Dead Men's Secrets

Moonlight spilled through the factory's shattered skylights, casting elongated shadows across a tableau of carnage. Four figures moved through the destruction with practiced indifference, their silhouettes stark against the blood-splattered concrete.

The first—R1—possessed a towering physique and crimson hair that defied gravity, standing upright in thick, flame-like spikes. His face remained half-hidden behind a high collar, eyes constantly scanning, assessing. He lingered on the stairway, observing his companions with quiet calculation.

R2 knelt beside the mutilated body of the White Eyes commander. The operative's slender fingers hovered over the empty socket where a cybernetic eye had once been, his expression a careful mask of professional detachment. Where the commander's mechanical arm should have been attached, only desiccated tissue remained, blackened blood crusted around severed nerve endings.

"I warned him," R2 remarked, rising to his feet with feline grace. "His greed was always going to be his undoing. And now..." He gestured at the corpse with elegant dismissiveness. "Here we are."

R3 leaned against a rust-pitted machinery console, his wild, directional hair and amplification gear around his neck marking him as someone who preferred sonic methods of communication. He tapped long fingers against the metal surface, creating a rhythmic counterpoint to his words.

"The file is gone too," he noted, voice modulated with practiced precision. "That's the real problem."

Several paces away, R4's hunched form moved among the dead with unsettling fascination. His pale blue hair hung in unwashed strands, skin dry and cracked along his neck and visible wrists. He stooped to retrieve a fragment of shattered sword, laughter bubbling from his throat—a sound devoid of genuine mirth.

"Look what I found," he announced, twirling the broken blade between skeletal fingers. "Whoever owned this must know something valuable."

From his elevated position, R1 continued his silent observation. The massacre carried familiar signatures—precise, efficient, almost surgical in execution. His mind cataloged and compared, drawing connections to incidents spanning years and territories.

R2 circled the commander's body, the hem of his coat brushing through congealed blood. "This is too basic to be useful," he commented, nudging a severed hand with his boot. "Who would be foolish enough to challenge White Eyes directly? Even considering their diminishing influence, they still command respect through fear."

R4 shuffled forward, kicking aside bone fragments and tissue with childish glee. His eyes reflected an unhinged intelligence as he surveyed the destruction. "This is expert work," he mused, voice tinged with admiration. "Someone has signed their death warrant in spectacular fashion. I wonder who our lucky martyr might be."

"The Devil," R1 spoke at last, his deep voice carrying through the silent factory. "These are his patterns. I've seen them before."

The other three turned toward him with varying degrees of interest.

"The boy with the sealed ring?" R3 questioned, recognition dawning.

R4's face contorted with sudden, intense longing. "If I could get my hands on that—" his fingers twitched spasmodically, "—perhaps I too could access the island." His laughter intensified, echoing off blood-stained walls.

R2 cut through the distraction with practiced authority. "We came for the file. Nothing else matters. If civilians learn what's in it, everything becomes compromised." His gaze swept across the carnage. "Search the entire city if necessary. Collect the sword fragments. They'll lead us to what we need."

As silently as they had arrived, the four operatives vanished into the shadows. Minutes later, police sirens wailed in the distance—a predictable response, always too late to be consequential.

---

Hwak's legs carried him homeward through the settlement's winding pathways, his mind still processing the implications of Soniya's technological breakthrough. The twin daggers, concealed beneath his jacket, represented a level of craftsmanship he'd never imagined possible in the settlement. Pride in Soniya's abilities mingled with anxiety about the weapons' origins—a cognitive dissonance he couldn't reconcile.

A flickering holographic billboard caught his attention, its news cycle rotating through the day's events. An AI news anchor recited statistics with artificial compassion: crime rates, weather patterns, market fluctuations—the predictable rhythm of city life.

Then, a photograph appeared that stopped Hwak mid-stride.

The bald commander's mutilated corpse dominated the screen, his empty eye socket and severed cybernetic arm connection clearly visible. The image lasted only seconds before content filters activated, replacing it with a generic crime scene symbol, but Hwak had seen enough.

Recognition hit him like a physical blow. Those weren't just similar cybernetic components—they were identical to what he'd given Soniya. The realization triggered a cascade of implications: the cybernetics hadn't come from some random scrap heap; they had been forcibly removed from a high-ranking White Eyes commander.

*Someone took them. Someone who left them in my apartment.*

Cold dread pooled in Hwak's stomach. His hands trembled as he pivoted, abandoning his homeward path and sprinting toward Soniya's workshop. Each footfall seemed to echo the same terrifying question: what had happened during those missing days?

He burst through her hidden entrance, lungs burning, sweat plastering his academy uniform to his skin. Words failed him momentarily as he fought to regulate his breathing.

"Water," he finally gasped. "Water!"

Soniya tossed him a bottle, which he caught clumsily. "What happened?" she demanded, scanning the doorway behind him. "Is someone after you? Did you steal something?"

Unable to form coherent sentences, Hwak gestured frantically toward her news terminal, making the universal gesture for "turn it on."

Soniya complied, her expression shifting from annoyance to horror as the same crime report appeared on her screen. She looked from the displayed image to Hwak and back again, the color draining from her face as she made the same connection he had.

"You've killed us both," she whispered, voice barely audible over the news anchor's detached commentary.

Hwak slumped against the wall, the magnitude of their situation crushing down upon him. "What do we do?"

Soniya's mind worked visibly, cycling through scenarios with ruthless efficiency. When she spoke, her voice had reclaimed its steadiness—a craftsman's practical approach to an unexpected design flaw.

"Act normal," she instructed. "Keep your weapons inactive except in absolute emergencies. Use them only as ordinary blades. If anyone scans them, their military-grade origins would be immediately apparent." She moved to her security console, initiating additional countermeasures. "Be careful with everything. Move deliberately. Watch before acting."

She turned toward her AI assistant, a compact unit she'd affectionately named Riko. "Access the encrypted files from the ocular implant."

The workshop's lights dimmed as a projection materialized between them. Footage began playing—clinical and detached, documenting what could only be described as systematic atrocity.

A boy from the settlements, perhaps sixteen, strapped to an examination table. His body convulsed as hybrid evolution protocols activated, his screams giving way to unintelligible babbling as his mind fractured under the strain. A mechanical arm entered the frame, surgical precision guiding its movement as it extracted a glowing crystal from the boy's chest cavity. The subject went still, life extinguished like a candle.

A disembodied voice announced: "*High-grade core collected.*" The crystal disappeared into a specialized containment unit.

Additional files revealed the broader context—these cores, harvested from settlement children with compatible physiologies, commanded astronomical prices among the ultra-wealthy. The crystals powered the most advanced Evolan transformations, granting abilities that wouldn't otherwise be possible.

"That's why the process is so expensive," Hwak murmured, the pieces falling into place. "The advertisements, the promises of better lives through evolution—it's all designed to identify potential sources. They focus on those without connections, those who won't be missed."

Soniya's expression hardened. "Small clubs throughout the city run similar operations—luring desperate workers with promises of opportunity, selecting the compatible ones, discarding the rest."

The implications turned Hwak's blood to ice. "The academy... is that what they're doing to me? Testing me for compatibility?"

"I think so," Soniya confirmed, her voice gentle despite the harshness of her words. "When you're fully prepared, you'll likely face the same fate."

Panic surged through him. "I'm not going back. I'll tell my father—"

"Don't be stupid," Soniya cut him off. "The White Eyes are involved now. They'll kill both you and your father at the first sign of suspicion." She gripped his shoulders. "For now, maintain normalcy. We'll find a solution, but rash actions will only accelerate the timeline."

Hwak's posture collapsed inward, shoulders hunching as the weight of their predicament settled upon him. He resembled a wounded animal—confused, afraid, and suddenly aware of being trapped in a game whose rules he'd never understood.