Inside the conference room, the bare concrete walls still pressed in with a suffocating weight. Connor sat across from the uninvited guest, his gaze sharp enough to ignite at any moment. Drago and Edward stood close by, watching carefully, while Zenos remained perfectly still, making no move to remove his scratched metal mask. Even with the air quality display at the edge of his visor reading 14 µg/m³, confirming the air here was far cleaner than the outside world, he kept it on.
"So… what exactly are you here for? What's your objective?"
Connor opened with a firm, unwavering voice.
Zenos shifted slightly, the faint scrape of his light armor brushing together before he answered in a low voice through the mask.
"You already know about Pierce, don't you?"
The question hung in the air. Everyone in the room froze for a brief moment as Zenos continued.
"That colonel isn't just trying to wipe out the Out Law for the sake of peace. He's turning the Outlands into a livestock pen, one that the government controls completely. And the next door he comes knocking on… will be yours."
He laced his fingers together on the metal table.
"I'm not here as one of Don Isaac's men. I'm here as someone who doesn't want to see this entire board collapse under Pierce's hand alone."
"It's true that his primary target is my Out Law. But that doesn't mean you've been crossed off his list."
Zenos said, leaning back into his chair with an ease that clashed against the tension in the room.
"Wouldn't it make more sense to call a temporary truce and work together to take his head first? Because my intel confirms Pierce has already secured reinforcements. Around two hundred."
"How certain are you about that intel?"
Connor asked, probing, his eyes never leaving the skull-shaped mask.
"You think all we do is move cheap cargo?"
Zenos let out a quiet, mocking chuckle.
"We've got eyes and ears all over the Dome. Not to mention a few investors starting to panic, worried Pierce is about to rewrite the system and cost them their profits. I've already handled my side of the preparation. The real question is… are you ready to handle yours?"
Zenos's words pulled the room into silence. Edward and Drago exchanged a knowing glance. The report about two hundred reinforcements matched their own projections exactly. With their greatest enemy walking in and offering an alliance like this, it was impossible to tell whether it was a golden opportunity… or a trap soaked in poison.
"Then why bring this to us all of a sudden?"
Edward cut in, his eyes locked onto the scratched mask.
"I mean… we didn't exactly go easy on your side, did we?"
"I'm not kind enough to come all the way here just to warn you out of concern."
Zenos replied, his voice cold and matter-of-fact.
"On my own, I could walk away from this entire mess and make it out of this world just fine. But walking away without taking back what I've lost… that's a different story."
He paused for a moment before turning his mask directly toward the young man.
"And another thing… I haven't forgotten about my Rocket Bike that you stole. Remember this, kid. That's a debt you'll be paying back later."
The threat, laced with implication, tightened the tension in the room. But what came next caught everyone off guard even more.
"As for the EMP… you can hold onto it for now. I'm not in a hurry to take it back."
Zenos said it as if that legendary weapon were nothing more than something casually left with a neighbor, laying down a bridge of mutual interest that forced the alliance to choose between pride and survival.
"So what exactly is your plan?"
Drago cut in, suspicion clear in his voice as he fixed his gaze on the mercenary's mask.
"Take down Pierce. That's it. This is personal."
Zenos replied, his tone cold enough to send a chill through the room.
"Personal? Since when did you start holding a grudge against him?"
Drago shot back, unconvinced.
"You've only been paying attention to the small fry, haven't you… immortal?"
Zenos let out a low, mocking chuckle as he shifted slightly.
"Let me ask you something. You really think P-Type can operate with that level of precision on their own? No. Everything behind it is Pierce's strategy. If he hadn't been pulling the strings from the start, not even you would've found the perfect moment to destroy my convoy like that."
He paused briefly before continuing, his voice sharpening.
"Without him, P-Type is nothing more than a child holding a live grenade. Just waiting for the day it blows up in their own hands. Cut off Pierce, and you take away the government's most dangerous set of claws."
"Fine… let's get to the point. When you say you want our help, what exactly do you mean?"
Edward stepped in, cutting the conversation short.
"Then let's talk specifics."
Zenos leaned forward, the light from the display reflecting across the scratched surface of his mask. Whatever deal was about to be made here… it marked the beginning of a high-stakes operation to bring down the central government, with every life in the room hanging in the balance.
…..
In the open courtyard of the Peacekeeping Command Center in Biotope 5, the air was thick with disciplined tension. Two hundred elite soldiers, freshly arrived, spread out across the area, meticulously checking their equipment. The latest assault rifles and composite armor gleamed under the sunlight as they prepared for the purge operation set to erupt in two days.
"This is what you call elite soldiers? They don't look like much to me."
Lewis muttered, leaning against the wall as he watched them with open disdain, the confidence of his superhuman strength written all over him.
"Care to put that to the test?"
Colonel Pierce spoke up, his tone calm but edged with intent, his eyes fixed on the troops under his command.
"Heh. Sure. Send anyone you want. If they're not good enough, I'm not letting them clutter up the battlefield."
Lewis shot back, straightening up as his muscles tensed, stretching the fabric of his shirt tight.
"As you wish…"
A faint smile touched Pierce's lips before he raised his voice, calling out sharply.
"You. Step forward."
At the command, a well-built soldier immediately stepped out from the line. His posture was steady, his presence confident, the mark of someone who had endured rigorous training, no less than any top-tier professional soldier.
"Yes, sir!"
He answered firmly, standing straight with both arms aligned neatly at his sides. Beneath his field cap, his eyes remained calm, almost intimidating in their stillness.
"How do you want to do this?"
Pierce asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the overconfident powerhouse.
"Simple. One round. First one to hit the ground loses."
Lewis replied, his voice bold as he raised his guard, ready to engage.
"You understand the rules, soldier?"
Pierce turned his gaze to the well-built man.
"Yes, sir!"
The soldier responded loudly and clearly, his eyes steady, as calm and unshaken as a perfectly still surface of water.
The moment the signal was given, Lewis let out a roar and charged forward like a rampaging tank, intent on crushing the ordinary soldier into the ground in an instant. But in the next split second, his vision twisted. The face of his opponent vanished, replaced by a spinning blur of sky and earth.
Thud!
The soldier never met him head-on. Instead, he seized the exact moment Lewis lunged forward, using speed and precise technique to redirect the force in a fraction of a second. The giant lost his balance, carried forward by his own momentum, before his leg was swept out from under him, sending him crashing hard onto the ground. The match was over in an instant. And the one who lost, completely and utterly, was Lewis.
"Do you understand now… what real combat actually is?"
Pierce said as he walked over to Lewis, who was still trying to process what had just happened.
"It's a mission. The rule was simple. First one to fall loses. In a drawn-out fight, he wouldn't stand a chance against your raw strength. But when the objective is to make you fall, all he has to do is find a way to put you on the ground. And the moment he does, he wins. Think about that."
The colonel gave Lewis a few light pats on the shoulder, snapping him back to reality, before turning and walking away, leaving the massive augmented man sitting alone in the dust under the calm, unreadable gazes of two hundred professional soldiers.
"A mission, huh… he's got a way with words."
23, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed as he watched from a distance, muttered under his breath. His cold eyes followed Colonel Pierce's retreating figure, then shifted to the disciplined movement of the soldiers, who operated with machine-like precision.
He understood all too well that Pierce's words weren't just a lesson for Lewis. It was a declaration. From this point on, brute strength alone would no longer decide the outcome of war. With tactical intelligence and military discipline taking control, the fangs of P-Type, once driven by raw instinct, were being reshaped into something far more precise and far more deadly.
23 moved his hand to the knife at his waist. The composure of the soldier who had just taken down a giant like Lewis in an instant made one thing clear to him. The purge operation in two days would be nothing like hunting ordinary criminals anymore.