Chapter 29: The Forgotten Voice

"The last enemies of a broken world are the ones that wear familiar faces."

The wind off the outer wall was dry, bitter, and sharp.

Rentarō stood at the edge of an abandoned communication spire on the outskirts of Old District 2, scanning the smog-choked horizon. From here, the sky looked like it had been carved open with a blunt knife—pale orange bleeding into ash-gray, the distant Monolith ruins casting jagged shadows over the ruins of what was once called a capital.

The rest of the team was gearing up in silence.

Below, the crawler's engine idled, cloaked under rubble nets. Tina was checking long-range optics. Enju and Hotaru did synchronized stretches—casual, but you could see the tension coiling just beneath the surface.

Renge stood near a broken relay dish, her hands gently brushing over a rusted panel. She didn't look like a weapon now—just a girl recovering from something vast and cruel.

But her eyes told the truth.

She remembered everything.

"The signal originated from a repeater grid that was disconnected after the Aldebaran War," she said quietly, as the group gathered around the rust-pocked terminal. "It shouldn't exist anymore. But someone's been piggybacking short transmissions on a dead Council frequency."

Kisara frowned. "Dead how?"

"Intentionally looped. Repeating white noise. You'd only hear the command code if you had the Chrysalis sync signature."

"And you do."

Renge nodded.

"I was built to obey it."

Rentarō narrowed his eyes. "But you're not obeying it anymore."

She turned to him. "I chose to follow you instead."

The signal led them north—into the fractured shell of the Arcadia Research Complex.

Once, it was a think tank under the Civil Security Bureau. During the final days of the Aldebaran conflict, it had gone completely dark. No evacuation. No surrender. Just silence.

Rumors said the Council wiped it out themselves, to prevent leaks.

Now, its upper spires leaned like dead towers, glass panels shattered and skeletal. Ash drifted in the air. There were no birds here. Not even Gastrea.

The place reeked of old science and forgotten sins.

Karasuma frowned as they crept through the main gate. "This whole place feels wrong."

Tina scanned the perimeter. "It's shielded. I'm picking up localized signal jammers—Council-grade. Someone doesn't want us calling for help."

Kisara smirked coldly. "We won't need it."

They reached the primary elevator shaft after descending through four collapsed security levels. Rentarō led the way, his flashlight beam cutting through clouds of dust and hanging cables.

At the bottom, a door waited.

Sealed tight. Old biometric lock glowing with residual power.

Renge stepped forward. Her hand hovered over the panel, trembling.

"They made me open doors like this a hundred times," she murmured. "Every time was worse than the last."

Rentarō put a hand on her shoulder.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to."

She pressed her palm to the scanner.

It hissed open.

The room beyond wasn't what they expected.

No labs. No weapons. No surgical tables.

Just a large circular chamber, dimly lit by exposed ceiling lights and surrounded by massive data drives—most inactive. One flickered with partial power.

In the center stood a console.

And a chair.

It was empty.

Rentarō approached warily. "Where's the signal?"

Renge pointed upward.

A single speaker in the ceiling crackled to life.

"Subject zero-seven-four. Welcome back."

Rentarō froze.

The voice was filtered. Familiar.

Faintly mechanical.

Renge stepped forward. "I know that voice."

It laughed—softly, almost kindly.

"I knew you would remember. Your override is incomplete. But no matter. Your escort will carry the message for me."

Enju narrowed her eyes. "What message?"

The lights dimmed.

And from behind the main console, something moved.

A shape unfolded—once human, now barely recognizable. Cybernetic implants ran along the spine. Mechanical limbs supported a skeletal frame half-consumed by grafted bio-weapons.

Kisara exhaled. "Oh god…"

Rentarō's voice was a whisper. "That's…"

The figure stepped forward.

And spoke.

"Initiator Units: Synchronize. Execution command authorized."

It was one of the early test subjects.

A failed prototype of Chrysalis.

Barely alive.

Still connected.

The voice in the ceiling spoke again.

"This was never about Chrysalis. It was always about evolution. You killed the Council. But you forgot what they feared the most—what came after."

The prototype lunged.

The room exploded into movement.

Hotaru dashed left, drawing its attention. Enju went high, flipping over its reaching limbs. Rentarō fired a precise burst into its shoulder—no effect.

The thing moved like a nightmare—fast, jerky, unbalanced but violent.

Tina provided suppressive fire from the rear, piercing its thigh actuator. It stumbled.

That's when Shōma struck.

His blade cleaved through the mechanical spine with a single two-handed arc, severing its core system.

The prototype collapsed, twitching.

Renge ran to the console.

"They're broadcasting still—shut it down—"

Rentarō joined her, overriding the manual locks, triggering a cascade wipe on the drives.

The speaker's final words:

"You can kill bodies. You can burn blueprints. But you cannot stop the question: What if this is the next step?"

Then silence.

They walked out of the Arcadia Complex as the sun began to rise.

No sirens.

No Council.

No answers.

Just each other.

As they reached the crawler, Enju asked, "Was that the end of Chrysalis?"

Kisara shook her head. "No. That was the corpse of what it became."

Shōma added quietly, "But maybe not what it could become."

Rentarō looked to Renge, now sleeping, peaceful at last.

"We'll decide what the future becomes," he said. "Not ghosts. Not machines."

Tina smiled.

Karasuma chuckled. "Let's hope the future listens."