Chapter 34 Dr. Kaiju

The group froze, their hearts pounding as they watched the wreckage burn. The civilians who had been trying to escape scattered, their screams echoing through the air.

“God damn it! Makiko is right. We’re not getting out of here in a plane. These things will tear us apart!” Shujinko said, his voice shaky.

“Then we better find that helicopter,” Shachiku replied.

“Akarui, you said your dad let you pilot one before. Do you really think you can handle it?”

Akarui nodded, though his confidence was wavering.

“Yeah. I can do it. Unlike plains, even a baby can fly a helicopter. It's not that complex.”

The group moved quickly between the row of private hangars, their boots crunching on broken glass and debris. Most of the structures had been torn open like tin cans - shattered luxury jets, overturned fuel trucks, and the occasional crystallized corpse.

"Over here! That one. Doors are still closed." Shujinko called out, pointing to Hangar 8. Unlike the others, its reinforced doors remained stubbornly closed, the electronic lock still blinking red despite the power outage. The metal surface bore deep scratches, as if something had tried desperately to get inside.

The metal surface was marred by deep, jagged grooves—claw marks, or something worse. The electronic lock was dead, its panel cracked and dark. But the manual release was rusted in place, the mechanism warped as if something had tried—and failed—to force its way inside.

Makiko gripped the lever, bracing her foot against the frame.

  "It's jammed. We'll need to—"

"Step back," Shachiku interrupted, hefting his briefcase. Without another word, he swung it hard against the lock. The metal groaned, then shattered under the impact, the doors lurching open with a screech.

 The emergency lights flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the hangar's interior. And there, in the center of the space, sat a single Bell 407 helicopter, its dark green paint untouched by the devastation outside. The private hangar was eerily silent, the air thick with the scent of fuel and something fouler—the metallic stench of old blood. 

But then they saw the pilot.

Half-crystallized, his body was fused to the concrete floor beside the helicopter, one skeletal hand still outstretched toward the open cockpit door. His face was a grotesque mask of jagged crimson crystal, mouth frozen in a silent scream, eyes hollow pits where the infection had eaten through. His other arm had shattered into glittering fragments, as if he'd tried to claw his way free before the transformation took him completely.

The keys dangled from the helicopter's ignition, swaying slightly—as if the pilot had been moments away from escape when the crystals claimed him.

Makiko gagged, covering her mouth.

"Jesus... he was right there. Almost made it."

Shujinko stepped closer, his boot crunching on a scattering of crystalline shards—what was left of the man's fingers. 

"Whatever got him, it happened fast. But let's not waist time, whoever did him, it might be close. And I don't want to get my face ripped off by one of these creatures."

 Akarui climbed into the pilot’s seat, his hands trembling slightly as he familiarized himself with the controls. For a fleeting, irrational moment, he imagined the crystallized corpse twitching, reaching for him—

—but the dead man didn't move. Only the keys did, jingling softly as Akarui steadied himself.

Akarui's hands moved with the quiet confidence of muscle memory. His fingers traced familiar contours of switches and throttles, his eyes scanning the instrument panel in rapid, practiced sweeps.

"Bell 407. Single-engine turboshaft, four-blade main rotor—good lift, good speed. One of the smoothest civilian birds ever built."

His thumb flicked a series of toggles, and the avionics whirred to life, screens glowing a reassuring emerald. 

"Fuel's at three-quarters. That gives us... 300 miles, give or take. More than enough to get us the hell out of the infection zone and reach the ocean."

He tapped the glass face of the engine readouts. 

"Oil pressure's good. No temp spikes. Hydraulic systems online." 

A quick test of the cyclic and collective—his grip firm but fluid.

  "Controls are responsive. No drag, no play. Whoever last flew this kept her in perfect shape."

A distant, guttural screech echoed from outside the hangar—closer this time. The sound of something moving through the wreckage. Hunting.

Akarui didn’t flinch. His hand closed around the ignition.

 "We need to get her outside—now. This hangar's a death trap if those things corner us in here."

Shujinko didn't hesitate. He threw his weight against the hangar's manual release lever, muscles straining as the rusted mechanism groaned in protest. With a final shove, the chain gave way, and the massive doors began rattling open on squealing tracks. Daylight spilled in, revealing the devastation beyond—the cracked tarmac, the skeletal remains of other aircraft, and the distant, glistening threat of crystalline vines snaking between wreckage.

"Clear!" Shujinko shouted, already sprinting back toward the helicopter.

"We’re towing her out," Akarui shouted.

  "Shujinko, left skid. Shachiku, right. Pull."

On rolling dollies, they tugged. The four of them hauled the helicopter forward by its landing gear, boots slipping on oil-slick concrete. The rotor blades, still spinning at idle, cleared the doorframe by less than a foot—close enough for Ichiban to hear the whirr of displaced air slicing past her ear.

"Ground guide!" Akarui barked. Shujinko sprinted ahead, arms raised, directing them around a crumpled fuel truck.

The helicopter lurched as its skids hit daylight. Akarui didn’t wait. He vaulted back into the pilot’s seat and slammed the throttle up. The engine howled.

"Clear left! Tail rotor clear!" Shachiku yelled.

"Everyone get in and buckle up. We lift off in thirty seconds. If you're not in by then, you're not coming!"Akarui shouted.

Just as they were about to get in, the sound of engines roared outside. Two Humvees burst through the airport fences, their tires screeching as they skidded to a halt. Mercenaries poured out of the vehicles, their weapons trained on the helicopter.

From the lead Humvee stepped Dr. Kaiju, his bandaged hand still in a sling. Beside him was Major Conor, his face stern and unyielding. Behind them, a tall man with a smug grin waved at Makiko, pointing a finger at himself.

Dr. Kaiju stepped forward, long shadows across his sharp features, making him look almost theatrical—like a villain relishing the moment before delivering the final blow.

"Well, well, well... what do we have here. Can you imagine my surprise when military told me someone was still alive down there? When I saw that short surveillance camera footage? Of the lab? You, cooking some kind of a compound? I mean, really, what are the odds? Locked inside that horror facility, surrounded by those... things. Honestly, I gave it, what? A day? Maybe two for you to die? But you? You just refuse to die. Military tried everything until... well... rain hit and whole shit broke lose."

"I have to say, part of me is almost impressed. You were persistent. But see, that's exactly why we're here now. Your absolute refusal to accept reality. It’s exhausting, really."

"Do you even realize how much easier things would have been if you had just died back then? That day? I mean, you were just my god damn pawn and look at you now! But no. No, you just had to keep breathing, didn’t you? Had to keep digging, clawing your way out of the facility, keep interfering, not even Code Red stopped you. You just keep making things difficult for people like me, who are simply trying to do what needs to be done. And now look where we are."

Kaiju let out a slow breath, shaking his head as if genuinely disappointed.

"You know, I don’t particularly enjoy this. Despite what you may think of me, I don’t like killing. None of you. But Eel Schmuck? Well, he’s not as sentimental as I am. And all of you—" he pointed at them, his expression turning cold "—are a loose end. And if there’s one thing Eel Schmuck hates, it’s loose ends."

"So here I am. Cleaning up my own mess. A mess that—frankly—I should have handled a long time ago. I should have double checked the damn dosage more careful, made sure it worked. Basic shit. But nah, I got sloppy. Figured, eh, nature’ll take care of it. Let those crystal freaks rot in that shithole Helios-9 like the ugly little science experiments they are. But you—" he waged a finger at Ichiban, chuckling like some crazy scientist, "—you just had to be a stubborn, little bitch about it, didn’t ya? Refused to lay down and die like a good little lab rat. Gotta respect that. Hell, I do respect it. Right before I blow a hole in your goddamn skull."

"See, that’s the problem with playing God—sometimes your creations got the audacity to stick around. And now? Now I gotta do things the old-fashioned way. Messy. Personal. And no Fun."

His expression twisted into something darker, something cruel.

"But don’t worry. This time, I won’t make the same mistake. No more laboratories. No more locked doors. No more second chances. This time, I’ll watch you burn with my own two eyes."