One of the last doors on the right—a swinging door—opened, and two scientists in lab coats emerged, walking toward the camera. One of them carried printed reports in hand, while the other, slightly hunched forward, walked with the weight of age or perhaps a bad back. It might’ve been easy to tell which if their faces were visible, but something blurred their heads throughout the footage.
“Automated facial nullification system,” Rigel remarked. “I told you, these people were serious about staying anonymous.” He pointed to the door the two had exited from. “That’s the operating room. Now watch this.”
The footage flickered with interference, and a warning appeared at the corner of the screen, indicating that the android’s system had switched to emergency power. The swaying motion stopped—Cyclops Alfred had halted, like an animal sensing an unseen threat.
The wall lamps sputtered sparks, the lights went out, and the corridor plunged into shadow. Only the red glow from the camera—the android’s eye—and the intermittent flashes from the lamps kept total darkness at bay.
Startled, the two scientists turned toward the operating room door, as if they’d heard something—a blast, perhaps, or a scream. Another door opened, and a woman stepped out. Her face was also blurred, but her silhouette and hospital attire suggested she was a doctor or a nurse. Alarmed, she seemed to ask the men something, then turned toward the camera, perhaps hoping the android would clarify what was happening.
The footage resumed its slow motion—Cyclops Alfred had started moving again. The swinging doors flew open, releasing a blinding flash that illuminated everything in white. Amid the chaos of light and shadow, objects burst out from the room, slamming against the far wall of the hallway and falling to the floor.
Juzo frowned.
“Pieces of a leg and a hand,” Rigel pointed out.
The scientist holding the reports made a defensive gesture, as though trying to shield himself from whatever was happening behind him. He dropped the papers and bolted toward the camera, accidentally knocking the woman to the floor in his panic. The hunched man helped her up, and together they hurried away. All three passed by the Cyclops, moving out of the camera’s frame. None of them seemed to care that the android remained there, in the middle of the hallway, walking steadily toward the epicenter of the chaos.
“If it was an electromagnetic burst,” Juzo said thoughtfully, “why is the Cyclops still functioning?”
“Because he had a reinforced Four-Frequency emitter in his head to withstand them,” Rigel replied. “I’m guessing they anticipated something like this might happen. That’s probably why they also kept printed records like those files, right?”
Meanwhile, in the video, the camera continued advancing toward the heart of the disaster, and the interference worsened, streaking the footage with lines of static.
The operating room was about thirty to forty feet ahead, and the flashes coming from inside now completely overshadowed the hallway’s flickering lamps and Alfred’s glowing red eye. Smoke had begun to spread through the corridor. On the left, the open door where the woman had come from was visible, along with the scattered reports the scientist had dropped in his rush to escape. As the android advanced, these details soon fell out of the frame.
Then came a blinding flash, stronger than the others, and a new figure appeared in the operating room doorway. It was another man in a lab coat—or so Juzo could make out. He staggered out of the room and began walking toward the camera. His movements were slow, almost casual, as though the chaos around him didn’t exist.
The flashing light from the operating room illuminated his back, turning him into a shadowy silhouette. But his right arm… well, it was mangled. A large chunk was missing, and his hand dangled by tendons. There was also something strange about his face—a faint, unnatural glow that raised Juzo’s suspicions.
Then a shower of sparks fell on the man, momentarily exposing him to the light.
Here, the facial nullification system hadn’t erased the face, because there was no human face to erase. The massive red eye—a glowing vertical oval—confirmed Juzo’s suspicions.
“Another Cyclops,” he said. “An old A60-R8… Or at least that’s what it looks like.”
“Yeah, judging by the shape of its eye, anyway,” Rigel added. “Could just as easily be another customized android. In the report, we just labeled it as an A60—you know, to keep things simple.”
In the footage, it quickly became clear why this A60 in a lab coat didn’t move with the usual fluidity of his kind. Its right leg had stopped working, forcing it to drag its foot, and its right arm was little more than a mass of loose parts dangling by wires, while its left arm kept sparking as if caught in a short circuit.
The damaged A60 moved closer, causing the camera to shake slightly—it had just shoved Alfred aside. The recording ended.
“Well,” the Detective said, “that explains why the bunker’s been abandoned for the past two years, doesn’t it?”
“You know,” he continued, “last year, I handled the case of 6241.Pepe, another android that should’ve been decommissioned two models ago. Pepe worked dismantling cars in a factory, but a malfunction rewrote his directives. He killed one technician and tore the arms off another, mistaking them for crane controls. And Pepe wasn’t the first Cyclops involved in a violent incident—there’ve been plenty of others like him.”
Juzo nodded. He had heard of similar cases.
“You think something like that happened here? That this android killed those people?”
“Uh-huh—using some kind of electromagnetic weapon,” Rigel speculated. “That A60 was the only one to walk out of that room. And let me tell you, from the condition we found the geology students in at the canyon—and Alfred, shredded as they were—it’s not hard to draw a line between this massacre and the one from two years ago. Even if it wasn’t the A60 directly, it might help us track down whoever’s truly responsible.”
“Ah, I see…” Juzo muttered, sounding a little disappointed. “I thought you guys already had A60 in your hands.”
“No. His whereabouts are unknown,” said Rigel. “Apparently, he was using some kind of signal jammer, because there isn’t even any satellite trace of him. All we know is that he used to visit the bunker regularly to perform maintenance on Alfred, and that every week he received an encrypted report from him. We know that thanks to Alfred’s own logs. Every Friday, our mustached friend here would step out past the edge of the cliff, just far enough for his radio waves to escape the residual electromagnetic interference from the blast, and send his message.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“A monitoring report?” Juzo ventured.
“Most likely, yeah. I’ve got a team of officers searching for the A60, but with so many androids out there, it won’t be easy to track him down. Although...” The Detective ran his fingers along the corner of his mouth, thinking over his words before continuing. “Well, maybe there’s a faster way for you and me to get some answers.”
Juzo looked so obviously intrigued that there was no need to ask him to elaborate.
Then Rigel projected the image of a massive computer made up of terminals of various sizes and monitors stacked one on top of the other—bulky, even grotesque in appearance.
“We found this monstrosity there, in the disaster room,” he said. “It’s a patchwork of machines. We’ve identified the origins of some parts, but what interests me is the hardware hidden inside—a section that’s still active, thanks to another Four-Frequency emitter. The problem is the control panel requires a biometric energy scan to access it, and the system is programmed to wipe its database if tampered with. My officer couldn’t bypass the security code but did find a list of authorized users: neurosurgeons, biophysicists… and Binaries.”
Juzo’s eyes lit up with amazement.
“Yeah, that was my reaction too,” Rigel said. “I think this computer could be your ticket to learning more about the Project—and mine to finding out what those people were doing there. It’s been moved to Fort Bellatrix. I can give you a security code so you can see it for yourself. But you’ll have to act fast, before they send it to the central depot. Once it’s there, I won’t be able to help you.”
“Alright,” Juzo said without hesitation. “I’ll go.”
The Detective expected nothing less from him. “If you get caught, I’ll deny ever knowing you,” he warned.
“I know,” Juzo replied. He was fully aware he wasn’t considering the consequences, but right now, it didn’t matter. “I also need the exact whereabouts of my brother,” he added.
Rigel almost said, ‘I hope you’re not planning to meet him,’ but he held back. If he’d been in Juzo’s place, he would’ve done it too, no matter how reckless.
“Bellatrix. That fort is built over an old mine, right?” Juzo asked, his gaze clearly implying, You know where I’m going with this.
Rigel nodded. So much for warning him not to try meeting that White O22 guy.
“Yeah, the ground under Bellatrix is full of heavy metals. There’s a Kappa Point there. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll contact you first thing tomorrow.”
With that, the Detective called it a night and prepared to head back to headquarters. But he stopped, signaling there was more to say.
“Last year, some students stumbled upon the bones of an unidentified child in the same cave where we found the bunker,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s related to those kids in the containers, but I heard the case was closed due to lack of evidence. It’s strange they didn’t detect the bunker before, because in a site like that, low-frequency sonar is practically mandatory. If the people who operated there have stayed hidden all these years, someone powerful within the Empire must’ve been protecting them.”
“I get it,” Juzo said with a nod. “But then why didn’t that same someone prevent you from finding the bunker this time?”
“Because maybe that person is either no longer around—or they didn’t know,” Rigel replied. “The Canyon of the Hundred Caves is located within the Gamma Quadrant, but the colonel responsible for that region recently passed away. That’s why, at the last minute, they assigned the case to me, the Beta Quadrant colonel,” he explained, and with a shrug and an enigmatic smile, he added, “Like I said, fate.”
This time, Juzo couldn’t help but share his smile.
“It’d be interesting to know if the bunker was already on the Army’s radar—confidentially—before the students’ murders,” the Detective said. “At least it would shed some light on the matter. The Breach Squad is the heavy-hitting division of Military intelligence. Its members know the layout of every clandestine site in Pannotia. I don’t have access to their records. We’re separate divisions, and let’s just say their captain and I don’t get along. But you know someone who used to work there. Maybe she could help you with that.”
Juzo understood. And with this information churning in his mind—and a twisted epiphany in his heart telling him his life would never be the same no matter what he did—he saluted the Colonel Detective silently and departed.
Rigel disappeared into the night, swallowed by the high cliffs, as the wind began to howl.
The storm was raging outside, and more leaks kept revealing themselves in Room Five of the Pearl Motel.
“Test subjects: Binary Twins,” Vicky read, stunned.
She pressed one hand to her forehead and clutched the files with the other. She couldn’t believe what she’d just learned. What kind of twisted mind could have come up with something like this? She almost let herself collapse onto the bed, waiting for her head to stop spinning, but instead braced one leg against the edge of the mattress.
“According to this, you’re…”
“I’m the Binary-R,” Juzo confirmed, looking at her with a storm as intense as the one outside hidden behind his calm eyes.
“But what about those proteins? Have you ever…” Her words tripped over her tongue. “What if we go to Alpine City? We could investigate where they abandoned you and—”
Gently, Juzo took the files from Vicky’s hands.
“It would be a waste of time,” he said.
Vicky’s blue eyes widened, as if a sudden realization had struck her.
“Hey, have you considered this might be a trap to catch you and your band of Troublemakers? Maybe they found out Rigel’s been in contact with you and planned this to lure you out of hiding.”
“Vicky,” he interrupted, “nobody cares about me enough to go to such lengths.”
Vicky took a step back. Juzo was right.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked, though she finally realized the reason behind the imperial soldier disguise. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re…”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m going into Fort Bellatrix.”
“Juzo, you know the place is full of retinal scanners, right?”
“I’ll get past them, Vicky. I’ve got it all figured out.”
Officer Liza Grant sat in front of her massive monitor, a glass rectangle where data, coordinates, and images appeared traced in glowing lines. Earlier, she had grabbed a cup of coffee, and every so often, she took a small sip.
Though the storm raged outside, deep within Fort Bellatrix, everything pointed to a quiet night. The other officers in the room shared the same impression; even Commander Dubhe was relaxed in his chair behind her.
The control room was peaceful, illuminated by dim lights and the soft glow of screens reflecting on the operators.
Liza took another sip of her coffee, but a drop slid off her lips, leaving a small black stain on her uniform’s collar. Fortunately, her dark green suit made the mark almost invisible. Still, she covered it with a lock of her long chestnut hair. It was then she noticed her comrade tilting her head, as though something were bothering her. It was the second time she’d seen her do it in less than a minute.
“Something wrong?” Liza whispered, careful not to disturb the calm.
Claudia Hosse, the officer stationed to her right, turned with a particular expression.
“I’m not sure,” she said, gesturing toward the readings on her screen. “My instruments picked up an electrical surge in fuse box eight. The system should’ve rerouted to box nine automatically, but nothing happened. Now, I’m not getting a response from the sector nine external antenna circuit.”
“Maybe the storm’s causing some interference,” Liza suggested.
“What’s going on?” Commander Dubhe’s voice sounded from behind them.
Hosse turned to face him. “Sector nine of the external antenna circuit has gone offline, sir,” she reported, fully aware her words would shatter the tranquility they’d been enjoying. “The radar in sector nine is inactive.”
Two beeps echoed in the room.
“What’s that?” the Commander asked.
“Now, sectors seven and eight aren’t responding either, sir,” Claudia added, swallowing hard.
Commander Dubhe stood, his hands clasped behind his back. A man in his fifties, he wore his olive-green uniform with an air of precision: a buttoned coat from collar to waist, trousers, and polished leather shoes. On his chest gleamed the Imperial Army’s crest, displayed as a medal.
“Officer Hosse, contact the tech team,” he ordered. “Have them dispatch Cyclops units to repair the issue immediately. I don’t want any surprises.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dubhe returned to his command chair.
None of them had any idea that soon, alarms and screams would replace the calm.
They were just minutes away from facing the most devastating attack they had ever encountered.