Elsewhere, in the labyrinthine gut of an underground factory, someone fought for breath and consciousness.

  The air was thick—suffocating with the stench of scorched oil, rust, and the metallic tang of old machinery. The low, relentless hum of distant engines vibrated through the concrete, a pulse that seemed to echo inside the bones. In the half-light, a black figure sprawled across the cold floor, utterly still—a discarded shadow, forgotten by the world.

  Then, without warning, a violent shudder rippled through the body, as if some unseen current had jolted it from the depths. Fingers twitched, scraping against gritty concrete. Eyelids fluttered, lashes trembling with the effort of waking. A ragged gasp tore from dry lips, chest heaving as air rushed in—sharp, metallic, laced with dust and fear. Limbs spasmed, muscles clenching and releasing in a desperate attempt to reclaim movement. For a moment, the world was nothing but the thunder of blood in the ears, the echo of a heartbeat pounding against the silence—then, slowly, motion returned, and awareness flickered back to life.

  Shi’s breath came fast, fogging in the chill, recycled air. “T-Traitor,” he spat, the word barely more than a whisper, lost beneath the faint, echoing clangs from somewhere deeper in the maze.

  His long limbs were bound by some unknown material—slick, unyielding, biting into his skin with every twitch. He could feel the pulse of his own blood pounding in his wrists, the restraints cutting off circulation until his fingers tingled and burned. Even his multifunction bracer was gone—stripped from him by Yin.Li.Yin, the very person who’d designed this trap.

  He replayed the betrayal in his mind, heart hammering. Following Chen’s intelligence, Shi had been warned of Yin’s immediate treachery, but he hadn’t expected the ambush to come for him instead of Chen. Shi had always believed Chen should’ve dealt with that Lian’s follower long ago. But for reasons unknown, Chen had tolerated him—half-open eyes, half-closed, never quite awake to the danger.

  Now look. A disaster. Damn it.

  Shi twisted, the restraints biting deeper, sweat slicking his brow despite the cold. The air tasted of rust and panic. His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out the distant whir of fans and the slow drip of condensation from the pipes overhead. They hadn’t killed him—yet—because Lian still needed him as a physician.

  After capturing Shi, Lian came to admire his prize.

  He talked—as he always did when he believed victory was assured—letting his satisfaction spill into careless words.

  By the time the gloating ended, Shi understood. The Ultimate Weapon was not hidden nearby or locked away in some forgotten vault. It was inside the human.

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  Yan Qing was never the target. He was the container.

  The conclusion was obvious: Lian intended to use the weapon’s power to restore a Teleopean body—requiring a skilled medic to manage the procedure.

  The Ultimate Weapon was a singularity that answered to imagination alone—and that was what terrified him most. And Shi knew—if Lian’s copy used psychic suggestion on him, he would be unable to refuse. The thought sent a fresh spike of panic through him.

  What now? He had to warn Chen immediately.

  “Ugh!” The sound tore from his throat as he forced his shoulders and back tight, wrenching the arm bones at the shoulder joint until they dislocated with a sickening pop. Pain exploded through him, sweat beading on his smooth forehead, breath coming in ragged gasps. His bound arms swung forward in a complete rotation, landing in front of his chest. Numb hands, trembling, fumbled at a hidden seam inside his clothing.

  Good. He had a backup communicator.

  His fingers slipped on the slick plastic, urgency making them clumsy. “Xiao,” he hissed, voice shaking with pain and adrenaline. “We have trouble.”

  Static crackled for half a second—then Xiao’s voice sliced through the tension, sharp and controlled, stripped of all ornament.

  “Acknowledged. What are my orders?”

  Shi pressed his forehead to the icy concrete, breath coming in short, ragged bursts as pain radiated from his dislocated shoulders. The silence on the line stretched—far too long. Every second felt like a countdown, the air thick with dread.

  ”Where is Chen?” Shi asked.

  “Chen’s last confirmed location was with Yan Qing,” Xiao reported, his voice a lifeline in the static. “They departed westbound approximately forty-three minutes ago. Destination: unidentified power-engine site in a national forest zone outside Los Angeles.”

  Shi’s blood ran colder than the floor beneath him.

  “The machine,” he said, voice barely more than a rasp. “They’re at the machine.”

  “Affirmative,” Xiao replied. “Chen requested geo-surveillance prior to departure. Signal integrity degraded after entry into forested terrain. Last location locked.”

  Coordinates flashed across Shi’s retinal overlay, searing into his vision—latitude, longitude, elevation, terrain density—each number a spike of adrenaline.

  “Send them to me,” Shi demanded, urgency scraping his throat raw. “Now.”

  The data hit his implant an instant later, a jolt of information that made his heart stutter. He swallowed, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

  “We regroup there,” he said, mind racing through distance, response time, worst-case scenarios. Sweat prickled at his brow. “Chen’s instincts were right. This isn’t coincidence.”

  A fractional pause—Xiao processing implications at inhuman speed.

  “Understood,” Xiao said. “Recommend escalation.”

  “Yes,” Shi snapped, the word a whipcrack. “Immediately.”

  He dragged a breath through clenched teeth, agony flaring as his dislocated shoulders shifted. The taste of blood was sharp in his mouth. “Contact Xuan. Head of the Royal Guard. I want a fighting frigate in Earth orbit—stealth configuration, weapons hot but locked.”

  Xiao did not question him.

  “Commanding presence required?” Xiao asked.

  “Not yet,” Shi said, voice tight. “But if Chen goes dark—”

  “I will act,” Xiao finished, calm as a sheathed blade.

  Shi exhaled, slow and controlled, forcing himself to steady against the rising tide of dread.

  “Patch Xuan through,” he said. “And keep Chen’s last known location live. If it shifts even a meter, I want to know.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  The line clicked, rerouting—signals branching outward, toward orbit.

  Shi closed his eyes for half a second, the cold seeping deeper into his bones.

  Fuck.