the camera loses its primary feed!"
Makima paused, her eyes narrowing. "A dead man disclosure trap."
"The camera feed is hard linked to the local public archive," Makima said, turning her attention to the wiring. "I can disable the disclosure trigger, but only if you separate the private archive line while leaving the public street transmission running."
"Without publishing her personal files?" Fitran asked.
"Yes," Makima confirmed. "Provided you keep the street camera active."
Fitran nodded once. "Then leave the street camera running."
Down on the pavement outside the building, a crowd had gathered, and several onlookers raised their phones to record the broken window on the upper floor.
Fitran removed his boot from Mori's crushed wrist. "Cover her face," he instructed Makima softly.
Makima unbuttoned her dark trench coat, slipping it off her shoulders and carefully draping it over Aya's head and shoulders. She placed her own tall frame directly between the girl and the shattered window, blocking any line of sight from the street. Meanwhile, Fitran expertly sliced through the internal black cable behind the camera, severing its link to the archive while preserving the live street feed.
On the local security monitor, the cut wire looked remarkably like a concealed weapon held in Fitran's bloodied hand.
"That public recording will be weaponized against you by the authorities," Makima pointed out calmly.
"Finally," Fitran declared, placing a hand over his heart. "My long awaited debut on live television."
"You are not on television," Makima replied flatly.
"Give the news networks twenty minutes," Fitran quipped.
"They will demand to know what you did to the innocent woman bound in that chair," Makima said.
"Tell them I was a bitter, terrible disappointment," Fitran offered with a smirk. "I get that reaction quite often, really."
Aya peeked out from beneath the dark coat, her voice trembling but clear. "I can tell the investigators that you saved my life."
"Tell the official investigators whatever you wish," Makima advised gently. "The sensationalists on the street outside do not need to know your daughter's name."
Fitran watched Makima carefully drape her coat to hide the girl's face completely. "Keep your official statement stored in two separate locations," he advised Aya. "Separate custody ensures they cannot wipe it."
Aya flinched as the sound of distant police sirens began to echo down the alleyway. Fitran used the edge of a fallen leather folder to sweep the sharp shards of broken glass away from the corridor exit.
"The stairwell is clear," Fitran told Aya gently. "Wait just inside the doorframe. You can keep your eyes on us from there."
"Are you... are you taking me somewhere?" Aya asked nervously.
Makima answered before Fitran could speak. "A medical clinic first. They need to treat the electrical burns on your hands and throat. Your formal statement can wait until tomorrow."
Aya looked back at Fitran one last time. "Why did you laugh earlier? When they shot you?"
Fitran glanced down at his blood soaked sleeve. For a brief moment, the theatrical mask slipped, and he seemed to consider giving her an honest, unfiltered answer.
Instead, he winked. "Terrible manners on my part," Fitran said lightly. "You should file a formal complaint."
Aya didn't smile, but the panic in her eyes softened. She nodded once and moved toward the doorway, clutching Makima's coat tightly around her shoulders.
Once Aya was safely in the hallway, Makima stepped up to Fitran's side. Without asking, she grabbed his left arm, carefully peeling back the torn, blood drenched fabric of his coat. Fitran hissed sharply through his teeth as she pressed a neatly folded strip of clean linen directly into the deep bullet wound.
"You had more than enough time to warn me about the secondary trap," Makima said, her voice dropping into a low murmur.
"I honestly believed the controller was local to this room," Fitran admitted.
"That was not what I asked you," Makima retorted, her gold eyes locking onto his.
"You would have demanded a full explanation before letting me act," Fitran pointed out.
"I still demand one," Makima said, pulling the linen strip tight and tying a firm, professional knot around his arm. "And you will give it to me before you go offering your body to another loaded gun."
Fitran winced slightly at the tightness of the bandage, then smirked down at her. "Is that an official order, Commander?"
"It is a mandatory condition of working beside me," Makima stated coldly.
Fitran glanced back toward the doorway where Aya stood waiting. "You are more than welcome to put that directly in your official report."
"Do you intend to remain in my service?" Makima asked softly.
"There is still a rogue broadcast studio we need to hunt down," Fitran replied smoothly. "And as you mentioned, you have questions." Fitran leaned down closer to her ear, his lips curving into a dangerous smile despite the burning pain in his shoulder. "Careful, Makima. That almost sounded possessive."
Makima abruptly yanked the knot tight. Fitran's breath hitched instantly, his smile faltering for a split second.
"Call it professional dissatisfaction," Makima said, stepping back with complete composure.
Fitran let out a short, genuine laugh—quiet and breathless this time.
From his miserable spot on the floor, Mori finally cleared his throat, spitting a dark glob of blood onto the carpet. "The studio receiver... it doesn't have a registered name," Mori rasped, his voice trembling. "They just call it the Producer."
[QUEST UNLOCKED | THE PRODUCER]
Objective: Locate the unregistered recording-studio receiver
Known Identifier: The Producer
Classification: Unknown (person / entity / network)
Lead: Mori's testimony
Quest State: ACTIVE
Warning: Surveillance infrastructure may retain records beyond local storage.
Fitran turned his full attention back down to the bald man. "A person?"
Mori shook his head frantically. "No... a voice. A voice that somehow knows every single thing the equipment has ever seen."
Directly behind the ruined wall compartment, an old, disconnected intercom speaker suddenly let out a sharp, static laced click.
Fitran's teasing smile vanished entirely before the first distorted word even came through the speaker.