Chapter 165

The Heat Circulation System created massive, yawning chasms between the buildings. It was a simple rule of the subterranean: the deeper you went, the hotter it got. Down here in the Underground City, trying to survive without the Heat Circulation System was a one-way ticket to being slow-roasted.

These gaps were threaded through the city like a network of veins, pumping scorching air toward the surface. Since hot air naturally wants to go up, the system wasn't exactly rocket science. There was no need to suck in cold air from the surface, either; the air conditioners in every building handled that grunt work.

“……………………”

In what would be the aorta of this metallic circulatory system—the largest vertical shaft of all—there was nothing but endless iron. Up, down, left, and right, the view was a monotonous stretch of plating, broken only by the occasional duct or maintenance ladder.

Clinging to this artificial precipice like a persistent insect, Phantom was making his way toward the ceiling.

He was using a pair of cylindrical electromagnets. They were simple things—click on, click off—and he used them to silently hoist his body upward, one arm at a time. He was wrapped in a sleek black suit, topped off with a mask to keep the oppressive heat from melting his face or singeing his hair.

It should be right around here.

The map he’d burned into his brain before the mission showed a duct at this exact coordinate that led straight into the heart of the inner sanctum. Reality, however, offered nothing but a flat, stubborn wall of iron. Squinting through the darkness, Phantom eventually spotted a slight bulge in the metal that looked like an old patch job.

Reinforcements? An old repair? Just my luck.

Judging by how much the iron had degraded, this wasn't a recent fix. Phantom gave up on this particular entrance and decided to pivot toward another nearby duct. He didn't have all day to stare at a wall.

---

The de facto head of the NASA Alliance Forces—a man who had spent every waking moment from birth to the present fighting a relentless war against the WIND—was currently offering a prayer in a chapel so tiny it could barely fit a handful of people.

“………………”

The man knelt, bowing his head low. After maintaining the solemn posture for a while, he finally stood, tracing the sign of the cross across his forehead, chest, and shoulders.

“Well, that’s a surprise. You actually believe in God?”

A voice drifted in from behind. Antonio didn't answer immediately, keeping his eyes fixed on the chapel's large crucifix. Finally, he turned and gave the speaker a curt nod.

“In the strict sense? I couldn't say. But the situation is dire enough that I’ll take any help I can get, even from the divine... What about you, Henry? Don't tell me you're an atheist.”

The man leaning against the chapel entrance took a moment to pretend he was thinking about it.

“……Nah, I believe in something, Antonio. Though it’s probably not what you’re imagining.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Eh, nothing. Forget I said anything. More importantly, let’s get moving. The little lady is waiting.”

Henry pushed off the wall and walked away without waiting for a response. Antonio wondered for a second if he’d just been insulted, but figured it wasn't worth the brainpower and followed.

“The girl is absolutely livid, by the way,” Henry called back over his shoulder. “She really didn't appreciate our little stunt.”

The two men marched down the corridor toward the office of Sophia, the NASA Alliance Leader. Their footsteps echoed with a rhythmic, mechanical click-clack against the floor.

“Naturally,” Antonio replied, his face as flat and emotionless as a Noh mask. “Anyone would react that way after being betrayed by people they trusted.”

“Is that so? I wouldn't know,” Henry said, shrugging with an irreverent grin.

Antonio let out a dry, mocking snort. “That’s because you’re always the one doing the betraying.”

“Can’t argue with that… Still, what’s the plan?”

Henry stopped and looked back. Antonio caught his gaze and gave a slow, deliberate nod.

“We do what we must. If she can’t be persuaded, then it’s a shame, but she’ll have to be removed from the equation.”

There was a hint of resignation in his voice. Henry eyed him. “Regrets?”

“No,” Antonio shook his head. “This is the only way we survive. The Strategic Research Team reached the same conclusion.”

“Right… but listen, Antonio. Is there really no chance those guys from the surface could pull a miracle out of their pockets?”

“The Rising Sun mercenaries? Maybe. But even then—”

Antonio started walking again, and Henry fell into step behind him.

“Even if they win, what then? A life of being stepped on is all that’s waiting for us.”

“……The surface might’ve changed in four hundred years, you know?”

“No, it’s the same. If anything, it’s gotten worse. You saw the data we pulled.”

Thanks to the Orbital Space Elevator built by the Rising Sun crew, NASA had regained its link to the stars. They’d managed to sneak onto the network and had been obsessively studying life within the Galactic Empire. For them, it was a matter of survival—their top priority.

In the Empire, if you couldn't use BISHOP, you weren't even considered a person.

It was an unwritten law everyone knew. Those incapable of using the system were branded Outsiders—shunned, oppressed, and treated like vermin. They lived huddled in the dark corners of slums, leading miserable, short lives. Someone like Phantom’s sister, who managed to live a semi-normal life, was a statistical miracle.

“We’ve been kicking this can down the road for a long time. Now the bill’s due,” Henry muttered.

Antonio felt a flash of irritation but kept his face a blank slate. Henry was right. NASA had known about this problem for generations, yet they’d never come up with a single solution that actually worked.

“By the time I was born, ninety-five percent of our people were already Outsiders. The remaining five percent? They have the processing power of a five-year-old by Imperial standards. We don’t have the hardware for BISHOP, and we have no use for it anyway. No one was ever going to fix it. What were we supposed to do in a situation like that?”

“Hey, I’m not blaming you. It’s just bad eugenics running wild in a very small sandbox. I’m sure our ancestors didn't pick this hole in the ground for the decor, either… damn it. Why did they have to show up now? They should’ve just left us alone.”

“Exactly. Precisely…… We only have this world to live in. If anyone tries to mess with that—”

They reached the office door. Antonio gripped the handle and spat out his final thought.

“Then they are the enemy. I don't care who they are.”

He threw the door open, revealing the short entrance hall leading into the main office. They stepped inside but paused. Something was off. There were chairs along the walls for guards to lounge in, but the chairs were suspiciously empty.

“…………”

The two exchanged a silent look and drew their handguns. Holding their breath, they crept around the corner. They reached the massive, overly ornate desk of the NASA Alliance Leader—a piece of furniture designed to look important rather than be useful.

“……They got her!” Antonio barked.

The office was a ghost town. Henry vaulted over the desk, checked the floor, and shook his head.

“I thought she was just a pretty doll, but it looks like she’s got some teeth.”

Antonio moved behind the desk. There, they found two guards stripped to their underwear and tied up like Christmas hams.

“Look, they’re still alive. She couldn't have taken out two grown men by herself… she’s got help. Probably the guys from above.”

Antonio checked their pulses, then pulled out his transceiver.

“This is Antonio. Trigger a lockdown. Put the entire central district on high alert. We have an intruder. Miss Olivia has been kidnapped and is currently in transit. Secure her immediately and report back.”

“U-understood, sir! What are the rules of engagement if they resist?”

“Shoot to kill…… wait, scratch that.”

Antonio paused, a dark inspiration striking him. He pulled open a desk drawer and found the small self-defense pistol the Leader kept for emergencies. Using a handkerchief, he picked it up carefully.

“I’m amending my previous report. It is highly likely that Miss Olivia is an accomplice. She has murdered two guards and fled with classified intelligence. If you encounter resistance, you are authorized to shoot to kill—including Miss Olivia.”

He heard a sharp gasp from the other end of the line. Antonio cut the connection without waiting for a reply. Then, he calmly pointed the pistol down and pulled the trigger twice.

---

Phantom heard the faint pop-pop of suppressed gunfire and stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Something wrong? Forget your lunch?”

A NASA guard walking alongside Phantom asked the question with a relaxed grin.

“No,” Phantom replied shortly, resuming his pace. “Just thought I’d lost my wallet. I was planning on grabbing a few drinks after this shift. Got a bit of cash in there.”

With his free hand—the one not supporting the unconscious Olivia, who was currently disguised in a guard uniform—he patted a bulging pocket. It was actually a handgun, but at a glance, it looked enough like a fat wallet.

“I get it. A man’s gotta protect his beer money. Just get that girl to the infirmary first…… whoops, message from HQ.”

The man pulled out a clunky, old-fashioned transceiver and held it to his ear while they walked. Phantom mimicked the gesture, holding his own device up while making sure the guard couldn't see the status lights. He didn't know how the thing worked, but his enhanced hearing caught every syllable leaking from the guard’s speaker.

“……Right. Copy that. If I see anything, I’ll call it in.”

The guard clicked off the radio and slowly came to a halt. Phantom didn't miss a beat; he slid directly behind the man and pressed his suppressed pistol against the small of the guard's back.

“So. I assume I don’t need to explain the situation?”

Given the radio call, there was no way the guard hadn't put two and two together. The man slowly raised his hands, his tone surprisingly casual.

“Hey now, let’s not do anything we’ll regret, okay?”

“As long as you don't do anything stupid. We’re still going to the infirmary, but I’m going to need you to pick up the pace.”

The guard let out a low, miserable groan.