The masked being stood over their paralyzed bodies, the hum of his ice-blue mana thrumming softly.
"Tainted humans," the voice rasped of a man, modulated by the suit's helm into a cold whisper. "If it weren't special, I would have cleansed you both where you lie."
The figure lowered itself and fixed its gaze on Cj, whose one visible eye was barely able to stay open, swollen and bruised from the blast.
"If you and your friend ever seek the true way to power... a way free of the DCO's control you would want to go here."
The figure pressed a tightly folded note into Cj's trembling hand and vanished in a flicker of that cold, blue light.
Cj stared at the crumpled paper, shaking from the residual trauma, his functional eye blurred. He quickly tucked the coordinates deep into his armor just as the groaning sounds of rubble next to him grew louder, followed by the distant, insistent blare of DCO sirens outside the tunnel.
The immediate aftermath was a deafening rush of organized chaos.
Soldiers in crisp, black armor swarmed the tunnel mouth, medics close behind them, carrying specialized stretchers and harnesses. They secured Cj, Andre, and the immense, F-3 form of Mario onto the straps.
As the team carried Mario's colossal, armored body toward the waiting transport aircraft, a medic quickly administered an injection of black liquid into a clear joint near his neck. The serum was immediate and painful: the dark, hard plating of the Gauntlet began to hiss and decay, retracting from his limbs like molten plastic. The enormous F-3 form rapidly shrunk, melting away the terrifying Beast armor until Mario was nothing more than a limp, unconscious human in a tattered DCO suit.
Inside the hybrid aircraft, Cj was strapped to a stretcher, but the restraints felt useless. He realized his mangled eye was rapidly stitching itself closed, the bruising fading with unnatural speed. His pain the raw trauma from the crash was simply gone. Was this the Axolotl's power?
He surged upward, tearing the flimsy straps. The nearest medics yelled and tried to push him back down, but Cj simply shoved them aside. The medics stumbled back, their eyes wide with shock: Cj was already whole.
Ignoring their frantic calls, Cj walked over to the adjacent stretcher where Andre was lying, coughing raggedly. Andre's armor was dented and his exposed face was covered in a web of purple bruises. He turned his head toward Cj, a flicker of his usual composure returning.
"We did well today," Andre rasped, wincing slightly. He fixed his gaze on the unconscious figure of Mario across the bay. "But Mario... I don't know if he'll ever be the same after that."
The hybrid aircraft settled smoothly onto the rooftop platform, the powerful rotors kicking up a swirling vortex of wind. Alistair was waiting, his hands clasped behind his back, the gusts ruffling his gray hair as he stood perfectly still.
The moment the ramp lowered, medics rushed out, carefully navigating the strong winds. They quickly loaded both Mario and Andre onto motorized stretchers and moved them toward the entrance. The entire team walked right past the helicopter, leaving Cj inside.
Thorne, his eyes fixed on the retreating stretchers, called out sharply over the dying roar of the engine: "Where is Host Cj?"
"I'm here, you bastard!"
Cj's voice sliced through the noise. He walked stiffly out of the helicopter, his legs moving awkwardly due to the flight, but otherwise completely unharmed. He marched right up to Thorne and, without breaking stride, shoved the older man aside.
a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. "Well, well, well," he murmured to himself, his gaze lingering on the Cj's retreating form. "It seems you are the only one unscathed."
"Unscathed my ass," Cj muttered, the heat of his lingering anger evident in his tone. He continued, falling into pace alongside the medics who were wheeling Andre and Mario away. Thorne watched him go with a wretched smile on his face.
Upon entering, they shoved Mario aside and quickly moved with Andre toward their living quarters. There, they immediately secured him to the medical bed in their room.
The rear ramp of the transport sealed, and the cabin lights came up, giving the space a harsh, antiseptic glow. Cj didn't follow the medics. Instead, he quickly slipped into the row of seats beside Andre's stretcher, clasping his hands together and trying to slow his frantic thoughts of what could of gone wrong today.
A low groan broke the silence. Andre's head turned slowly on the pillow. "Hey" he managed, his voice still ragged.
Cj instantly brightened, a genuine laugh escaping him. "Hey! How you holding up?"
Andre smiled back, a genuine, tired expression replacing his usual smirk. "Good, considering we just fought a Gamma Class."
"We did awesome," Cj said, lowering his voice. "And good thing no one was hurt too bad, right?"
Andre's expression sobered. He looked away from Cj, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "We didn't do it alone. Who was that?" he asked, his tone demanding clarity. "The one who shut Mario down?"
Cj reached into his armor and pulled out the crumpled note. "Some masked guy. Said he would have 'Rid' us, but then he gave me this." He passed the tiny, folded paper to Andre.
Andre took it, his hand trembling weakly from the aftershocks of the blast. He glanced at the coordinates, his brow furrowing with his Strategist's Gaze even through the bruises. He quickly handed the note back. "Those coordinates are... strange," he murmured. "They don't match any DCO facility, sector grid, or known anomaly location."
"Right?" Cj agreed, quickly retrieving the note.
Andre suddenly managed a weak, knowing smile. "Exactly. They're not strange, Cj. They're secret."
Cj's eyes went wide. His instincts, tuned to survival and took over. He quickly folded the paper into a minuscule square and tucked it deep inside a secured pocket in his combat pants, already thinking about where to hide it once they reached the facility.
Andre managed a strained smile as he saw Cj's restless energy. "Go on, Cj," he urged, motioning dismissively toward the ramp. "It'll take me five hours body to repair this damage. Go explore. See what you can find out there."
Cj started to turn, ready to bolt, but Andre's weak grip shot out and grabbed his wrist. "Wait. Come closer for a second."
Cj leaned in, confusion crossing his face. Andre held Cj's hand, resting it against the smooth, insulated panel of his forearm armor. With extreme, slow precision, Andre began to move his fingers, a subtle, twisting motion, tracing the exact sequence of digits Cj had seen him memorize on the safe back in Thorne's office.
He repeated the sequence twice, his eyes fixed on Cj's face.
"Okay," Andre whispered, his voice low and serious. "You know what that is now."
Cj's eyes widened as the connection clicked into place the Kyla Flynn file. He gave a sharp, silent nod and squeezed Andre's hand. "Got it. Thank you, Andre."
He pulled away, adrenaline replacing his earlier confusion, and moved quickly toward the exit ramp.
Cj slipped out of the transport, his gait evening out as the rush of adrenaline settled. As he moved down the main corridor, his eye snagged on something unusual; through the glass partition of a restricted bay, Mario was suspended.
He wasn't on a stretcher, he was submerged in a tank of clear, faintly glowing liquid that drifted around his unconscious body. He looked utterly vulnerable without his armor, the black liquid from the earlier injection still faintly swirling and dispersing in the water.
Before Cj could stop, two medics rounded the corner. They instantly spotted him lingering by the glass and gave chase.
"Hey! move along! That area is restricted!" one shouted.
Cj didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted down the hall, the image of Mario's fragile, submerged form haunting him. Why is he like that? Cj wondered, feeling a strange mix of pity and confusion for the one person who hated him most. Shaking the image away, he focused on his immediate mission: Food. He headed for the cafeteria to grab a quick snack before he assess his next move.
Cj found a remote table tucked into the corner of the vast, echoing cafeteria. He unwrapped his item a small, mint tart. He was genuinely surprised; in a facility that demanded such strict control and discipline, this single bite of unexpected flavor felt like a jarring, almost subversive surprise.
Munching slowly, his gaze drifted across the room. Two guards were leaning against a low rail on the far side of the room, their voices lost in the general hum of the facility. Cj needed to know what was happening to Mario.
He concentrated, focusing his lingering Axolotl energy not on his fists, but on his ears, pushing his consciousness outward. The ambient noise of the cafeteria and then the murmur of conversation... suddenly shattered.
The guards' low voices became impossibly sharp, flooding his mind:
"...barely contained him. They used three doses of the black serum. Word is he was minutes from Terminal Assimilation," the first guard muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
The second guard lowered his voice further. "Andre survived, but Ashwood is the real freak show. Fully healed in less than two hours. Thorne will have a field day with the reports."
"Reports are bad across the board," the first guard sighed. "Everyone's on edge. Too many incidents." He glanced around nervously. "I heard the brass is pushing for an International Host Tournament. Bases from all over the globe, testing gradings, blowing off steam..."
"A tournament?" the second guard scoffed. "Sounds like a distraction. It's still up to Thorne to greenlight that. But if he says yes, this place is going to get a lot more crowded."
Cj froze, the mint tart forgotten in his hand. Terminal? Tournament? The surge of sound receded as he broke focus, leaving his head ringing slightly. He had just confirmed Mario's dire state and learned of a potential global event that would put him right in the spotlight.
Cj let the sound of the guards' conversation subsided, replacing the frantic information with a burst of pure, reckless pleasure. Super healing? Super hearing? He couldn't help it, a short, sharp yell of joy escaped him.
The two guards glanced over, saw the Cj who had just survived a major incident, and wisely decided he wasn't their problem, retreating quickly down the adjacent hallway.
Cj finished the last bite of the surprisingly delicious mint tart, tossing the wrapper. He started walking back, his mind now racing with newfound purpose. Kyla Flynn. Andre's code wasn't just a secret; it was the key to understanding why Kyla ran from Alistair's office.
He knew he couldn't act immediately. Thorne was waiting, and every eye in the facility would be on him. Cj decided on his priorities: find an opportunity to sneak into Thorne's office and peek at the file. If that International Tournament happens, it could be the perfect chaotic distraction he needs.
He reached the sterile environment of his assigned sleeping quarters, kicked off his boots, and dropped onto the thin mattress. Exhaustion, delayed by the rush of adrenaline and healing, finally claimed him. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Cj was pulled violently from sleep by a sharp tap on his shoulder. He blinked against the growing gloom in the room, realizing the evening had settled in.
"I can't believe you're taking a nap right now," Andre said, a faint, strained smile cracking his bruised face. He was dressed in a fresh, clean DCO uniform, his movements stiff but steady.
"Took me five hours, remember?" Andre shrugged lightly. "Now get dressed. Alistair has an important meeting for all of us in the cafeteria. Apparently, the cleanup crew is finished."
Cj scrubbed the sleep from his eyes, The calm was over.
Without exchanging a word, Cj and Andre walked through the clinical hallways. Cj's mind was racing the coordinates, the code, the tournament while Andre, though recovered, maintained a focused silence that felt protective.
When they entered the main commissary, the atmosphere was completely transformed. A temporary stage was erected at the front of the massive room, bathed in harsh overhead light, with Alistair standing confidently at its center.
The usual utilitarian tables were packed with people. Cj stopped short, eyes widening. He had never seen this many people in one place in the facility, and scattered among the seated personnel were kids some as young as ten, seated between older adults, their faces pale and serious. Hosts.
The sight was unsettling
Cj and Andre quietly found two empty seats along the wall. After a few minutes, Thorne tapped the microphone, the sound echoing sharply through the large room. He beamed, a chillingly warm expression that never quite reached his eyes.
"Welcome, everyone. As you can see, our cleanup is complete, and our house is once again in order," Thorne announced, his voice smooth and commanding. "And I have, what I consider to be, excellent news."
A burst of premature applause swept through the room, the crowd conditioned to respond positively to Thorne's presence regardless of the content. Thorne waited, letting the applause fade just enough before raising his hands.
"Thank you, thank you," he said, his smile widening. "As I was saying, in recent times, our department has seen an unprecedented surge in Host capacity and power projection." He paused for effect, glancing briefly at the trio's section.
"To this end, and to ensure we maintain our ranking among the world's leading facilities, I have the distinct pleasure of announcing a massive initiative: we will be hosting an International Host Tournament!"
A much louder wave of applause erupted, primarily from the older personnel.
"Facilities from every major sector such as Asia, Europe, Africa, the Pacific... will all send their best assets to compete here in our headquarters. This is not merely a contest of strength; it is a vital opportunity to gauge our capabilities, to forge essential alliances, and yes, to cultivate the respectful rivalries that fuel innovation and growth in the DCO community."
Cj and Andre exchanged a silent, heavy look. The rumor Cj overheard was now a reality, and their escape window had just shrunk dramatically. They were officially trapped in the global spotlight.
The announcement was met with a clamor of celebration. A few older Hosts, eager to prove themselves, started shouting, "We'll show them the power of Germany!"
As Thorne began descending the small stage steps, the crowd immediately rushed him, but Cj moved faster. He darted through the moving bodies, cutting directly into Thorne's path.
The instant Cj was close, Thorne's practiced, wide smile snapped off. His face became a mask of stern impatience. "What do you need now?" he demanded, his voice low and sharp.
"Africa," Cj challenged, his lingering anger fueling the question. "Why am I here, in your facility in Germany? Why wasn't I left with one of the African sectors?"
Thorne paused, considering Cj's gaze, before leaning in slightly. His tone became deceptively light, an oily calmness that made Cj's skin crawl. "We have to keep the best for ourselves, Cj. And it's better if they don't know where you truly came from."
He then slapped Cj's shoulder with a flash of that chillingly fake smile and swiftly walked away, blending back into the applauding crowd.
Cj immediately retreated to Andre. "Something fishy is going on here," Cj hissed, recounting the brief exchange.
Andre nodded, his eyes narrowed as he watched Thorne interact with the other officials. "Fishy? He just confirmed you're a secret asset, Cj. The tournament isn't just a test; it's a cover to keep us busy while he hides the truth away."
The second Alistair Thorne vanished into the crowd, the power vacuum opened up. Mario's crew three burly idiots known only for their loud approval of Mario's aggressive style seized the moment.
"This is massive!" one of them roared, jumping onto a table. "An International Tournament! This demands a celebration!"
A wave of drunken cheers and shouts erupted, turning the professional commissary into a high school pep rally.
Cj and Andre exchanged a look of profound exhaustion. They were too bruised and too burdened with secrets for this meaningless display of ego. They quickly slipped away from the growing commotion, heading back to the sterile quiet of their shared quarters.
Inside the two cot room, Andre moved stiffly but purposefully toward the small washroom. As he peeled off his sweat stained uniform, he paused, grabbing the curtain only after the water began to run.
"Cj, the file," Andre said over the rush of the shower. "You have to get Kyla Flynn's file now."
Cj, already half undressed, shook his head. "No. Not yet. Thorne's too alert; he practically smelled the plans on me. If I go now, I fail. But when that International Tournament chaos hits that's our window. It'll be the only time the surveillance teams are distracted."
The shower abruptly stopped. Andre stepped out, grabbing a towel off the rack but not immediately using it. His nakedness was a casual disregard for convention that no longer surprised Cj.
"Alright, I understand the logic," Andre conceded, grabbing a clean uniform. He tossed a fresh, folded towel directly at Cj's chest. "But for now, go wash up. You smell like ass."
Andre offered a thin, exhausted smile before covering himself and walking out, leaving Cj alone with the towel, the rising tension of the facility, and the secret code burning in his mind.