Chapter 11: Warehouse Mission

Though other classes continued with their lessons, Kilos' class couldn't because of what had happened earlier that day. The strange incident had left the class unsettled and teachers confused. Something about Ria's sudden emotional outburst, the shrill and unnatural tone of her cry, had shaken everyone. Kilos, however, was more disturbed than the others—because he had seen something in her eyes. Something hidden. Something dangerous.

Kilos stopped by the cafeteria to have his lunch, but the food before him felt tasteless. His mind was still back in the classroom, reliving the moment Ria had screamed. Although he firmly believed she was innocent, there was something about that scream. It didn't feel like a regular cry of fear—it felt controlled, almost like a signal or a key unlocking something forbidden. Everyone else had come to a consensus that Ria was responsible for the mysterious breach into the administrative office. Everyone, that is, except Kilos.

He hurriedly finished his food, barely tasting a bite, and headed straight to the dormitory. As he pushed open the door, he found it empty—his roommates were likely still in class or busy around the compound. The silence gave him a moment to think. He dropped his bag heavily on his bed and stood still for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts and questions.

"I must find the root to my..." he whispered, trailing off mid-sentence as a wave of unease crept over him. He glanced quickly around the room to ensure no one was lurking in the shadows, then quietly stepped out.

He knew he wouldn't have another class until the following day. That gave him time—an opportunity he couldn't waste. Feeling a pressing urgency to act, he scribbled a short note and carefully tucked it under Fred's pillow, hoping his friend would find it if anything went wrong.

Kilos set off, walking briskly through the compound, careful not to draw attention. Twenty long minutes passed before he arrived at the outer gate—the last barrier between him and what he hoped would be the answers. He didn't want anyone to know he was leaving; secrecy was crucial.

"If only I could get to the warehouse," he thought, the memory of the place stirring something deep inside him.

At the gate stood two stern-faced officers. Their cold, watchful eyes scanned him as he approached. Kilos had anticipated this confrontation. He straightened his posture, summoned all the confidence he could muster, and walked directly up to the nearest officer. With sharp, practiced movements, he gave a formal salute.

"On assignment!" he declared firmly.

Without questioning further, the officer responded, "Permitted!"

He activated the gate with a remote device, allowing it to open with a mechanical whir. Kilos' bold statement, along with the glowing band around his wrist, was enough to convince them. The band was not just a symbol—it was a rare mark of honor, visible only to respected individuals with high standing.

Kilos stepped outside the compound and quickly hailed a taxi. As he settled in, the band around his wrist began to blink red and beep—a warning signal. He ignored it. But moments later, the beeping intensified. He sighed and checked the device. A message flashed across its screen: "Unauthorized movement. Subject: Kilos. Tracking active."

He knew the risk, knew what could happen if he was caught. But he was determined. He wasn't just escaping—he was seeking answers. He was on a mission to find the truth about himself, and it lay at the old warehouse.

"Congratulations in advance," a voice whispered.

"Thanks," Kilos replied aloud without thinking.

"Are you okay?" the taxi driver asked, giving him a curious look through the rearview mirror.

"Not to worry," Kilos muttered, forcing a smile. When the taxi reached the outskirts, he alighted, paid the fare, and pressed forward toward the warehouse.

Just then, the red alert on the band ceased. The silence was both comforting and ominous.

Finally, he stood before the warehouse gate. A strange force seemed to pull him closer. This place had always felt significant—like it called to a part of him he hadn't yet discovered. With one strong tug, the gate creaked open, and Kilos slipped inside.

But he was not alone. A large vehicle rolled up behind him—the very same taxi he had taken. Kilos didn't know it, but the taxi had been placed there by the academy, designed as a safety net for runaways. There were several such taxis near the gate, each one meant to trap students who dared to escape.

He headed straight for the machine he had encountered before—the rusted old relic where everything had started. He reached for the chain, tugged it forward and back, trying to get it to connect. It resisted. He leaned his weight against it, thinking it might move under pressure.

As he swung slightly with the chain, he noticed something on the floor—the bottle he had discarded during his last visit. He picked it up, opened it, and poured the remaining contents onto the machine's wheel. He extended the oily liquid to the chain as well.

"Seems they deal with oil here," he mused.

But he wasn't distracted from his mission. He was trying to trigger the same phenomenon—the footsteps, the shifting space, the mysterious force. But it wasn't happening. Maybe last time had been a fluke. Maybe it required more time, or more precision.

Frustration mounting, he moved toward the room where he had previously been caught. The door still hung open, swaying faintly as if waiting for him.

Then, a sound. He turned instinctively.

Standing there was the taxi driver.

"Who are you?... I suppose you're the taxi..." Kilos stammered, clearly caught off guard.

"What are you doing here?" the man—Mortkof—asked sternly, suspicion dripping from his voice.

"You should leave now. I owe you no explanation," Kilos shot back, his tone sharp and unwavering.

"Then I'll have to force you," Mortkof replied, stepping toward him.

"Come and get me," Kilos taunted, preparing himself.

Mortkof lunged. Kilos had already spotted a loose chain and swung it toward his attacker. The chain struck Mortkof's head, but he barely flinched. His skull was like iron. Kilos spun, aiming a kick to his temple. Mortkof raised his arm, blocking the blow.

The room echoed with the sharp clash of foot meeting palm.

"Is this all you've got?" Mortkof sneered.

Kilos' heart raced. This wasn't an ordinary man.

"I will return you to the academy," Mortkof announced.

"Oh, is that why you're here? I'm not running away, you know," Kilos replied, breathless but defiant.

Surrendering, Kilos allowed himself to be restrained. Mortkof gripped him firmly and led him out. As they walked, the band on Kilos' wrist pulsed softly.

Just then, Kilos heard it—the sound he had been waiting for. Footsteps. From behind.

He spun around—and froze.

There stood a boy, naked, his eyes wide and pleading. In his hands, he held a book sealed with a strange emblem. His thin frame shook from cold. His hair was matted, his skin pale.

Mortkof pulled him forward. The boy vanished.

"Let's go, you crazy dude," Mortkof grunted, glancing around but seeing nothing.

Outside, Lucas was already waiting.

"Hope he didn't give you a tough time? Last time we were here, he knocked one of my men unconscious," Lucas said, half-grinning.

"Then, he would die," Mortkof replied darkly, not mentioning the chain incident.

"Let's go," Lucas ordered. Kilos was shoved into the bus.

But Kilos didn't care. Not about the punishment that awaited him. What haunted him now was the image of the boy. Who was he? What was that book? And why did he look so desperate?

The taxi returned to the gate. The guard raised the barrier, waiting for the vehicle to enter. But Lucas didn't move. Instead, the soldier approached.

"Are you alright, Sir?" he asked, leaning down to look inside.

Lucas pointed at Kilos.

"I want you to pay attention to this face. He mustn't cross this gate again. Never."

Never. The word hit like a blow. Even Mortkof raised an eyebrow, visibly uncomfortable. Students had the right to move around if they maintained discipline. Lucas didn't care.

"But he has the band?" the soldier asked, hoping for reason.

"Dare me!" Lucas snapped.

The discussion ended there.