Chapter 81: Truth Beneath the Masks

Silence reigned in the half-collapsed corridor, broken only by the irregular tap of water droplets striking rusted metal. Mayu moved forward slowly, her footsteps hushed despite the furious pounding of her heart. Every dark corner seemed to harbor a specter of the past, every echo recalled the stifled screams of test subjects. She clenched her fists. This was no longer an infiltration mission—it was a pilgrimage to the heart of truth.

The dying neon tubes shed a sickly light, revealing shards of concrete and severed cables. Water ran down the walls, tracing rivulets across Mayu's skin like relentless reminders of every tear shed in these halls. A chill ran through her spine, yet she pressed on. Behind her, Lia and Seth maintained a vigilant distance, while Subject 45 brought up the rear, silent, an almost imperceptible smile playing across his lips.

At the corridor's end stood a massive blast door, its surface engraved with incomprehensible symbols that nonetheless felt eerily familiar to Mayu's trained eye. The iris scanner beside it glowed intermittently, alternating between green and red. Mayu inhaled deeply and placed her fingertips against the scanner. A long, resonant beep followed—and the lock surrendered with a mechanical groan. Darkness swallowed the threshold behind her.

She stepped inside, hand on the butt of her knife, and her companions filed in behind her without a word. Determination pulsed in the stale air as the room's lights abruptly snapped on, flooding the space with harsh brilliance. Mayu blinked back the glare: she stood in a vast, circular chamber whose floor shone like a polished mirror. Ringing the perimeter were rows of shattered stasis tanks and empty observation booths. Behind the tinted glass sat motionless silhouettes—clones and former test subjects, silent witnesses to the final ordeal.

In the center stood a solitary figure, unmoving. Draped in a long, white coat that contrasted with the ruin around him, he wore an aura of frigid composure. His silver hair fell in impeccable strands around a face that had not aged a day: the notorious Professor Elvan. His warm gray eyes scanned Mayu as though peering into the depths of her soul.

> "You have come, Mayu," he said softly, his voice carrying the inflection of a long-forsaken friendship.

She said nothing. Her gaze swept the broken tanks, lingered on the silent clones, then returned to Elvan. Memories flooded her mind in jagged fragments: the awakening hall's neon glow, the amniotic fluid swirling in vats, the searing pain of her first scream cut short by unfeeling machines.

> "Why?" she finally demanded, her voice thick with barely restrained anger. "Why all the lies, the experiments, the erasure of memories, the endless tests?"

Elvan inclined his head, his coat rustling like a spectral cloak.

> "Because you were perfect, Mayu," he replied. "You were the prototype that surpassed every expectation. Yet you possessed… too much humanity."

A bitter laugh echoed in her chest, though no sound escaped her lips. She squeezed her fists until her knuckles went white.

> "And so?" she retorted. "Humanity is what separates us from machines!"

Elvan stepped forward; his boots scraped the polished floor. Behind the glass, the clones stiffened as if bracing for a command.

> "Humanity is dangerous. It breeds unpredictability. And the unpredictable cannot be controlled. We could not take that risk."

A low rumble shook the chamber, sending downed cables quivering. Sparks flew from shattered conduits overhead. Elvan's gaze shifted to one intact tank, where a murky blue fluid still pulsed.

> "Shall we proceed to the heart of the matter?" he invited. With one smooth motion, he slid aside a sliding partition.

Mayu's blood ran cold. Inside the open tank lay a human form encased in gel. Elvan pressed a button, and the fluid drained away in a hiss of steam. The figure collapsed to the floor.

Mayu recoiled. It was Subject 12—the flawless copy she had already fought. Its flesh was an ashen pallor, veins dark against translucent skin. Its eyes staring sightlessly.

> "Behold your standby replacement," Elvan proclaimed. "Should you fail… she will take your place."

Subject 12 sprang to life, silent as a shadow. Even as the clone launched itself at Mayu, the room seemed to hold its breath. Their blades struck in a furious clash—Mayu's steel against the clone's cold edge—in a dance of mirrored silhouettes.

She parried a claw strike, her sleeve shredding under the force. She rolled across the gleaming floor and rose, driving her blade in a wide arc. The clone sidestepped with mechanical grace. With every parry and riposte, Mayu's memories rang through her mind: the antiseptic hiss of vats, the low hum of life-support generators, the flash of white walls and the unrelenting glare of overhead lights.

Then, seizing a vital opening, Mayu slammed her fist into the clone's mask, pushing it back.

> "I am not your failure!" she gasped.

She twisted, seeking within her mind the strength of her convictions, and drove her blade into the clone's shoulder. The duplicate sagged, collapsing with a soft exhalation—as if death itself granted her peace.

Silence returned, heavy as gravestones. Elvan regarded her with inscrutable eyes.

> "Impressive," he conceded. "But are you ready to confront the true…"

A faint sound behind her sharpened Mayu's instincts—an all-too-familiar tread across the chamber's mirrored floor. She whirled, blade at the ready, to face a man stepping from the shadows: mask in hand, his features shadowed yet unmistakable.

> "Akira."

His name hovered in the air—intimate, achingly familiar. Memories flooded her: two children running through a white corridor, hands clasped, heartbeats synchronized in desperate flight. His eyes had held a promise, soft yet resolute: "I will always be by your side."

Mayu's legs trembled, and she sank to one knee, breathless.

> "Akira…," she whispered.

Elvan stiffened for the first time, a flicker of unease in his gaze.

Akira advanced, each step tolling like a funeral bell. His mask fell away, revealing a face marked by scars and the toll of horrendous trials. His golden eyes—once cerulean—gleamed with pain and longing.

> "You should have let me die," he said, voice raw. "You don't know what they turned me into."

> "I know too well," Mayu replied. "They did it to me, too. But I fought to stay myself. You can still fight, Akira."

He laughed—a broken sound born of despair.

> "It's too late. The final lock has opened. I am only a weapon now. My orders: eliminate you."

Mayu set her jaw.

> "Then come," she challenged.

He lunged with inhuman speed. Mayu barely braced for impact, her blade absorbing the blow. The clash of steel echoed so loudly it seemed to crack the glass walls. He moved with the fluid grace they once shared in training—each strike teaching her the height of his skill—but now wielded against her.

> "You hesitate," he snarled. "You cannot kill me."

> "And you?" she countered. "You don't have to kill me either."

He roared and unleashed a whirling barrage of strikes. Mayu met them with chilling precision, each parry and riposte fueled by the fire of her resolve. She could not lose—not now, not without saving him from this fate.

As his blade aimed for her heart, she rolled away, her dagger finding purchase in his shoulder. Blood welled—dark and viscous—and Akira stilled, falling to his knees.

> "You could have struck the heart," he murmured, voice faint.

> "I strike for truth, not death," she replied softly.

He clutched at his wound as spasms wracked his frame. Suddenly, his tortured roar gave way to a child's cry—haunting and plaintive. His body trembled, and for a brief, golden moment, his eyes flickered back to the familiar blue.

> "Mayu… save them. All the others… they still suffer…"

Then he collapsed.

Mayu froze, heart pounding in her ears. He was alive—but for how long?

Footsteps thundered behind them—reinforcements arriving. Clones? The Professor's final guards? Mayu's grip tightened on her blade. She was no longer alone; she now carried Akira's burden… and that of every other captive.

She stood and raised her blade. With a voice steeled by promise, she whispered:

> "I will free you all. I swear it."

Behind her, Lia, Seth, and Subject 45 closed ranks. The chamber's trembling grew more violent as Elvan slid back into the shadows, his eyes cold yet resigned. The time had come to flee this tomb of flesh, steel, and secrets—together.

And so they departed into the darkness, blade in hand, as the complex groaned its final requiem.