My footsteps rang out with a hard, metallic echo as I descended the rooftop stairs.
Roselia followed behind me, accompanied by Cecily, who was still unsteady on her feet.
I stopped short as a thought occurred to me.
"Cecily, that long hair is going to be a nuisance once we’re inside. Do you mind if we trim it?"
Cecily tilted her head at the sudden suggestion, while Roselia voiced her immediate disapproval.
"What’s this all of a sudden? You can’t just go around cutting a girl’s hair—"
Roselia’s voice trailed off. She looked into my eyes and seemed to sense something.
With a reluctant nod, she said, "I’ll do it," and after getting Cecily’s consent, she trimmed the waist-length locks down to her shoulders.
"U-Um... do you prefer it short?" Cecily asked timidly.
I brushed the question off with a non-committal smile. "Yeah, looks good. It suits you."
With that settled, we pushed forward.
The interior of the building was cold. More than half the lights were dead; only the emergency lamps traced intermittent white lines through the gloom. The sharp scent of lingering gunfire and the acrid stench of burnt plastic stung my nostrils.
I traced the structural diagrams in my head as I moved through the now-vacant top floor. This area was reserved for executive suites and boardrooms—the dens of the money-grubbers. It was as good a place as any for a preliminary raid.
Behind us, members of the police organization were already fanning out, securing the perimeter.
Our immediate destination was the research floor of the Second Technical Bureau. If we could find even a single log proving a connection to "The Ninth," it would give us the leverage we needed to tear them down.
Of course, I doubted they’d be slow enough to leave such evidence lying around.
From Roselia’s perspective, simply dismantling Vira Corp—the ones actually doing the dirty work—was likely enough for now. The moment they laid hands on the daughters of high society, Vira Corp was finished. It was just a question of whether they collapsed today or tomorrow.
Physically speaking, the collapse was already well underway.
While we were in the air, I’d heard that another unit was currently executing search warrants at the executives' private residences. The fact that they were moving in such a massive, synchronized strike meant the top brass of the police organization had finally been stirred into action.
Whether they would actually pursue "The Ninth" to the end was another story.
Still, if the root of the problem was crushed, the matter would be settled for the time being.
I rotated my shoulders as we continued down the stairs. I’d left the "big guy"—that heavy Gatling cannon—back on the roof. Lugging that monster around inside would have been in poor taste.
Instead, I drew a handgun from the holster at my hip.
It was a high-energy handgun, another "gift" from Roselia. Technically, it was a military-grade weapon that shouldn't have been in circulation. Or rather, it didn't circulate because it was essentially a defective product.
Large caliber, high output, and remarkably difficult to handle. It required heat dissipation after every single shot, followed by a mandatory energy cell replacement. In a real fight, it was a useless piece of junk.
But those flaws didn't apply to me.
If it broke, I’d just "repair" it. To me, it had no weaknesses.
I expanded the range of my Speech Bubbles—my Thought Sensing skill. The ripples of consciousness began to seep through the walls.
Hostility. Fear. Confusion.
Red-glowing Speech Bubbles flickered into existence throughout the space, pinpointing the enemies' locations with mathematical precision.
"Through the wall, then."
I adjusted my aim slightly and pulled the trigger.
There was a muffled thump of recoil. A hole the size of a drinking glass punched through the wall, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor. Two more shots, two more heavy thuds.
Roselia sighed, and Cecily turned pale as she looked at me.
I knew what they were thinking. Why wasn't I just aiming for the Speech Bubbles to knock them out like I did before?
Why would I bother with something so tedious?
Last time, the "young ladies" were involved, so I’d held back. Now, the situation was different. If I left these people alive to hold a grudge, it would only cause trouble later. I was here to clean house. That was all.
I moved indifferently from floor to floor. Every time we cleared a major sector, the tactical teams from the upper levels moved in to secure it. Clear, hand over, descend. We repeated the cycle.
We passed a few general employees in white coats along the way, but I didn't open fire on them. They huddled against the walls in terror, not even daring to look in our direction. I gave them nothing more than a passing glance. The tactical teams followed behind, restraining them and leading them away. They went without a fight, their spirits broken, heads hanging low.
The floorboards creaked softly under my boots. The Second Technical Bureau was close.
I steadied my breathing and tightened my grip on the gun.
"Alright... we're almost there."
No Speech Bubbles appeared yet, but a thick, oppressive presence was drifting up from the floor below.
The moment we stepped off the stairs, the atmosphere shifted.
An inorganic chill brushed against my skin, and the ozone scent of electricity filled the air. Beside the entrance to the floor, a silver plate bearing the words Second Technical Bureau glowed red in the flickering emergency light.
This was the place.
I pushed the doors open to reveal a massive, open-concept floor. It was far too large to be a mere laboratory. Black cables snaked across the white floor like vines, and banks of monitors lined the walls. The lingering glow of holo-projectors drifted in the air; though the room was empty, the ghost of human activity remained.
"It’s huge..." Roselia murmured behind me.
It was the perfect place for an ambush, but there were no Speech Bubbles. The only sounds in the silent space were the hum of server terminals and the rhythmic popping of liquid bubbles.
Cultivation capsules stood in neat rows against the far wall. They were empty now, but the faintly glowing solution inside cast a dim, spectral blue light over the room. Shadows writhed like living things in the half-darkness.
Roselia and Cecily followed me in. Cecily was so tense she seemed to be holding her breath.
Then we reached the center of the floor—an open lobby where the staff probably used to take their breaks.
A massive black figure stood waiting for us.
It was well over two meters tall, its steel chassis finished in a matte coating that seemed to swallow the light. Its face was a featureless mask, and it emitted a low, mechanical drone with every cycle of its cooling system. I hadn't noticed it at the manor, but the chest plate bore the designation V-09.
It was Vira Corp’s latest combat augmented prosthetic.
The "welcome wagon" had arrived.
Just as I began to raise my gun, a flash of gold entered my peripheral vision. It was Roselia’s prosthetic arm. She reached out, her hand pressing down on the barrel of my handgun to lower my aim.
"My apologies, Repairman."
Her voice was quiet, lacking its usual playfulness. It carried the heavy weight of authority.
"Would you mind leaving this one to me?"
It was phrased as a request, but the look in her eyes made it clear that refusal wasn't an option. There wasn't a trace of hesitation in her expression. She was already looking past me, her gaze locked on the battlefield.
I let out a small sigh and shrugged. "Don’t break it too much."
"I can't make any promises."
With that curt reply, Roselia stepped forward. The rhythmic clack of her metal boots echoed through the hall.
I placed a light hand on Cecily’s shoulder and pulled her back.
"I-Is she going to be okay?" Cecily whispered, her voice trembling.
I gave her a reassuring wave. "She’ll be fine. Believe it or not, she’s a professional."
A quiet heat began to radiate from Roselia’s back. Tiny arcs of blue electricity flickered from the seams where metal met flesh. With every step she took, the floor beneath her feet groaned and cracked.
Gold and black faced off in the center of the research floor.
Mechanical hearts roared to life, making the very air vibrate. Electromagnetic noise flooded the room, causing the wall monitors to strobe and flicker. It felt as though invisible sparks were scorching the atmosphere.
The raw pressure of two combat prosthetics clashing was invisible to the eye, yet I could feel it prickling against my skin.
The battle was about to begin.