Kim's hands clenched into fists. The weight of the badge that once sat on his chest felt heavier now that it was gone. Fired. Just like that. No trial, no inquiry—just a single order from above, and he was out.
Aisha's voice was sharp, urgent. "You're not going anywhere, Kim. Stay here. Stay in my apartment for a while."
Kim exhaled through his nose, barely containing the anger simmering beneath his skin. "JPD doesn't give a damn. We both know that. They don't care about Zwarten, Medean, or anyone who isn't Alben." His jaw tightened. "Justice in Jinjahan? A myth. The Alben always come out on top."
Aisha's laugh was bitter. "Tell me about it. I'm a journalist, and I still get shut down, threatened, and intimidated like I'm nothing. You? A Medean officer? They didn't even hesitate to throw you out."
Kim paced the room. He could still hear the commissioner's voice echoing in his head. You're done here, Kim. Turn in your weapon. You don't belong in this uniform anymore.
A lie. He had bled for that uniform. He had fought in the streets, chased criminals, protected the innocent—only to be discarded the moment he was inconvenient.
Aisha crossed her arms. "They forced us too far. They keep pushing, and pushing, and one day—"
Kim narrowed his eyes. "What's next, Aisha? What's your plan?"
Aisha didn't hesitate. "I'm sneaking into the Jinjahan CPG station. Outpost 17."
Kim stared at her. "Are you insane? That place is locked down tighter than a warzone."
"I don't care," Aisha shot back, her voice sharp as a blade. "Something is going on in there. Kids are disappearing, Kim. Families report them missing, and suddenly—nothing. No investigations. No leads. Just silence." She leaned in, lowering her voice. "I have reason to believe they're mutants."
Kim's stomach twisted. "And you think JPD is helping cover it up."
"I know they are." Aisha's expression was fierce. "JPD and CPG have always worked together in the shadows. Corruption runs deep, and I have sources whispering about kids being taken—vanishing overnight. If I can get inside Outpost 17, I might find proof."
Kim exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You're playing with fire, Aisha."
Aisha smirked, grabbing her coat. "Good thing I'm already burned."
Aisha pulled her coat tight as she stepped out of her apartment, glancing back at Kim one last time. His expression was carved from stone, but she saw the storm raging in his eyes. "Wait here," she ordered. "I'll be back."
Kim didn't argue. He just nodded. She shut the door behind her and moved quickly down the dimly lit corridor. Outside, the cold city air bit at her skin as she pulled out her phone and hailed a taxi. Using her own car was out of the question—too easy to track. A disposable ride was safer.
Minutes later, a beaten-up yellow cab rolled up to the curb. She slid into the backseat, her eyes scanning the rearview mirror for any signs of a tail. The driver—a grizzled old man who smelled like stale cigarettes—grunted in acknowledgment. "Where to?"
Aisha hesitated for half a second before replying. "Downtown industrial sector. Near the rail yards."
It was the closest landmark to Outpost 17 without setting off any red flags. The old man gave her a sideways glance but didn't ask questions. Good.
The drive was long, the silence thick. Neon lights flickered past the windows, casting jagged shadows across her face. She kept her hood up, her body tense. Every stoplight felt like an eternity. Every passing car could be watching.
By the time the taxi finally pulled up near her destination, the fortress of CPG loomed ahead—a monolithic structure of steel and concrete, surrounded by towering fences topped with razor wire. The place was built like a war bunker, impenetrable from the outside. But every fortress had a weak point.
Aisha paid the driver, stepping out with deliberate ease, blending into the shadows. She kept her pace steady, walking past the main entrance and toward the parking lot on the west side.
That's where she found him—the guard. A young officer, barely out of his academy days, leaning against the security booth with a cigarette between his fingers. He looked bored. Distracted. Good.
Aisha adjusted her coat, letting it slip slightly off her shoulder as she approached. Her heels clicked against the pavement, slow and deliberate. The guard finally looked up, his eyes dragging over her like a hungry animal. "Long night?" she purred, stopping just close enough for him to catch her scent.
The guard smirked, tossing his cigarette to the ground. "Could be worse."
Aisha stepped even closer, brushing a manicured nail along the edge of his uniform. "Mmm, and I bet a guy like you knows how to make it better."
He chuckled, shifting slightly. "Depends… you looking for trouble?"
She bit her lip, tilting her head. "Only the fun kind."
His confidence flared, his posture relaxing. Aisha could see it—he was hooked, lured into her orbit like prey. And she knew exactly how to reel him in.
They ended up inside the small security booth, the door shutting behind them. The night outside faded, leaving only heat, tension, and the hum of flickering fluorescent lights.
Aisha pushed him into the chair, straddling his lap, her fingers trailing down his chest. She whispered against his ear, her breath warm, teasing. "You must see so many things in this place."
The guard groaned softly, his hands gripping her waist. "Yeah… yeah, I do."
Aisha kissed him, slow and intoxicating, pulling him deeper under her spell. He was young, arrogant, and completely unaware that he was drowning. She made sure of it.
Time blurred. By the time he lay there—breathless, spent—Aisha hovered over him, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his jaw. "Mmm… you are good," she murmured, letting her fingers trace over his badge.
The guard, still dazed, chuckled lazily. "Told you."
Aisha leaned closer, her voice honey-sweet. "You know what would make this night even better?"
He smirked. "What's that?"
She kissed him again, deep and lingering, before pulling back just enough to whisper against his lips. "Tell me how to get inside."
He stiffened slightly, but Aisha had him too far gone to resist. Her nails dragged lightly across his chest, her body pressing closer. "Come on," she purred. "No one will ever know…"
The guard exhaled, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. His pulse was still racing, his judgment clouded. And then, finally, he broke. "There's a maintenance tunnel," he murmured, his voice husky. "Runs under the west fence. Keycard access only."
Aisha smiled against his skin. "Mmm… see? That wasn't so hard."
She reached into his pocket and slid out his ID card with feather-light fingers. He barely noticed.
Another kiss. A final whisper. And then she was gone, slipping into the shadows, leaving the guard behind.
Aisha moved like smoke through the dark—silent, shapeless, and untraceable. The cold metal ID pass pressed against her thigh inside her boot, and the guard's whispered directions repeated in her head like a war drum. Maintenance tunnel. West fence. Keycard access only.
She reached the perimeter, crouching behind a stack of rusted supply crates. Thirty meters away, the tunnel's access door blinked faint red under a wall-mounted scanner. Two cameras covered the angle, sweeping slowly like the eyes of a mechanical predator.
Timing was everything. She pulled a small compact from her coat, flipping it open—not for makeup, but for the signal jammer inside. With a soft flick, the green light blinked to life. She counted. One... two... three... The cameras froze mid-sweep.
She bolted. In seven heartbeats, she reached the tunnel door, swiped the keycard, and ducked inside as it hissed open. The heavy metal door closed behind her with a thud.
Inside the tunnel, the air was thick with machine oil and damp concrete. Faint emergency lights glowed along the ceiling, barely enough to see. Pipes ran overhead like metal intestines, hissing softly. Every step Aisha took was careful, deliberate, silent.
Halfway through the tunnel, she encountered a checkpoint gate—an electronic lock coded with both pass and thumbprint access. "Shit," she muttered, crouching beside the panel.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a thin injection needle, pressing it against the skin of her thumb. The microgel inside hardened her print into a fake replica—one she'd scanned from a stolen file weeks ago. She placed her thumb against the reader. Beep. ACCESS GRANTED.
Aisha slipped through the second door and into the underbelly of the fortress. Now came the hard part. The inner corridors of Outpost 17 were a sterile maze of gray steel and white lights. Cameras lined every hallway, patrol units rotated on scheduled routes, and biometric scans locked down the labs and archives.
But Aisha wasn't guessing. She studied these routes. Memorized them. She moved between blind spots like a ghost, pressing herself against walls, ducking into utility closets, crawling through ventilation grates. Twice, she had to flatten against the floor as armed units marched past.
She finally reached the Records Sector—room 3C. The door was sealed. She used the guard's ID card again. Click. The door slid open with a hydraulic whisper.
Inside, it was cold—far colder than the rest of the building. Aisha shivered as she crossed to the terminal in the center of the room. On the wall beside it was a massive bulletin board.
Pinned to it were sheets of paper. Printed. Old-school. Aisha stepped closer. Her stomach dropped.
The bulletin was labeled: "MUTATION MONITORING & ELIMINATION – PHASE SCHEDULE"
Below it, rows and columns listed names. Ages. Districts. Photos of children. Most of them no older than ten. Beside each name was a code:
"Status: Unstable – Ready for Transport"
"Mutagenic Signature: Confirmed"
"Execution Schedule: Pending CPG Approval"
Aisha's hand trembled as she flipped through the pages. Each child was targeted. Not protected. Not cared for. Hunted.
She swallowed hard, her heart pounding like thunder. And then she saw it—her worst fear realized. "JPD Collaboration Confirmed."
A stamped emblem of the Jinjahan Police Department sat beside a signature she recognized all too well. Captain Choi Jisung. Kim's old commanding officer. Her blood turned to ice.
She backed away from the board, her breath shallow, mind racing. This was no rogue CPG operation. This was a systematic purge. A coalition of enforcement, fueled by fear, corruption, and genocide. Aisha clenched her fists. There was no turning back now. She had the evidence.