Chapter 5: The Arsenal

The subterranean levels of the facility were darker, colder. The air smelled of oil, gunpowder, and steel—the unmistakable scent of a weapons cache.

Akira and Ramirez moved in silence, navigating through the maze of storage crates and security scanners. The deeper they went, the louder the alarms grew.

MegaCorp knew he was here.

And they weren't about to let him walk out.

A large reinforced door loomed ahead, marked with a glowing red panel:

STORAGE LEVEL B – RESTRICTED ACCESS

"Your weapons are inside," Ramirez muttered, glancing at her wristpad. "I can override the lock, but it'll take a minute."

Akira tensed. "We don't have a minute."

As if on cue, heavy boots thundered down the hall behind them. Enforcers—six this time.

And they weren't standard guards.

These were Elite Kill-Squads, outfitted with exoskeletal combat suits and plasma rifles. The kind sent in when MegaCorp wanted someone erased.

The squad leader's helmet speakers crackled to life. "Stand down, Subject Zero. Surrender and you will not be harmed."

Akira smirked. "Yeah? I don't believe you."

The enforcers opened fire.

Plasma bolts seared through the air.

Akira dodged, rolling behind a stack of crates as the first volley ripped through metal like paper. The moment his back hit cover, his neural interface activated—

Threat analysis engaged.

The data fed directly into his mind: enemy positions, firing angles, reaction speeds. It all clicked into place.

He wasn't just fighting on instinct anymore.

He was processing war like a machine.

Ramirez was still working on the lock, fingers flying across her wristpad. "I need twenty more seconds!"

Akira exhaled. Twenty seconds.

That was more than enough.

He vaulted over the crates, rushing straight into enemy fire.

His body moved faster than their targeting systems could track. Side-step. Roll. Advance.

One enforcer hesitated—too slow.

Akira grabbed his rifle mid-shot, twisted it, and fired point-blank into the soldier's helmet.

Headshot.

He snatched the weapon from the falling body, spun, and unleashed a hailstorm of plasma rounds.

The enforcers fell one by one, their armor useless against point-blank efficiency.

The last soldier tried to retreat. Akira was already there.

A single cybernetic-enhanced punch to the throat.

CRACK.

The body dropped.

Ramirez let out a low whistle. "That was… effective."

Akira didn't answer. His hands felt steady, his mind clear.

He had just taken down an elite squad in under fifteen seconds.

I should be disturbed.

But I'm not.

The lock clicked open behind them.

The massive vault doors hissed apart, revealing rows upon rows of advanced weaponry—plasma blades, kinetic rifles, prototype tech-suits.

Akira stepped inside. His fingers traced along a sleek black firearm, its surface engraved with something familiar.

His name.

They had built these weapons for him.

His gaze hardened.

MegaCorp had turned him into a weapon.

Now, he was about to turn their own arsenal against them.