Inside, the facility was a maze of sterile white hallways, humming machinery, and security cameras. Hayamei crouched behind a cart of supplies, scanning for cameras and laser grids.
"Looks like security's tighter than Malik said," she muttered. "We need to move fast."
Aiyana peeked around a corner, eyes narrowing. "There. Down that hall. That's the lab."
Hayamei's stomach twisted. The lab held the answers—and the horrors. Her father's experiments, the Blackout Protocol, the children trained as weapons. And somewhere inside... Na'Nami's future hung by a thread. The lab doors loomed before them, cold steel reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights. Hayamei's pulse hammered in her ears. She could feel Na'Nami's small hand trembling against hers, but the little girl said nothing—her eyes wide, alert, silently trusting her mother.
Aiyana whispered, "This is it. No turning back."
Hayamei nodded, taking a deep breath. She pushed the door open slowly, each hinge squeal magnified in the silent corridor. Inside, rows of children sat motionless in chairs, electrodes attached to their temples, eyes blank. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, a sinister lullaby that sent chills down Hayamei's spine.
"God..." she muttered, stomach churning. "They're already hooked up."
A voice rang out, cold and mocking from behind a reinforced glass panel.
"Well, well... if it isn't my little prodigy."
Hayamei froze. Her father stepped into view, flanked by heavily armed guards. His expression was calm, almost pleased, as if seeing her here was exactly what he wanted.
"You," she spat, fury rising. "This stops tonight."
He smiled thinly. "It stops when I say it stops, Hayamei. Not a moment sooner."
⸻
Gunfire erupted without warning. Aiyana had already drawn her weapon, taking cover behind a lab table. Hayamei shielded Na'Nami behind a stack of metal containers, pulling her close.
The first wave of guards surged forward. Hayamei's eyes blazed with controlled fury. Every movement was precise—ducking, weaving, firing. One guard went down, another lunged—but Aiyana intercepted him. Together, the three of them moved with lethal efficiency, pushing deeper into the lab.
Her father's calm demeanor never faltered. "You think you can fight me in my own house?" he called. "You're too predictable. Too human."
Hayamei gritted her teeth. "And you're too blind to see your empire crumbling."
⸻
Behind the glass panel, several of the children stirred, their neural implants flickering erratically. Hayamei's chest twisted. They were already lost to him—almost. But she wasn't about to let Na'Nami become one of them.
She darted forward, grabbing a control panel and smashing it with all her strength. Sparks flew. Machines whirred and died. Some of the children blinked, their eyes clearing slightly.
Her father's anger flared. He barked orders, and more guards advanced. Hayamei's hands shook slightly, but her aim never wavered. She felt the familiar rush—the dangerous, exhilarating rhythm of battle.
Aiyana fired at a guard rushing from the side, and Na'Nami ducked instinctively behind her mother. Hayamei's heart screamed at her to protect her daughter, even as her fingers tightened around her gun.
⸻
Suddenly, Ghost appeared, sliding in from the shadows. His weapon was steady, precise.
"You've got company," he said grimly. "Let's finish this."
Hayamei's eyes narrowed. His voice held no warmth, only purpose. But she didn't hesitate. They moved as a unit, taking down guards, smashing through machinery, and finally forcing Hayamei's father back to the far end of the lab.
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Impressive... but this is only the beginning."
Hayamei glared at him. "No. This is the end."
She took a step forward, Na'Nami clinging to her side. Ghost moved closer, covering her flank. Aiyana limped toward the control panels, working to disable the last of the machinery.
The lab lights flickered, alarms blared, and outside, the storm pounded like a drumbeat of war.
Hayamei's father's calm smile faltered for the first time. "You think you've won?"
Her answer was a cold, fierce stare. "I don't think. I know."
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