Chapter 51 Eyes on the Feed

The last click of a magazine sliding into place echoed through the armory as the group finished gearing up. Holtz sat in a corner, still pale, gripping his weapon like a kid clinging to a teddy bear during a thunderstorm.

Mike, however, had his eyes locked on the security console, he toggled through broken camera feeds, most showing static, others dark with occasional sparks of light or shifting shadows. Then, one feed blinked into clarity—C-block.

“There. C-block corridor. Camera 7A is still alive.”

The others gathered behind him, leaning in. The feed was grainy, but unmistakable—Ichiban, stood near a reinforced door, arguing with Kaiju, the gruff biochemist who always looked like he hadn’t slept in three years.

Mike narrowed his eyes, squinting at the next feed—Camera 7B—and froze.

A group of figures was advancing down the hall. Armed. Tactical gear. Black uniforms. No insignia.

“…The hell?” Mike said under his breath, leaning closer.

“Who are they? Backup?” Akarui asked.

Mike shook his head slowly.

 “That ain’t any unit I’ve seen. No markings. No colors. Not even a damn rank patch.”

He clicked to another angle, catching a closer view of the soldiers. One carried what looked like a heavy plasma cutter on his back. Another moved with way too much precision for any regular grunt.

“That’s not military,” Mike muttered. 

“They’re not moving like army boys. That’s merc work. Private contract muscle.”

“What the hell would mercs be doing in a research facility?” Holtz asked.

“Exactly what I’d like to know,” Mike said, flipping through more angles. 

“This ain’t a rescue. They ain’t checkin’ for civvies, ain’t settin' up evac points. They’re moving with a single goal in mind. Tactical. Deliberate. They’re headed straight for Ichiban and Kaiju. No detours. They know where they are.”

Holtz shifted behind them. 

“You don’t think they’re here to… eliminate loose ends?”

Mike’s face didn’t change, but his voice lowered.

“Could be. Could be they’re here to grab something, too. Steal research, samples—hell, maybe they cause this mess.”

Shachiku’s voice broke the silence behind Mike. 

“Mike… Don’t ask how I know this. Just—listen.”

Mike glanced over his shoulder. Akarui and Holtz looked at Shachiku too, surprised by the sudden gravity in his tone.

“That guy leading the mercs—Conor. He’s not military. Not government. He’s a hired gun working under the payroll of someone rich enough to buy silence and erase footprints.”

Mike raised an eyebrow.

 “And you know this how, exactly?”

“I said don’t ask,” Shachiku shot back, a little sharper this time. 

“Just trust me. He’s not here to rescue anyone. He’s here for Ichiban. More specifically—for her research. The cure. The one she was working on… for the crystallization infection. Before all this went to hell.”

Mike turned fully, rifle still in hand, eyes narrowing.

“Crystallization infection? A cure?”

“Yes. She found something. It wasn’t complete, not even stable—but it was a start. Enough to draw attention. Enough to make people like Eel Schmuck take notice.”

Akarui blinked.

 “Wait, what? Schmuck? The rich ass that set his eyes on some space nonsense?”

Shachiku nodded.

 “Eel Schmuck. Ultra-rich douche bag who thinks he owns the world. I only know whispers... I don't know the details. But he’s the one funding Conor’s team. They’re not here to help—they’re here to steal it. And if Ichiban doesn’t hand it over...”

Mike exhaled slowly, his lips tightening into a line.

“I assume they’ll take it from her body. Well, hell. This day just gets better and better."

“Yes, that's why we have to reach Ichiban before they do. If they get to her first—if she dies—then everything’s lost. The cure, the research, all of it.”

Mike glanced sideways at him, “And then what? You think they’re just gonna pack up and leave once they get what they want? If they’re here to kill her, then we’re next. You really think that jackass Holtz is gonna survive a shootout with guys trained to take out government targets on three continents?”

“Hey! I heard that, it might be true but still,” Holtz muttered behind them, voice cracking just a bit.

Mike went on.

 “We’re not a strike team. Hell, this ain’t a war movie. We got a nervous wreck, a kid who’s still figuring out which end of the gun goes boom, and you—whatever the hell you are right now. You sure we’re not walking into a meat grinder?”

Shachiku looked at Mike. Dead serious. No trace of sarcasm or panic.

“I’ve got a plan.”

 “Oh? That so?”

They pushed through the corridors toward the main security hub. Shachiku walked slightly ahead of the others, voice low and steady as he told them his plan. Shachiku’s tone had changed. No longer uncertain or hesitant. He was focused now, guiding them like he’d done it before. 

They rounded a corridor, passing a cracked observation window then they heard it—the shouting.

A narrow hallway opened up into a large chamber where the central elevators were housed. The harsh clang of boots echoed around the room as two groups closed in from opposite ends. Shachiku’s team wasn’t the only one arriving.

From the far side of the hall came another group—armed, tactically positioned, their body armor marked only by blank patches. Conor’s team.

At the front stood Conor. Behind him trailed his mercenaries, weapons up but not yet raised. They’d had Ichiban and Kaiju. She was flanked tightly, Kaiju watching everyone with haunted, wide eyes. The two scientists looked exhausted but unharmed—for now.

The standoff began just as the elevator behind them dinged.

A group of desperate scientists—seven, maybe eight—were fighting to squeeze into it. One of them screamed, another shoved someone back out, pleading for mercy. The elevator doors groaned as they tried to close.

Ichiban turned to them, her voice breaking.

 “No! That elevator’s unstable! The crystal growth—!”

Too late.

The doors sealed. The elevator lurched upward with a painful screech of machinery. It hadn’t even cleared half a floor before an explosion of red, jagged crystal formations ruptured through the shaft. The whole compartment lit up in a sudden, sickly glow before it burst from the inside. Screams echoed, twisted metal shrieked—and what remained of the elevator rained down in a grotesque blend of crystal shards and blood.

Silence followed. Every eye turned to the scene—mercenaries, scientists, and Shachiku’s group alike.

Ichiban stood frozen. Kaiju trembled behind her.

Mike muttered under his breath, “Well... that’s one ride we’re not taking.”

Conor’s team moved, weapons lifting slightly, eyes now fixed on Shachiku and his crew as they emerged fully into the corridor. A beat passed.

“Looks like we got company,” Conor said smoothly, almost amused.

Shachiku didn’t blink.

He stepped forward, slow and confidant, hands raised just enough to show he wasn’t drawing—but not submissive. He glanced briefly at Ichiban, long enough for her to see the urgency in his eyes.

She tensed.

Mike flanked Shachiku to the right, rifle low but ready. Akarui mirrored him to the left, jaw tight. Holtz stumbled into position behind them, clutching his weapon like a sacred relic.

Conor sized them up.

“Well now,” he said, grinning slightly. 

“Isn’t this cozy.” His eyes flicked to Ichiban, then back to Shachiku. 

“Don’t suppose you’re here for a friendly chat?”

Shachiku gave a calm shrug.

“No, not exactly. But I got a message from Eel Schmuck, the mission has some changes.”