Previously: Yuri, having extracted vital information from Lockey through relentless torture, presented his findings to Sir Afron. He revealed that Lockey no longer possessed the Beta Vault and had already handed it over to the Chronolux, a mysterious cult organization. Afron, unimpressed by the incomplete information, pressed Yuri for more, especially regarding the potential traitor within their ranks. The tension between them grew as Yuri wrestled with Afron’s cold demand, all while questioning his own survival amidst the pressure. Now, Yuri stands outside, contemplating his next move, knowing failure could cost him everything.
Afron sat back in his chair, staring at the empty room, frustration radiating off him. His hands gripped the armrests tightly, his knuckles whitening as he seethed. Once again, Yuri had failed to meet expectations. The information about the Chronolux had barely scratched the surface, and now a new problem loomed—an insider, possibly more dangerous than Lockey himself.
He pushed the chair back abruptly, the sharp screech of metal echoing across the room. Rising, Afron strode over to the cabinet by the wall, sliding it open with more force than necessary. Inside were the standard formal robes of his rank. He snatched them off the hanger, his movements stiff with irritation.
"Useless…" he muttered under his breath, tugging the long sleeves of the dark robe over his arms. “Every task… incomplete. Every lead… a dead end.”
He glanced at his reflection in the polished glass of the cabinet, adjusting the heavy collar. There was no room for mistakes now. The Grand Architect awaited his report, and Afron had nothing substantial to show—just speculation, fragments of truth.
His jaw tightened, and he took a deep breath, smoothing his appearance before turning towards the large metal door. The weight of the conversation ahead settled on his shoulders, but it was unavoidable. He had no choice but to face the one person who could see through every excuse, every misstep.
With a swipe of his hand, the door slid open silently. Afron stepped into the corridor, his pace brisk and determined as he walked towards the restricted communication chamber. A faint tremor of unease flickered inside him, quickly replaced by steely resolve.
Today, failure wasn't an option.
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Afron entered the dimly lit communication room, the hum of technology surrounding him. The glow from multiple holographic screens cast eerie shadows across his sharp features. It was an intimidating space, designed for high-level discussions, where failures were often met with severe consequences. The room was sterile, futuristic, filled with maps, data feeds, and encrypted channels. A large central chair sat in the middle like a throne, commanding the space.
He adjusted his collar, straightening the formal robes of his rank, and took his seat at the main console. The tension in his body was palpable. He had delayed this report long enough.
With a deep breath, he initiated the call. The screen flickered to life, but as usual, it remained black. A deep, mechanical voice came through, distorted, almost as if it was designed to mask the true identity of the speaker. Afron stiffened.
“Why have you contacted me through the communication room?” The voice resonated, cold and inhuman.
Afron’s eyes narrowed as he kept his composure. "I’ve come to give you details so far on the Beta Vault," he responded, voice firm but betraying a slight tension.
“My question wasn’t about the details, but why you couldn’t visit me face-to-face.”
Afron barely held back a scoff, his hand clenching the armrest beneath the console. Face-to-face? In his mind, he cursed the absurdity of the statement. How am I supposed to meet someone I’ve never even seen? He quickly masked his thoughts with a neutral tone. “I’m at Site 22, quite far from headquarters.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
There was a momentary silence before the voice returned. “Proceed.”
“We haven’t been able to gather much on the Beta Vault. What we do know is that it’s now in the hands of the Chronolux,” Afron reported, keeping his voice level.
“Then why haven’t you taken action?” The voice was sharper now, commanding. It made Afron tense, a reminder of the Grand Architect’s superior authority. He could feel the weight of every word as though the voice itself held power over him.
“We’ve yet to locate them,” Afron replied, “They move frequently, making it impossible to track them down.”
“Is that all?” the Grand Architect inquired coldly.
“Yes, that’s all,” Afron responded, though he knew that wasn’t what the Architect wanted to hear.
The voice changed its tone, colder, more accusing. “One of your fellow Hire-ups informed me that my location has been compromised. How do you intend to solve this?”
Afron’s mind raced. Who could have revealed such sensitive information? He stifled the urge to panic. The Grand Architect’s words felt like an indictment.
“Not only do you slack off and enjoy yourself,” the voice continued, relentless, “but you also have no idea of the whereabouts of those who could attack me at any moment.”
Afron’s back straightened as he took a deep breath. “I will do better next time,” he promised, voice low, trying to maintain his composure.
A chilling silence followed before the Grand Architect responded. “Well, unfortunately for you, this is the end of your journey.”
Afron flinched, heart racing. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The end? His mind scrambled for a way out. “But… you still need me! Without me, you won’t be able to achieve the main goal.”
For a moment, there was only silence on the line. Then, the Grand Architect spoke again, voice colder than before. “I thought so myself. But now, things have changed. You know why? I can simply replace you.”
A wave of dread washed over Afron. It wasn’t fear he felt—no, it was something worse. A deep, sinking realization that his life was now hanging by a thread. He opened his mouth to argue further, but before he could speak, the voice cut him off.
“I leave the rest to you.”
The line went dead just as Afron turned, his heart sinking when he saw a familiar figure standing in the shadows near the door.
“Techno,” Afron muttered, eyes narrowing.
Techno stepped forward, arms crossed behind his back, a casual grin on his face. “Hope you’re doing well, Afron,” he said with a mocking tone.
Afron chuckled darkly, but his mind was already calculating his options. “If I can win against Techno—kill him—would I get another chance, Grand Architect?”
Silence. And then, finally, a voice through the speakers. “Maybe.”
Afron’s brow twitched in annoyance. “It would be an honor if I could hear a yes or no answer, Grand Architect.”
“Oh, I’m aware. I said ‘maybe’ because your chance of surviving is one in a thousand. Besides, I never told you to fight him.”
Confusion flashed across Afron’s face. What does that mean?
Techno broke the silence, stepping closer. “You’re a lively one, Afron. Underestimating me because of I look old?” He grinned, his demeanor shifting as his body subtly tensed.
“Looks can be deceiving, young man,” Techno said with a smirk.
Without warning, the ground beneath Afron shifted. He manipulated the gravity around Techno, aiming to crush him under the force. But Techno reacted instantly, summoning an array of weapons from his body, firing them in Afron’s direction.
The fight escalated quickly, both men using their abilities in a deadly dance. Afron hurled gravitational waves, attempting to throw Techno off balance, but the older man was too quick, his weapon creations adapting to every change in force.
Then, in the midst of the chaos, a strange sound filled the air—beep... beep... beep...
Afron paused mid-attack, realizing the beeping sound was coming from beneath his robes. His eyes widened. A countdown…
He chuckled grimly. “So, this is how the game is played,” he muttered under his breath.
Techno gave him a cold look, his smirk now gone. “Do you know why I’m the left hand of the Grand Architect?” he asked, voice devoid of the earlier humor. “It’s because the lives of the other Hire-ups—excluding the right hand—are in my hands.”
Techno’s smirk returned just as the final beep sounded.
And then, Afron’s world went black.
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The room fell silent, except for the low hum of the machines. Techno glanced down at the lifeless body of Afron, his head now a mangled mess on the floor. With a calm expression, he turned to leave.
“Golder will take over finding the Chronolux. Don’t forget to clean this mess up,” .
Techno pulled at his mustache “Understood,” .
“Very well then.”