The Agreement

At 9:00 pm, the front door creaked open with a quiet click as Wen-Li stepped inside, her shoulders drooped with weariness, boots scuffing against the polished floor. She let out a sigh—half fatigue, half the quiet grief of knowing too much.

Cradled in her arms, Wen-Mi, her snow-white feline, wriggled slightly before leaping down with soft agility. The fluffball immediately padded into the living room, tail flicking with feline arrogance.

"Oi, don't shed all over the carpet again," Wen-Li muttered, kicking off her boots with a grunt as she followed. "That rug cost me my entire dignity bargaining at Veilmoor Plaza."

Wen-Mi spun round mid-step and gave a long, drawn-out "Meowrhh," as if chastising her for the audacity of sarcasm.

"Yeah, yeah, I missed you too."

She smiled faintly, then trudged to the sink, splashed cold water on her face, and stared into the mirror. Her reflection blinked back—eyes tired, soul heavier. A Chief who was no longer sure what was right.

After drying her face, she slumped into the sofa. Her grey uniform jacket was half unbuttoned, her black undershirt slightly creased. Wen-Mi jumped beside her, curled up with a sigh, and promptly began purring against her thigh. The rhythm of the fan overhead spun in lazy loops above her—a mechanical lullaby.

The room fell still.

Her eyes fixed on the ceiling, but her mind wasn't there.

Jun's words echoed, looping through her skull like a quiet storm.

"If anyone can reach that part of him... I believe it's you."

She blinked. Once. Twice. Her throat tightened.

"Why... me?"

The question slipped from her lips like a ghost.

Her fingers absentmindedly stroked Wen-Mi's fur. Her breathing slowed.

Everyone fears him. The shadows cling to him like a second skin. A monster made, not born. Agent-90... Velvet Guillotine... yet—Father saw something in him. So did Madam Di-Xian. And now... me?

She pressed her thumb and forefinger against the bridge of her nose, trying to stifle the burn behind her eyes.

"What are you really, 90?" she whispered. "And how deep does this go?"

Her eyes fell upon: On the coffee table, her gaze fell upon a framed photograph of her father, Chief Wen-Luo, with his two children. Her younger self, in school uniform, smiled. Her brother Wen-Liao, proudly wearing his cadet insignia.

A tear traced a quiet line down her cheek. She didn't wipe it.

"Liao…" she murmured. "How are you holding up at the FAC? Are you even safe in that war machine of a system?"

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Wen-Mi stirred and reached out a paw to her arm as if sensing the sorrow pulsing through her bones.

"It's alright," she whispered, stroking the cat with gentle circles. "I just... I just need to keep going, don't I?"

But in her chest, the weight of the unknown pressed like a stone.

She leaned her head back, let her eyes fall shut, and let the silence of the room swallow the rest.

Next day, on 2nd June 2042, at SSCBF headquarters, the atmosphere buzzed with its usual undercurrent of purpose—clattering keyboards, the subtle hum of surveillance monitors, and boots tapping against the polished floors.

Lan Qian hunched over her workstation, eyes darting between lines of code and archived surveillance feeds, fingers dancing rapidly across the keyboard. A faint scowl lined her brow—focused and relentless.

Nearby, Captain Robert Voreyevsky stood at the coffee machine, swirling a fresh cup in his hand as he took a long sip. The bitterness was perfect.

At that moment, Captain Lingaong Xuein strolled past, arms stretching overhead as she cracked her knuckles. Her braid swayed with each exaggerated movement like a feline rousing from a nap.

"Miss Captain," Robert called with a smirk, "you're unusually sprightly this morning."

"And you, Mr. Captain?" she retorted, raising a brow. "Spent the holiday napping on your overpriced sofa, didn't you?"

"Naturally. Our kind rarely get rest. Yesterday was a government miracle—I let my neurons breathe."

"Which explains the coffee addiction."

"It's not addiction, it's bio-optimisation," he replied, half-serious. "Caffeine, riboflavin, niacin, magnesium... It's practically medicinal."

Xuein chuckled under her breath and folded her arms.

"Have you seen Xuemin and his lot?"

"They'll report in shortly," she said, her tone laced with quiet confidence.

Sunlight filtered through the venetian blinds, casting slanted stripes across the mahogany desk. Chief Wen-Li sat with her back straight, rifling through a pile of confidential dossiers. Her eyes flicked across biometric data, psychological profiles, and incident logs.

Some names were familiar. Others... unsettling.

Her mind lingered on Gon-Whiel. That cursed place. A scar on history—one she could no longer ignore.

She leaned back slowly in her chair, her voice crisp with authority as she picked up the receiver.

"Commander Krieg, this is Chief Wen-Li. Could you join me in my office? There's a matter I'd like to discuss."

Minutes later, a firm knock echoed on the door.

"Chief. May I?"

"Please," she nodded.

Commander Krieg entered, towering and solemn as always. He pulled a chair opposite her, eyes already calculating.

"You mentioned something urgent?"

"Gon-Whiel," she said bluntly.

His expression stiffened. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

"That old ghost again." says Krieg, "All of a sudden about this. Chief?"

"Actually i'm interest of this so…" she says

"Did you investigate there?" he ask

But Wen-Li didn't respond,

"You were there," she continued. "Alongside my father, Ren-Li, and Gonda. You found him, didn't you? Subject-90."

Krieg nodded once, the lines on his face deepening.

"Aye. That boy… there was nothing left in his eyes. Just echoes of pain. We found others too. All broken. He just happened to survive."

Wen-Li leaned forward, her voice low.

"What exactly did they do to them?"

"They weren't just trained. They were redesigned. Bio-weapons. Stripped of their emotional regulators. Memories overwritten. The barcode on his skull? Not just a mark. It's a genetic timestamp. That boy's DNA was spliced with precision. Custom-built to obey. To kill."

"Are there others like him?"

"Some died during testing," Krieg said gravely. "Some escaped and joined mercenary syndicates. A few—damaged beyond repair—became outlaws or Sinners. But yes. There were more."

"You're saying... there might've been ninety?" she asked.

Krieg gave a slow nod.

"The last file I read before it was scrubbed listed 'Subject-90'. Which means there were at least eighty-nine more."

The silence in the room thickened. Wen-Li inhaled sharply.

"And the abuse?"

"Unmistakable. Old scars. Dislocated joints healed wrong. Some of the bodies... we found them in pits."

Wen-Li swallowed hard, then quietly closed the folder before her.

"Thank you, Commander. That was—unpleasant, but necessary."

He stood, but paused before leaving.

"Oh, before I forget—President Song wanted me to pass along that there's going to be an agreement signed."

"What sort of agreement?"

"Between SSCBF and the High Chaebols' secret police."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Those surveillance wolves? They're leagues ahead of us in intel."

"Exactly," Krieg said with a sigh. "I don't like it either, but maybe you ought to speak to the President directly."

She nodded, then added as he turned:

"Commander… the day before yesterday, I saw something in the President. He looked... haunted. If you get a moment, would you check in on him for me?"

Krieg paused at the door and glanced over his shoulder.

"Of course. I'll see what's troubling him."

"Thank you."

He exited with heavy steps, and once more, Wen-Li was alone.

She whispered under her breath, pensive:

"Genetically engineered weapons… Who authorised Gon‑Whiel? And what was it aiming to build?"

She paused.

"And how deep does this black hole go? Why didn't Madam Di-Xian mention this?

At Shin-Zhang Corporation, the hydraulic doors hissed open with a clean mechanical breath.

Alvi Taslim, her long rose-pink hair swaying gently in the wind that swept through the corridor vents, entered the office with graceful urgency. A dossier clutched in one hand, her other adjusted the spectacles perched low on the bridge of her nose. Her heels tapped lightly across the obsidian floor as she approached the desk.

Behind a curved, glass-top bureau, Madam Di-Xian glanced up from her documents. She, too, wore reading glasses—thin, rimless, surgical in style. Her expression was unreadable, yet the slight lift of one brow betrayed a curiosity already piqued.

"So, Alvi," she said coolly, her voice like silk drawn over steel, "what have you brought me? What's the word?"

Alvi halted, composed yet visibly tense.

"Madam," she replied, lifting the file slightly. "It's about the agreement—"

"—Between SSCBF and the High Chaebols' secret police," Madam Di-Xian interrupted, her tone clipped. "A so-called pact of unity and alliance. But let's not romanticise it... It's an elaborate illusion."

Alvi blinked in surprise.

"An illusion? Then... what is the agreement really for?"

Madam Di-Xian removed her glasses, folding them with slow precision. She rose from her seat and stepped toward the wide porthole behind her desk. The city lights of Hanlow District of Zhaoxiang blinked far below—distant stars on a mechanical horizon.

"It's political theatre, Alvi," she said, almost musing. "High Chaebols adores control—always has. But SSCBF? They're an independent blade, unsheathed and sharp. This agreement is not a bridge. It's a snare."

Alvi's brow furrowed.

"A trap?"

"Not just any trap." Di-Xian turned, her expression colder now. "It's precise, mathematical... the kind of scheme where petals of dandelions fall gently into a scorpion's lair—so gently they never realise what awaits beneath."

Alvi swallowed, lips parting slightly as the metaphor sank in.

"So then... why don't we stop it?"

Madam Di-Xian stepped closer, her voice now velvet laced with iron.

"Because, Alvi, to intervene would ignite a war of shadows. SSCBF must come to its own conclusions. They are not children. Let them realise the poison in the chalice."

"But what if the Chaebols' secret police discover us? What are we doing? What are you building?"

"They won't," Di-Xian said simply. "And if they try... they will not succeed. There are currents in the dark that even the brightest drones cannot track."

Alvi hesitated, adjusting her glasses again.

"And what of Chief Wen-Li?"

Madam Di-Xian's expression softened slightly. A flicker of something maternal passed behind her eyes—respect tinged with sorrow.

"Wen-Li is a woman of intellect. A tactician. Her father raised her well. She will not accept the terms blindly. But... should she choose to—then we remain in the shadows. We observe. We wait. And when the time is right, we act."

She turned back to the porthole, her silhouette etched against the gleam of the skyline. Her voice became quieter, almost reflective.

"Strange, isn't it? One organisation serves humanity freely... the other, bound by government, thrives on control and obedience. And yet here they stand, pretending at harmony."

Alvi stepped beside her, the file now forgotten in her hands.

"Their motives feel... manufactured. Even I find myself asking: why now? Why them?"

Di-Xian's crimson gaze narrowed toward the skyline, voice dropping to a near-whisper:

"What is your true purpose, Gavriel Elazar?"

Then at the meeting room, A hushed ambition filled the air. President Song Louyang sat majestically at the head of the polished oak table, fingers steepled beneath his chin, brow taut with uneasy calculation. Seated around him were the chairmen of the High Council:

Zhang Wei, tidying his monocle with fastidious care.

Fahad Al‑Farsi, quietly scrolling through his datapad, eyes narrowed.

Elizabeth Carter, statuesque and focused, her manicured nails tapped a slow, contemplative rhythm.

Selim Kaya, leaning back with steel precision in his posture, hands folded in his lap.

Andreas Karalis, booming with high-polish authority, sat erect.

Hiroto Nakamura, impassive, studying Wen‑Li with calm restraint.

Aarav Sharma, compact and decisive, lent an air of executive control.

Rahim Ahmed, gentle yet resolute, nodded once in acknowledgment.

Kim Ji-Soo, mid‑40s and elegant, adjusted her glasses with a thoughtful tilt.

At precisely 14:00, the door opened, and Chief Wen-Li entered—her posture exacting, eyes unflinching. She offered a crisp nod.

Wen-Li: "President, Chairmen, good afternoon. What's the purpose of today's gathering?"

Only the soft scrape of a chair announced President Song's reply. He spoke with measured gravity.

President Song: "We convene today to discuss the proposed alliance between SSCBF and the High Chaebols' Secret Police."

He swept his gaze across the officials.

Zhang Wei (leaning forward): "It is conceived as a pact of unity, an alliance of peace and cooperation."

President Song turned to Wen-Li.

President Song: "Chief, the agreement is scheduled for signing this evening at 19:00, at High Chaebols Tower. We wish to hear your perspective—how this collaboration might strengthen our efforts, your officers, and our organisation."

Wen-Li took a breath, composing herself. She tapped her pen twice on the desk—measured and deliberate.

Wen-Li: "President, Chairmen... the High Chaebols' Secret Police operate under layers of corporate oversight. Their remit is not justice—it's control. Their interests are invariably aligned with market fortunes rather than public safety. SSCBF, by contrast, answers to the people: evidence, due process, transparency. That said, I will not dismiss any opportunity to further our mission. If this alliance affords us greater access to their intelligence networks, if it enables safer infrastructure operations and protects civilian lives, I will support it—but critically, only under strict terms.

"We require full oversight. Joint command of operations. Independent auditing of shared data. And if at any point their agenda contradicts ours, I reserve the right to withdraw immediately."

A stillness fell over the table. Then Zhang Wei exhaled, a slow glow of respect crossing his face.

Zhang Wei: "Your vigilance is commendable, Chief."

Others nodded: Rahim with subdued agreement, Andreas with a firm dip of his head.

President Song allowed a measured smile.

President Song: "Chief Wen-Li, your conditions are fair, exacting… and necessary. We shall draft the memorandum of understanding tonight. Speak with High Chaebols directly; ensure your concerns are addressed."

Wen-Li inclined her head, expression firm and assured.

Wen-Li: "Thank you, President. I accept the mandate—on those terms."

President Song leaned forward.

President Song: "Excellent. Proceed with caution—and courage. The nation watches."

The chairmen nodded in unison, unity forged through pragmatism. President Song tapped the table once.

President Song: "Meeting adjourned."

At 16:30, the air smelled of recycled noodles and overbrewed coffee. Officers were slouched across cafeteria benches like half-melted candles. At the centre of it all sat the SSCBF's elite squad, swarmed around a metal table cluttered with coffee cups, datasheets, half-eaten protein bars, and a suspiciously glowing bento box.

Nightingale, arms folded and eyes laser-focused, stood like a queen among the chaos.

(deadpan): "So... our dear Chief accepted the alliance. We're now partners with the High Chaebols Secret Police."

Captain Robert Voeyevsky almost choked on his coffee.

(with exaggerated dread): "Brilliant. Just what I needed. Suited-up robots watching us breathe like we're overdue tax returns."

Captain Lingaong Xuein, casually stretching her arms behind her head, gave him a sly look.

(teasing): "Relax, Mr Tactical Brooding. Maybe they'll teach you how to smile without it looking like a crime scene."

Xuemin, seated beside her with arms crossed, raised a brow.

 "And maybe they'll teach you to read subtext before speaking. That'd be something new."

Feng Shaoyun, half asleep with her head on the table, grunted.

"Alliance or not, can they bring better cafeteria food? I'm pretty sure my dumpling just blinked."

Ping Lianhua, peering into her bowl, tilted it warily.

"Nope, mine moved. I swear I saw it flinch."

Qu Yexun, ever the architecture nerd, waved his tablet in thought.

"Honestly, I don't mind working with them. Their HQ has better infrastructure than ours. Aesthetic. Clean lines. Real minimalist zen."

Zhai Linyu blinked.

"We're talking about an intelligence merger, not redecorating your flat."

Yang Shaoyong (snorting): "Wait until Qu defects for better interior design."

Gu Zhaoyue, ever the realist, adjusted her glasses.

"Can we just remember they have full state surveillance access? We're bringing wolves into the sheepfold."

Demitin, seated backwards on her chair like she owned the planet, cracked her knuckles.

"Let them come. I'd love to see one of them try pulling rank on me."

Tao-Ren, sipping tea with samurai serenity, opened one eye.

"Demitin, you broke the vending machine last week for giving you sparkling water instead of still. You're not a diplomatic asset."

Sakim, the towering brute, raised a finger.

"To be fair, that vending machine had it coming."

Louisese, calm and dead-eyed as usual, interjected quietly.

"Let's not forget the last 'joint operation' we had. They monitored everything—including Robert's stress-snacking."

Robert (groaning): "Don't remind me. I was chewing a pen cap, and they logged it as a 'psychological malfunction'."

Lan Qian, typing rapidly on her datapad, didn't look up.

"Good. Maybe they'll also monitor your caffeine intake. Or your self-esteem spikes when Xuein pays you a compliment."

Robert (defensive): "She said my shoes were 'less tragic'. That's high praise."

Xuein (grinning): "I stand by it. You've come a long way since that combat sandal incident."

The room erupted in laughter.

Xuemin (dryly): "This is our elite force, ladies and gentlemen. May the gods preserve us all."

Nightingale finally exhaled with a small smirk, then tapped the table twice to bring order.

"Jokes aside, listen up. We don't know what High Chaebols' real game is. So eyes open, ears sharp. We work with them—not for them. Got it?"

All of them nodded, some more reluctantly than others.

Feng Shaoyun (yawning): "Fine, but I'm calling it now. First one of them calls me 'civilian' or 'little officer', I'm flipping their lunch tray."

Zhai Linyu: "Then I'm betting on five minutes into the first meeting."

"The time has arrive at 6:59 pm. a surreal twilight enveloped the brutalist skyscraper. Overhead, the "Blood Moon"—a corrupted satellite—cast vermilion light across gothic cyber-arches. Fog slithered around obsidian bridges, while watchtowers and auto-turrets bristled like mechanical guardians.

Across the polished obsidian entrance, President Song Louyang, Zhang Wei, Elizabeth Carter, Aarav Sharma, Kim Ji‑Soo, and others from the High Council stood flanked by Chief Wen‑Li, Nightingale, Captain Robert Voreyevsky, Captain Lingaong Xuein and Commander Krieg. Tension glinted in every eye.

They were greeted by Chief Ilse Richter, her demeanour finely tuned, standing beside:

Captain Shira Malachai – covert counter‑intel

Captain Elan Mordechai – master interrogator

A cadre of 35 operatives – spanning data analysts, field agents, assassins, cyber‑specialists, and undercover spies

High‑ranking operatives – including Eitan Shalom (hacking), Farzana Akhtar (bioweapons), Luciano Ferro (assassin) and others

Richter stepped forward, stance rigid but courteous.

Richter: "President, Chairmen, Chief Wen‑Li… thank you for honouring our invitation tonight."

President Song offered a steady nod.

President Song: "Chief Richter. We bring regards and readiness."

From behind, Wen‑Li approached with composed grace. She extended her hand to Richter.

Wen‑Li: "Chief Richter. I appreciate your hospitality."

Richter's grin was fleeting but professional as she accepted the shake.

Richter: "SSCBF and SCP (Secure Counter Police)—tonight marks a dawning era."

Nightingale discreetly nodded at Captain Shira Malachai.

Nightingale (whisper to Wen‑Li): "Skilled in silent inference—watch her closely."

Wen‑Li's gaze flicked across the room, assessing.

Wen‑Li, quietly to Richter: "Permission is granted. May this accord elevate both organisations—legally, transparently, and for the people's safety."

Richter's eyes shimmered for a heartbeat.

Richter: "Of course. Trust shall be reciprocated."

Captain Robert sidled up beside Wen‑Li.

Robert, sotto voce: "Anyone else feeling like we just shook hands with a cobra in velvet gloves?"

Wen‑Li allowed a tight smile and a subtle nod.

Wen‑Li (low): "Keep your eyes open and your wits sharper."

On the distant other side of the hall, Eitan Shalom whispered to Farzana Akhtar:

Eitan: "They've accepted. Time to activate the digital grid."

Farzana: "Bioweapon labs are prepped. Awaiting commands."

As the two leaders—Richter and Wen‑Li—returned to their respective parties, the hum of machinery and murmured diplomacy thickened the space.

The Nexus Control Room beckoned above, alive with thousands of surveillance feeds—every screen a pixel in the unfolding saga.

 A vast circular sanctum of surveillance: holographic panels floated mid-air, each displaying hundreds of live feeds. The ambience pulsed with red-white lighting—an unnerving heartbeat of authority.

At the centre, beneath a looping banner "ALLIANCE OF UNITY & INTEGRITY", stood:

Chief Wen‑Li, flanked by Nightingale, Captain Voeyevsky, Captain Xuein, and Commander Krieg

Chief Ilse Richter, flanked by Captain Shira Malachai, Captain Elan Mordechai, and the elite cadre of SCP operatives (Eitan, Farzana, etc.)

Long ceremonial tablets were placed before Wen‑Li and Richter. A hush fell.

President Song cleared his throat.

"By the authority of Nin‑Ran‑Gi's High Chaebols Union, we solemnly establish a strategic alliance between the SSCBF and the SCP. May it reinforce justice, security, and cooperation."

Richter nodded. Wen‑Li nodded. They each lifted their quills in unison and signed. Pens whispered across metal in a crisp, final swoop.

Immediately, two SCP officers stepped forward, each bearing a small velvet box. Inside, several Sentinel Helix Bracelets, sleek black coils etched with crimson filigree, waited.

Officer Malachai, presenting a bracelet:

"For your officers and commanders—Sentinel Helix. It will enhance coordination between our forces. They allow you to navigate, communicate, and locate your comrades with unmatched precision."

Lingaong Xuein, tucking her hair behind an ear, leaned in to Nightingale:

"Isn't this a bit... ominous?"

Nightingale offered a tight smile, eyes flicking across the room.

"It might be. But refusing isn't an option."

As the bracelets were slipped onto wrists—their wrists tightened. The moment metal touched flesh, the room seemed to exhale.

They gasped in unison: the bracelets latched on with a searing pressure, as if biting into bone. The sensation was foreign, intimate—a violation. And unbeknown to them, the devices rewrote their DNA, inserting a sinister, third helix.

President Song, voice steady:

"The alliance is now formally recognised. Guards, escort our guests out."

Wen‑Li approached Richter and shook her hand—firm, measured, diplomatic.

Robert shook hands with Elan Mordechai, both flashing professional smiles.

Krieg exchanged a nod and handshake with Elan too.

Nightingale shook hands with Shira Malachai—a silent gesture of uneasy truce.

Even Eitan and Farzana moved forward to greet SSCBF Captain delegates, their smiles polite but cold.

The ceremony concluded. Media drones buzzed. Cameras blinked. And then, as if triggered, all ceased. The alliance was sealed.

Agent‑90 stood in silhouette, coat flapping in the industrial breeze on a nearby rooftop. His mechanical monocle reflected the crimson glow of the "Blood Moon" overhead. He listened via an earpiece:

"Ceremony successful... Walnuts stored..."

His jaw tightened. He spoke softly into the comm-link.

"Madam. Alliance was signed. Bracelets distributed. Terms enacted."

A static burst. Then two words, calm and chilly:

"Receive them."

Madam Di‑Xian sat behind her desk, porthole behind her framing the veiled skyline. The last of the ceremony's feed played in a silent holo-screen.

Her red fingers tapped lightly on the armrests. Crimson hair caught the shifting glow.

She murmured to herself.

"So the trap has snapped shut."

She poured herself a slender glass of dark cordial, letting it swirl.

"Loyalty pregnancies don't bloom with a forced contract. They choke. This gift of unity—they think it's theirs to wield."

Her expression shifted to steely resolution.

"Let them experiment on DNA. I will ensure the seed they plant is one they cannot control."

Madam Di‑Xian raised her glass in silent toast to the unseen future.

The alliance had begun—and so had the war inside their genes.