Chapter 5 — Retrieval Takes Priority

The tent was quiet.

Too quiet.

Arata sat on a folding chair, wrists bound in cold metal cuffs. His posture looked relaxed—almost lazy—but his eyes were not. They tracked everything. The seams in the canvas. The rhythm of footsteps outside. The stance of the guard near the entrance and how much weight he favored on his back leg.

Ayame stood across from him.

Black tactical gear fit her like a second skin. Rifle slung. Pistol holstered. Expression carved from stone.

“You really don’t have anything to say?” she asked.

Arata looked up at her.

Nothing.

“You ran,” Ayame continued. “You disappeared. Do you know what happens when assets go missing?”

A faint twitch touched the corner of his mouth.

“Assets,” he repeated softly.

Before she could respond, a soldier burst into the tent.

“Ma’am! Infected approaching from the east perimeter! We’re losing ground!”

Ayame didn’t look at him.

“Handle it.”

“But ma’am—”

“HANDLE IT.”

The soldier stiffened and rushed out.

Ayame’s gaze returned to Arata.

“You’re still listed as active,” she said quietly. “You were never discharged.”

Arata’s eyes sharpened.

“We don’t get discharged,” he said evenly.

A pause.

“If we get discharged… we get eliminated.”

Silence settled between them.

Her jaw tightened.

Because she knew he wasn’t wrong.

They weren’t soldiers.

They were liabilities waiting to happen.

Outside, gunfire erupted. Screams tore through the night. Floodlights flickered as infected slammed into fencing.

Ayame stepped back. “I’ll deal with you after this.”

She exited the tent.

Moments later, another soldier entered—young, nervous, rifle clutched too tight.

He eyed Arata carefully.

“Outpost Seven to base,” he spoke into his radio. “Transport en route. Cargo Thirteen secured.”

Static crackled.

“Copy. Retrieval takes priority.”

The soldier lowered the radio—

—and Arata was already moving.

The chair tipped.

One precise strike to the throat.

A second to the temple.

The soldier collapsed without a sound.

Arata caught him before he hit the ground.

Outside, the camp was unraveling.

Gunfire echoed across the compound. Civilians screamed. Floodlights burst one by one as infected clawed through weak points in the fencing.

Arata moved through the chaos like he belonged inside it.

He found Riku, Takeru, Mina, and Haruka in the civilian holding area.

“What happened?” Riku demanded.

“We’re leaving,” Arata said.

Takeru grabbed his shirt. “Why were you cuffed?!”

“No time.”

Something in Arata’s tone made Riku pull Takeru back.

They slipped through a blind route between supply tents and cut toward the rear alley.

The car waited where he’d left it.

“Get in,” Arata said.

Before anyone reached for a door—

“Stop.”

Ayame stepped from behind a military truck at the mouth of the alley.

Pistol raised.

Steady.

“I knew you’d come this way,” she said calmly. “You always plan an exit.”

Riku froze. “What is going on?!”

“Quiet,” Arata said.

Ayame’s eyes never left him.

“They can go,” she said. “But you stay.”

Arata turned to face her fully.

“You were never discharged,” she repeated. “You’re still military property.”

A slow breath left him.

“We’re not soldiers,” Arata said quietly.

Her finger tightened slightly on the trigger.

“We’re experiments.”

He stepped forward.

“We don’t retire.”

A beat.

“We expire.”

Something flickered in her eyes.

Not doubt.

Not weakness.

Recognition.

That fraction of hesitation—

That was enough.

Arata moved.

The gunshot cracked through the alley.

Ayame’s body jerked and dropped to the pavement.

Riku staggered back. “You—”

Arata was already beside her.

He lowered her carefully.

Blood spread across her shoulder, just beneath the collarbone.

Not center mass.

Not fatal.

His fingers pressed against her neck.

Pulse.

Strong.

He stood.

“Get in the car.”

They obeyed.

The engine roared.

Tires screamed as they tore out of the alley and into the burning streets.

Minutes later, from a rooftop overlooking the outpost, a stolen radio crackled to life.

Arata’s voice was steady.

“Outpost Seven. Officer down. Captain Ayame shot in east service alley.”

Static.

“She’s alive. Immediate medical required.”

A pause.

“Medical unit dispatched.”

Below, soldiers swarmed the alley. Medics dropped to their knees beside her. Pressure applied. Stretcher deployed.

She was lifted.

Loaded into a truck.

Gone.

Arata lowered the radio.

He could have ended her.

He didn’t.

The car disappeared into the smoke-choked roads beyond Shimamoto.

No leash.

No handler.

No retrieval.

Subject Thirteen was no longer property.