Silver Wolf Squad, Secret Medical Outpost.

  Under the soft lighting, the air was saturated with the faint scent of nutrient solution and disinfectant.

  Captain Rennie sat calmly on an ergonomic medical chair, his upper body bare.

  Several precision medical drone arms were using blue restoration beams to treat several gashes on his torso—wounds carved by the blast’s shockwave.

  The wounds weren't deep, but they marred the perfect lines of his physique, which caused him a flicker of displeasure.

  His face still wore that trademark, impeccable, professional smile.

  It was as if the man who had been so disheveled and humiliated at the center of the explosion hours ago wasn't him at all.

  An adjutant, also clad in the silver-gray combat uniform, stood to the side reporting in a low voice.

  "Captain, our report has taken effect."

  "All of Andrew’s authorities have been drastically slashed. 'Viper' Ivy has also been temporarily taken over by the higher-ups."

  "According to the system’s evaluation, his voice within the Violent Liquidation Department has been weakened by at least fifty percent."

  Rennie looked at the mirror in front of his medical chair, admiring his muscle lines—perfect as an ancient Greek statue—and his rapidly healing wounds. He spoke flatly.

  "As expected."

  "A wild boar that only knows how to solve problems with brute force never should have been sitting in a position that requires a brain."

  His tone was calm, yet it bled with a bone-deep, elitist arrogance.

  Just then.

  The private communicator on his wrist gave a slight vibration.

  Seeing the encrypted codename lighting up the screen, Rennie immediately signaled his adjutant.

  Understanding the cue, the adjutant bowed and exited the medical room.

  Rennie patched the call through.

  An aged, gentle voice—one that even carried a hint of scholarly kindness—reached his ears clearly via bone conduction.

  This voice was diametrically opposed to the icy, judgmental one that had presided over Andrew in the command room earlier.

  "Rennie, you did well."

  "That disobedient chess piece, Andrew, has finally had some of his troublesome edges chipped away."

  Upon hearing this voice, the professional smile on Rennie’s face vanished instantly.

  In its place was a profound, genuine reverence.

  "I am glad to ease your burdens, Doctor."

  "Heh heh."

  The voice addressed as "Doctor" let out a soft chuckle, one laced with heavy interest.

  "I’ve read the report. A magnificent performance."

  "This little fellow codenamed 'Ghost' is... far more precious than we imagined."

  The Doctor's tone shifted subtly.

  "He isn't an 'asset,' Rennie."

  "He is a key."

  "A key... that might just open the door to a brand new era."

  A glint flashed in Rennie’s grey eyes.

  He knew the direction of the Doctor's research, and he understood even better what the phrase "brand new era" meant to the man.

  "Andrew has gone mad," Rennie analyzed precisely. "He will stop at nothing. He'll order Ivy to use the most extreme methods to kill the target. Even though the Committee has stripped him of nominal command, that viper Ivy is still loyal to Andrew in her bones."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "That will not do."

  For the first time, the Doctor's tone carried a sliver of unquestionable coldness.

  "That key must absolutely not be destroyed by a poisoned dagger that knows nothing but annihilation."

  New orders followed immediately.

  "Rennie, deploy the full strength of the 'Silver Wolf' squad."

  "I do not care what methods you use—deception, interception, or even... neutralizing Ivy's strike team if necessary."

  "You must bring that 'key' back to my laboratory, fully intact, before Andrew can get to him."

  "Remember."

  The Doctor's voice carried a fervor that made even Rennie’s heart skip a beat.

  "I want him alive."

  "Yes, Doctor," Rennie replied, lowering his head.

  The transmission cut off.

  The medical drone arms had completed the final restoration work. His skin was smooth and pristine, without a single trace of a scar.

  Rennie stood up slowly and donned his crisp, silver-gray combat uniform once more.

  He looked at himself in the mirror, that professional smile surfacing on his face again.

  Only this time, behind the smile, there was a trace of a predator’s icy killing intent.

  Andrew’s hunt.

  The Doctor’s capture.

  Two diametrically opposed directives would interweave on the stage of the Silicon Desert, forming a web far more complex and lethal.

  And he, Rennie, would be the one weaving it.

  Blackrock Town, Underground Level 3.

  Inside an illegal clinic reeking of a heavy mixture of disinfectant and reclaimed machine oil.

  Booker was half-submerged in a murky, green restoration fluid.

  His mechanical prosthetics, half-torn away during the explosion, were being re-welded and re-connected in a crude fashion by several creaking, ancient mechanical arms.

  Electrical sparks periodically erupted across his body, making the restoration fluid sizzle against his skin.

  But he acted as if he felt nothing. His remaining human eye stared fixedly at the rust-stained ceiling, his mouth unleashing a constant stream of curses.

  "Fuck! What a massive loss!"

  "I nearly lost my funeral savings this time!"

  A bizarre doctor, wearing a grease-stained white coat and a medieval beak mask, asked in a voice as raspy as sandpaper: "Do you need to... report?"

  Booker pulled back his lips, revealing a smile that looked worse than a sob.

  "Of course I have to report!"

  "The Boss loves this kind of 'market feedback.' The more we lose on a deal, the more excited he gets!"

  The Plague Doctor nodded and turned toward the wall.

  He fumbled around the surface until a piece of the wall peeled away, revealing a strange communicator behind it—one constructed of writhing flesh, fascia, and bleached-white bone, pulsing slightly.

  The thing looked like a living creature.

  The doctor handed the nauseating device to Booker.

  Booker skillfully pulled a sinew strand connected to a neural probe from the device and, without hesitation, slammed it into his temple!

  He closed his eyes.

  Instantly, his consciousness was ripped away by an irresistible force, plunging into a deep ocean composed of endless data and mystical symbols.

  A voice rang out directly within his mind.

  It was a voice of indistinguishable gender, belonging to no known linguistic system—as if cosmic background radiation had been translated into information. Cold, vast, and devoid of a single shred of emotion.

  "Booker. Observation Unit, Designation 734."

  "Mission Report: Failure."

  "Target 'Ghost' has broken containment."

  "Explain."

  "Failure, Boss?"

  In the ocean of consciousness, Booker let out a burst of manic, deranged laughter.

  "No! No, no, no!"

  "This is absolutely the most successful report I’ve ever submitted!"

  "I saw it with my own eyes! I saw it clearly with this goddamn eye of mine!"

  "That kid's ability is definitely not some trash technology from Kunlun! It's a... a brand-new fusion mode we've never recorded!"

  "It’s just like... just like the 'Primal Blood Awakening' described in the organization’s ancient texts!"

  "Stronger, even! Fuck, he doesn't just use one bloodline ability! He can mash them together and turn them into something new!"

  Booker's emotions whipped up massive ripples across his conscious plane.

  The voice composed of data streams paused for a moment.

  It seemed to be performing an unimaginable volume of calculations.

  A few seconds later.

  The voice rang out again.

  "Evaluation model revised."

  "Target 'Ghost'. Threat level unchanged. Value level... upgraded to Rank S."

  "Original 'Capture Plan' is hereby abolished."

  Booker froze.

  "Abolished? Then we—"

  "New directive."

  The voice of the data stream carried an unquestionable authority.

  "Mission mode: Shift from 'Capture' to 'Observe' and 'Protect'."

  "The system will unlock the coordinate permissions for three 'Old World Ruins' for you."

  "Your new mission is to use every means necessary to guide him—lead him into these ruins to hunt the high-tier Primordials sleeping within."

  "We require more combat data regarding 'Bloodline Fusion'."

  "Until he has fully matured into a complete form, any form of direct contact is prohibited."

  "Furthermore, should he encounter an irresistible, fatal danger, the organization authorizes you to mobilize all resources... to protect him."

  "Until... he bears the fruit we desire."

  Booker's consciousness was snapped back to reality from the data ocean like a kite with a severed string.

  He snapped his eyes open.

  In his intact human eye, a sickly, feverish light of excitement flickered.

  He flashed a neurotic grin at the indifferent Plague Doctor.

  "Get ready, old friend."

  "The game... has just fucking begun!"

  At the same time.

  Kunlun Corp’s "Viper" Ivy had already led her elite squad into the night of the Silicon Desert, vanishing like a black shadow of the Grim Reaper.

  Rennie’s "Silver Wolf" had also altered its original blockade deployment. An invisible net aimed at "Live Capture" was silently spreading from another direction.

  And Kane, the man at the center of this storm, remained entirely unaware.

  He was currently walking with Crag through the deep, secure underground tunnel leading toward Blackrock Town.

  He believed he had temporarily escaped the crisis and earned a moment to breathe.

  He did not know.

  An invisible, all-encompassing net—woven by three different factions with three entirely different agendas—had already completely enveloped him and the path beneath his feet.

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