Clean Slate Protocol

"Victor!"

"Victor!!"

"Victor, wake up! Old Yuan is here!"

The sharp urgency in Hiroshi's voice dragged Victor from the depths of fragmented dreams. His eyes fluttered open to a dim, yellowish light from the old fluorescent.

Before he could gather his wits, a sudden jab to his stomach forced a sharp gasp from his dry throat. The pain was dull, barely more than a hollow thud against his hardened abdomen — a testament to the years his body had endured.

"Good. You're not dead," Hiroshi muttered, retracting his fist.

Victor shot him a glare, his mind still sluggish as reality settled in. The lingering ache in his chest had little to do with Hiroshi's cheap wake-up call.

"You almost drowned this in your tears." Hiroshi fished out the photo from his pocket, its edges slightly damp, but he made sure he didn't add more crumples into it. "Figured you'd want it intact."

Victor's heart squeezed as he took the photo with trembling fingers, his cracked lips parting to release a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The fragile piece of paper was practically the only thing he had left of Azumi — a lifeline tethering him to a love that felt more like a distant illusion with each passing day.

He remembered every curve of her face, every glimmer in her eyes — but the fear gnawed at him. What if one day those memories slipped away, just like the ones frozen in the very photo he now held? What if the world had already started stealing her from him — piece by piece — until there was nothing left but a hollow ache?

His fingers brushed the worn edges, as if trying to memorize her touch through the faded ink.

Hiroshi watched silently, eyes half-lidded beneath the dim light. Seeing how Victor's hands trembled just by holding the photo made something click inside him — whatever Victor felt for Azumi... it was real.

The kind of love that he's sure he never felt. The kind of love that endured, even when the world had already crumbled around it.

For a moment, Hiroshi almost felt guilty for teasing him.

His gaze lingered on the vulnerable man across the room — clutching a memory like his life depended on it. Victor's heart was too pure for this world. Too innocent. And for some reason, Hiroshi found himself swearing — if there was one thing he'd do in this fucked-up life, it was to protect that innocence.

Especially from Amanda's subtle, underhanded flirtations.

"Poor bastard," Hiroshi muttered under his breath, turning to the door where Amanda now lingered — half-hidden, half-watching.

The woman had a knack for blending into the shadows, but her silence spoke louder than words. She saw what he saw... Hiroshi could only hope.

Then the door creaked open wider, and with it came the faint scent of dried herbs and age.

Old Yuan shuffled in, her eyes sharp beneath the folds of time. She leaned on her cane with the kind of quiet authority that needed no announcement.

"I heard you've seen something," she began, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had stopped asking for permission long ago.

Victor pushed himself to his feet, the muscles in his legs stiff from his sleep. He glanced at Amanda, catching the flicker of confirmation in her downcast eyes.

"Something like... what?" he rasped, though he already knew what she meant.

Yuan's gaze never wavered. "Forgotten memories, was it?"

Victor's throat tightened. He looked back at the photo — the ghost trapped beneath layers of time — and felt the ache of something buried clawing its way to the surface.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice hoarse but steady. "And I found this in the building we went to earlier."

Victor carefully handed Old Yuan the photo — just close enough for her to see, but not quite enough to let her fingers touch it. The old woman leaned in, squinting behind her glasses, but the second her hand twitched forward, Victor subtly yanked the photo back to safety like a reflexive parent snatching their child from danger.

Old Yuan blinked at him, taken aback.

Hiroshi snorted from the corner, barely holding back a laugh.

Victor cleared his throat, playing it off like nothing happened. He pointed at Azumi in the picture with his other hand.

"This is my girlfriend, Azumi Yanai... the person you knew as Code Nine."

His voice was proud — almost too proud for someone who just pulled off the pettiest photo defense move in the apocalypse.

Old Yuan, catching onto Victor's overly defensive mechanism, pressed her lips into a thin line. She glanced at the photo again — making no further attempts to touch it, as if respecting the invisible do not touch sign plastered all over Victor's face.

"A-Ah!" Her eyes suddenly widened behind her glasses. "Yes, I know who this woman is! She was one of the scientists hired by the government to work on the antidote project!"

Victor's heart almost stopped.

Hiroshi's head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "S-So she's not a nurse?"

Victor blinked, stunned — as if the whole world had tilted sideways. "I... I don't—"

He trailed off. Did he know? Or had he only believed what he remembered?

His throat bobbed as he shifted his gaze back to Old Yuan. Hesitantly, he tapped Kento's figure in the photo.

"B-By any chance... do you remember anything about a celebration like this?" His voice wavered. "A ball, perhaps?"

Old Yuan's brows pinched together, eyes narrowing in concentration.

"This man here... he doesn't remember anything about this event." Victor's fingers curled slightly around the photo's edges. "Nor do I. But I had flashbacks — glimpses of this place... like I was there too."

Hiroshi's smirk faded as the weight of Victor's words settled in the room.

"Nothing makes sense..." Victor muttered, more to himself. "Unless... the Codes aren't the only ones whose memories were erased?"

Old Yuan's frown deepened, her wrinkled hand slowly stroking her chin.

"Now that you mention it..." Her voice grew lower, as if unlocking something buried beneath decades of secrets. "There were whispers... rumors... about something called The Clean Slate Protocol. A project meant to rewrite the mind itself; however, I only heard about it through my grandchildren. I didn't even know that was possible."

Victor's breath caught.

Hiroshi's eyes darted between them, his amusement from earlier long gone.

"Then, I think the most rational thing to do here is to find out more about this Clean Slate Protocol, right?" Hiroshi asked, his voice steady but eyes flicking between the others.

Victor nodded, gaze fixed on Old Yuan. "Yes... while I look for my girlfriend," he added, making sure Amanda caught every word. His tone was deliberate — almost pointed. "And I need your permission for this... Lady Yuan."

The old woman’s brow twitched, sharp eyes narrowing beneath wiry white strands. "Permission?" she scoffed lightly. "Boy, you can do whatever you want — as long as you're not putting any lives here at risk."

Victor's fingers brushed against the worn edges of the photo before tucking it carefully into his coat pocket. He met her gaze, unwavering. "I need your permission... because I might have to check your home — if it's still standing."

The air in the room thinned.

Amanda, who had been silent since they entered, straightened abruptly. "Are you implying Lady Yuan has something to do with this?" Her voice was sharper than intended, breaking the tense stillness.

Victor exhaled through his nose. "I'm not accusing anyone, but you had connections—powerful ones," he leaned forward slightly, his eyes flickering under the dim light. "Perhaps there's anyone among them... anyone who could help us with this Clean Slate Protocol you're talking about?"

Old Yuan's clouded gaze drifted to the cracked floor, her wrinkled fingers curling tighter around her cane. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, she let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm afraid none of them were spared to live," she murmured, voice brittle. "The only ones who managed to survive... were the servants working in my manor. They escaped through the tunnel my ancestors built during World War I — a secret carved beneath the earth, meant to shelter the bloodline in times of peril."

Victor's brows knitted. He could sense the weight behind those words — a legacy buried along with the dead.

"And your grandchildren?" Hiroshi spoke up, the question lingering in the thick silence.

Old Yuan's hand trembled faintly against the cane. Her hollow eyes shimmered under the flickering light.

"Not even them... nor my children," she whispered, barely holding back the crack in her voice.

A stillness settled in the room. For a second, Victor regretted asking — but then Old Yuan's eyes sharpened again, as if something long buried stirred in the depths of her memory.

"However..." her voice broke through the hush. "If I recall correctly... one of my grandchildren, Caishen Hwang, mentioned something about the Protocol—how it was allegedly developed alongside the antidote project. He was always the curious one, digging into things he wasn't supposed to."

Victor's heart thudded harder in his chest.

"If you must start somewhere... I believe Caishen's place is your best point of entry."

Her cloudy eyes flicked toward him, as if testing whether the fire still burned behind his conviction.

"But tread carefully, boy... the dead may have buried their secrets — but not all of them like to stay buried."

Victor's gaze remained steady. "I'll take note of that."

A faint smile tugged at Old Yuan's cracked lips, the kind that carried more wisdom than warmth. "Come to my quarter later... with your friend." Her eyes flicked toward Hiroshi. "I assume you'll be tagging along?"

Hiroshi straightened, nodding almost too quickly. "Of course."

"Good." Old Yuan's voice lingered in the air like a fading echo. "I'll see you later."

With that, she turned slowly, the weight of the years visible in each measured step as she disappeared through the door — but Amanda stayed behind.

The silence stretched, thicker than before.

Hiroshi cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly between her and Victor. "U-Uhm... is there something you need?"

Amanda's dark eyes flicked toward him, then to Victor — her gaze lingering a second longer — before cutting back to Hiroshi.

Her lips curled, half amusement, half disdain.

"Goodnight," she scoffed, the word laced with something unreadable, before following Old Yuan out the door.

Hiroshi blinked, watching her leave. Then, under his breath, he muttered, "Ara Ara!"

Victor turned to him, grimacing. His mind still lingered on Old Yuan's words — the weight they carried, the lives lost beneath them.

Hiroshi blinked, confused. "What?"

Victor's brows twitched, shaking off the heaviness. "Nothing... but we better wash off the grime before we embark on another journey tomorrow."

Hiroshi's eyes lit up, as if the mere thought of moving forward injected life back into him. "Right away?"

Victor smirked faintly. "Unless you'd rather stay here and flirt with danger... or her."

Hiroshi's grin widened, teeth flashing in the dim light. "Of course right away! The sooner we move, the sooner we'll find Azumi... and my Adelina, right? Right?!"

Victor huffed a breath through his nose, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. "My Adelina, my ass." He shook his head. "Talk to me about love when you're past your infatuation era, Romeo."

"Oh, how you wound me, my friend!" Hiroshi clutched his chest dramatically, staggering a step back. "To speak so ill of a heart burning with passion—"

"Passion?" Victor snorted. "You're one rejection away from calling it a character development arc."

Hiroshi gasped as if he'd been struck, wobbling theatrically on his feet. The banter — light, familiar — almost made Victor forget the oppressive air pressing down on them since they arrived.

Almost.

Until—

His smile faltered.

It struck him without warning — another violent flash behind his eyes.

His breath caught.

Too fast.

Too fractured.

Like shards of broken glass pressed against his skull.

Victor stumbled, catching himself against the edge of the table. His vision warped — the room dissolved into a chaotic blur — and then he was there.

A screen.

Massive. Cold. Illuminating the darkness.

Tabs lined up in perfect, sterile precision — far too many to count. The digital glow pulsed against the void, casting shadows that stretched far beyond sight.

He couldn't move. Couldn't blink.

And at the top — glaring back at him like a scar carved into reality — was a single bold word.

EXPERIMENT 1012. FAILED!

The weight of those letters coiled around his chest, suffocating. His mind strained, trying to decipher what it meant — why it felt so familiar — but the memory slipped through his fingers like smoke.

There was more... he knew there was more.

But the harder he reached for it, the faster it vanished.

"Victor?"

Hiroshi's voice. Distant at first — then sharper.

Victor blinked hard, snapping back to the present. Sweat prickled at his temple. His heart hammered in his chest.

Hiroshi was watching him now — no more jokes, no more theatrics — just concern flickering behind those dark eyes.

"You okay, man?"

Victor swallowed the knot in his throat, forcing a steady breath.

"I'm fine," he lied.

Hiroshi's brows pulled together, not quite believing him — but not pushing either.

"You sure? You looked like you saw a ghost or some—"

"I said I'm fine." Victor's voice came out harder than he intended, cutting him off.

Silence settled between them — heavy, awkward.

Victor ran a hand through his hair, fingers brushing against the damp strands at his nape. He needed to clear his head. He needed air.

He needed answers.

"Let's just... get that shower." His voice was quieter now, trying to smooth out the edge.

Hiroshi lingered for a second longer, then shrugged — masking whatever worry was gnawing at him behind a crooked smile.

"Alright, alright. But if you're turning into a zombie or something... promise you'll give me a heads-up before you start biting?"

Victor forced a chuckle — thin, but better than silence.

"Deal."

Hiroshi's grin returned, though his eyes flicked back one more time as if making sure Victor was still him.

Victor barely noticed. His mind was already elsewhere — lingering in the fractured haze of that vision.

Experiment 1012

What the hell was it?

Why did it feel like something he shouldn't remember — yet something buried deep inside him wanted him to?

He glanced down at his hands, fingers curling slightly. They were steady... I'm not an experiment which is turning into a zombie, aren't I?