SECTOR D

  The police station was steeped in the dull calm of routine and normalcy. The hallways were almost empty, with only the occasional person coming and going. The silence was broken only by the clatter of keyboards or the occasional phone call. The entire station was enveloped in the tranquil atmosphere that tends to dominate the night shift.

  On Inspector Yamamoto’s desk, steam rose from a cup of coffee Adachi had brought, accompanying the soft hum of the monitors. A faded photograph showed a younger Yamamoto smiling with his daughters and granddaughter, Haru. A reminder of simpler times. Outside, in the corridor, Lieutenant Dojima fought both sleep and the vending machine, searching for fuel to get through another night of overtime and make it to sunrise. The silence, accomplice of routine, reigned through the halls.

  The inspector had long grown accustomed to night shifts. It was a habit he had developed while traveling around the world, where a regular work schedule was a luxury. Nights like this brought him quiet nostalgia for his younger, more adventurous days—memories that made him faintly smile, even as age slowly pulled him farther away from his warrior past.

  However, with the station chief on vacation, Yamamoto himself had volunteered to take command of the night shift for a few days, hoping to relive a trace of his former glories, if only faintly.

  Still, the same thought lingered in his mind as in every other officer’s—the unspoken curse of the night shift, the sacred rule never to be broken, the fear of uttering the words that might shatter the fragile seal of calm: "What a quiet night." Everyone thought it, but no one dared say it aloud because those words were said to invite misfortune like the Fates summon death.

  Ironically, not speaking the phrase wasn't enough to prevent the disaster that had already been set in motion hours earlier, unnoticed by them all.

  Officer Adachi burst into the office, his face twisted in unusual panic. For a moment, Yamamoto thought it was another one of his partner’s typical blunders, like the time Adachi accidentally erased the entire case file from the police server. But Adachi’s words brought Yamamoto to a different reality: an unauthorized radio transmission—a frantic female voice reporting a hostage situation at Fujikawa Corp. Tower. Most crucially, she insisted on delivering a personal message:

  “Tell Inspector Yamamoto that the White Girl needs his help.”

  Five minutes earlier, emergency dispatchers had detected the unauthorized use of a police radio frequency. When they spoke with the broadcaster, the woman sounded agitated and mentioned an emergency at Fujikawa Corp. Tower involving a hostage situation and a plea for the police to come as soon as possible. The building was fully reserved for the CEO’s wedding celebration and had already experienced a fire alarm a few hours earlier, which the staff had dismissed. The radio call raised new suspicions, so the operators went to find the inspector for instructions.

  However, Inspector Yamamoto, with his long experience dealing with personal and professional crises, already knew what this meant: serious danger. He knew who had sent that message. He knew so well her...or that being.If she was asking for help, then the situation was probably beyond her control. And if she couldn't handle it, then it was far too serious for the local police to face alone.

  The old man stood at a crossroads in his mind. Should he trust the call and mobilize a full-scale deployment of patrol cars, SAT units, and helicopters, risking it all on a potential false alarm? Or should he ignore it and risk missing the beginning of a catastrophe spiraling out of control?

  Without needing to think much, he remembered the times that same voice had helped him in his darkest hours. How many times had she saved his granddaughter from danger? How many times had she saved him? How many times had they fought side by side, covering each other’s backs?His shared history with Elise weighed heavily on his judgment.

  After a few seconds of deliberation, he made his choice. He picked up the phone and ordered the deployment.

  Minutes later, sirens streaked across the city — patrol cars speeding down the highway and an army of vehicles and helicopters roaring through the night.Pedestrians watched them pass with an uneasy feeling that something significant was happening.

  Inside the command vehicle, Yamamoto coordinated the operation via the screen while Dojima, marked by exhaustion, drove.

  "Damn it! I've only slept four hours in the last two days. Why did this have to happen now?" Dojima muttered, taking a swig of an energy drink to fight off the drowsiness.

  "This is my first time in something big and serious like this," said Adachi, fumbling with his bulletproof vest in the cramped backseat, he was uncomfortable from the tight space and his nerves.

  “You know how police life goes, boys. One moment you’re half asleep, drowning in paperwork. The next, you’re fighting for your life to save innocent people,” Yamamoto said.

  “Adachi, I know you’re nervous, but please stay focused. Be aware of your surroundings."

  "Moments like these—and the choices you make in them—are the ones that stay with you for the rest of your life.” He spoke firmly to Adachi, trying to temper the young man’s anxiety.

  "But the Fujikawa Tower of all places?"Dojima muttered, still irritated.

  "That place must have insane security, especially today when the whole building was booked."

  “Maybe that’s why they chose it,” Adachi replied casually.

  "With fewer people inside and a wedding, it's safe to assume the great Mr. Fujikawa himself—the man whose name is on the building—would be there for sure."

  An uncomfortable silence filled the car. Dojima and Yamamoto exchanged a surprised glance. It was unusual for Adachi to make such a sharp observation.

  When they arrived at the site, the scene was eerily calm. Patrol cars blocked the streets, and officers took up positions, scanning the skyscraper’s windows for threats. But there were no gunshots, shattered glass, or screams. Only the towering silence of the building remained. Other officers began to cast uneasy glances at Yamamoto, the man who had ordered them to mobilize. Doubt crept into their eyes, but they pressed on, driven by their trust and respect for him.

  A couple of minutes passed without anything happening. Doubts grew stronger and stronger until a luxurious vehicle broke through the impatient calm and made its way to the police cordon. Several officers tried to stop the driver, but their demeanor changed when the driver spoke with them. They quickly removed a few barricades to let him through without delay.

  From a distance, Yamamoto saw the car approaching. He knew that inside was someone no one had expected—someone he would probably have to tolerate with forced politeness. A man of mature age, well-composed and carrying himself with the confidence of one accustomed to positions of power, stepped out of it. He adjusted his suit and walked straight toward Yamamoto.

  "Inspector Yamamoto!" he greeted without ceremony.

  This was no ordinary man. It was Senator Yoshida, also known as the "Guardian of Japan" and former commander of the JSDF. The fact that he had passed through the cordon thanks to his influence and was approaching an active zone spoke volumes about his determination.

  Yamamoto kept his expression unreadable. He would never hesitate when someone’s life was at stake, though that wouldn't make Yoshida any less problematic.

  “Senator Yoshida,” Yamamoto replied.

  "This is an active operations zone. Your safety could be at risk.”

  "My safety is the least of my concerns, Inspector," Yoshida retorted with a gesture of disdain.

  "It is my country's safety that's being threatened."

  This became my concern the moment a so-called terrorist threat appeared in the heart of Tokyo.

  “My family has defended this nation for generations. Any threat to national security is also my problem.”

  Yamamoto maintained his composure, though every instinct warned him of the senator’s intentions. “Senator Yoshida, I appreciate your concern, but I must insist that you remain behind the safety perimeter. This is an active operations area.”

  Yoshida gave a thin, almost imperceptible smile. "Active operations, precisely. That’s why I’m here. The Prime Minister is deeply concerned.”

  "We cannot allow these criminals to believe they can act with impunity." Japan’s image is at stake.”

  "Right now, intelligence agencies are monitoring and judging every move we make."

  "All of this was set in motion by your decision to immediately deploy the entire police force based on intuition.”

  “I hope your intuition is correct, Yamamoto,” murmured Dojima, fatigue and skepticism wearing down his voice. “I don’t want to look like an idiot for—”

  A dull, metallic thud cut him off. All eyes turned toward a patrol car whose roof was now crushed under the weight of a body. The corpse of a man dressed in full tactical gear, a rifle still clutched in his hands, lay there—a macabre message sent from above.

  "What the hell...? Did he jump?" Adachi asked, his voice trembling.

  "No," Yamamoto corrected, his voice regaining its characteristic steadiness.

  "He still has all his gear. This is a statement. They're telling us exactly what's inside."

  "And who do you think sent us this... 'gift'?" Dojima asked, looking at the body.

  "Someone who's fighting a war in there," Yamamoto replied.

  At that moment, a technician approached."Inspector, communications inside the building are blocked, but we've identified active landlines. There are confirmed armed men on the 80th floor, Fujikawa's office. We can try a call, but we don't know how long they'll be there."

  Yamamoto nodded, his decision made even before the technician finished. "Put the call through. I'll handle it."

  As they handed him the phone, his gaze met that of Senator Yoshida beside the SAT captain already coordinating the assault on the building. In the politician's eyes, Yamamoto saw no concern for the hostages.

  Yamamoto knew he couldn't do the usual thing: if he showed weakness Yoshida would question his methods; if he acted harshly against the terrorists the situation could get worse. Before taking the phone he thought to himself about the best way to face the situation, noted what he knew — the hostages, the building, the white-haired girl, the body that fell from the sky — put it all together and built the theory he would use to communicate with the enemy.

  The phone vibrated ominously in Yamamoto's hand. Each ring marked the rhythm of those present's heartbeats. Dojima and Adachi held their breath. A few meters away, Senator Yoshida watched with his arms crossed, an impassive sphinx whose silent judgment weighed more than any shout.

  Click. The line opened.

  "Speak... Zima." The voice on the other end was cold, professional, but with a hint of contained tension.

  Yamamoto didn't waste a second. His tone, by his own decision and by the pressure of the moment, was not that of a soft negotiator but of an opponent who had already sized up the board.

  "Zima. I'm Inspector Yamamoto, of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police." His voice was a scalpel — sharp and precise.

  "I suppose you know how this goes; I'm calling as a courtesy from the police."

  He paused deliberately, letting the silence, heavy with meaning, seep through the line. Yoshida barely nodded, approving the hard opening.

  "One of two things is going to happen," Yamamoto continued, his gaze fixed on the terrorist's corpse atop the patrol car.

  "Option A: You admit you're a small-time thief whose get-rich-quick scheme went wildly out of control and you want to see how to get out of this alive."

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  Yoshida's dry, rasping laugh was almost audible. Yamamoto ignored the provocation.

  "Or Option B — and most likely — you're part of a professional team with every last detail thought out and planned to perfection, so talking to you isn't part of your plan, I imagine."

  "..........." The silence on the other end was eloquent. Yuri was listening, evaluating.

  "Option B, I'll assume," Yamamoto finished, not giving an inch. "Look, kid, let's not play dumb — I know your people are professionals."

  "You know this situation only has one ending. I suggest we shorten the road. Release the hostages now, and the conversation about your exit alive can begin."

  "Release the hostages, starting with the women and children, and I guarantee you a safe corridor to negotiate the terms of your surrender."

  Yuri's reply came, laced with a contempt that matched Yamamoto's.

  "Your proposals lack incentives, Inspector. The hostages are our insurance. As long as they're here, your SAT will hesitate before turning this place into a war zone." A pause, calculating.

  "We need... let's say, another two hours. After that, we'll start releasing them in groups."

  It was then that Yoshida, who had approached silently, spoke in a tone low enough that the phone's microphone wouldn't pick it up. It wasn't a direct interruption, but a side remark loaded with venom.

  "Our country does not negotiate with terrorists, give them some hope, and I will reveal everything you did during the Cold War to your granddaughter," said the senator, striking Yamamoto's heart like a sniper's bullet.

  A direct attack on the core of everything he had worked to redeem. The image of Haru, his granddaughter, her smile full of faith in her “hero” grandfather, dissolved at the prospect of her learning the shadows he had inhabited—the decisions that had stained his hands with blood to, ironically, protect a country that now threatened him. The old man turned to look at the man beside him; for a moment he swore he saw the face of a demon—there was a mocking, scornful smile on his face; he had the inspector exactly where he wanted him. Yamamoto, his expression still unreadable, decided to change his demeanor, everything for the sake of protecting his granddaughter’s dream of becoming a fair-minded police officer—even if it meant sacrificing himself.

  “Two hours?” Yamamoto’s laugh was cutting, an ice blade. “Don’t insult me. You’re not in a position to ask for time. You’re in a position to surrender and prevent a massacre.”

  On the other end of the line, Yuri must have noticed the abrupt change. The tension in his silence was palpable.

  “You’re the ones locked in there with the White Girl, not me." Yamamoto continued, his tone now an accusation, deliberately abandoning any de-escalation tactics.

  ‘Are you telling me you’re complicit with that dangerous monster, Inspector?"

  "Aren’t you acting as if you’re above the law? Your duty is to rescue innocent people alive from people like us.’”

  “My duty is to resolve this situation. And the White Girl wasn’t a problem until you attacked,” Yamamoto replied coldly. He knew his words sounded monstrously complicit, but the performance for Yoshida continued.

  ““Well, the white girl wasn’t a problem until you attacked.”

  “The building wasn’t on fire before you showed up, if I remember correctly.”

  “As for the hostages, I imagine they’ll come out one way or another — to be honest I never really expected you to give us anything from the start.”

  “From my point of view this is a problem that will solve itself.”

  “The good ending would be that you surrender, release the hostages, we arrest you, and you go to jail.”

  “A neutral ending would be that you are eliminated by the white girl without me having to do anything, and I simply collect the hostages.”

  “The bad ending — some hostages die, but you still won’t get out of this alive either.”

  “In none of those do you win.”

  “......”

  “In fact, I have some here who are calling for a bit of action — the SAT captain is eager to put his men to the test and gain some recognition.”

  “I even have a Senator at my side watching all this impatiently; I think the guy is looking for a way to use the response to a terrorist act as a show of force to other countries and some other bullshit.”

  “They’re the ones pressuring me to let them storm the building and let you continue with your plans.”

  "You and your men will die in there, one way or another, and I will collect the survivors. It’s simple math. We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

  The last sentence was a direct, poisoned wink at Yoshida’s rhetoric. The senator nodded in approval, a cruel, satisfied smile drawing across his lips. He was getting exactly what he wanted: a hardline stance that would push the terrorists over the edge.

  At that moment, negotiating for the hostages ceased to be his only priority. It became a three-way duel: against Yuri in the tower, against Yoshida at his side, and against his own past. His face, trained for decades in concealment, did not flinch, but behind his eyes the strategy shifted. Professional courtesy evaporated. If Yoshida wanted a show of force, he would give it. And if Yuri wanted a power game, he would play it to the bitter end.

  Yamamoto’s voice, which had begun with professional firmness, turned rough—laden with a cynicism born of desperation and contained rage.

  It was then that Yoshida, judging that tensions had reached their peak and that the negotiation was broken —just as he wanted— decided to deliver the coup de grace. He stepped forward another pace and, without addressing the phone, spoke loudly enough for Yuri to hear on the other end, a cold, authoritative voice that cut like a knife.

  “Inspector Yamamoto, my patience is running out,” Yoshida declared, projecting his voice for the benefit of the open line and the nearby officers. “

  The image of this nation cannot continue to be tarnished by these terrorist worms."

  "We must show that Japan is a nation capable of defending itself. We cannot allow this circus to continue.”

  Yamamoto tried to interject, “Senator, this is—,” but Yoshida ignored him, raising his voice even more and becoming the center of attention.

  “I’ve seen enough! This negotiation farce only gives them time."

  "Force must be met with overwhelming force. It’s the only language these animals understand!”

  Then, turning to the SAT captain who watched the scene in disbelief, Yoshida spoke the words Yamamoto had feared, words that not only sealed the fate of the hostages. On the other hand, with this the senator moved one step closer to setting the game board the way he wanted it — one where he could finally test the fruit of his hard work.

  “All right, it seems the negotiations have failed.”

  “Captain Tanaka, the National Security Committee has vested me with full authority in this crisis.”

  “You have the order to proceed and restore order within the building.”

  “Bring justice to those terrorists and rescue our citizens from there.”

  Senator Yoshida said this to the head of the country’s counterterrorism team. Tanaka could feel the weight of duty settling on his shoulders; right now the lives of the civilians and of his men were in his hands. Part of him was eager to prove his worth and the result of years of effort, experience, and practice. Unknown to him, the senator had conspired against him — in truth, he looked forward to seeing Tanaka’s defeat. As a man of action with many years of experience, he knew well that what awaited the SAT would not be a movie-style heroic entry, and even if by some miracle they succeeded, they would still be projecting the image of the strong nation the senator desired.

  A tense, absolute silence took over the police perimeter, broken only by the crackle of radios. Inside the command vehicle, Yamamoto, with a clenched fist and tight jaw, watched the video feeds from the SAT helmets. Dojima and Adachi held their breath beside him. Senator Yoshida, on the other hand, remained impassive, like a spectator in the theater of war.

  The entry was a flash of lethal efficiency. The glass doors of the lobby exploded under the controlled demolition charges. Dark, hunched, professional silhouettes slipped into the space illuminated by the emergency lights. For a moment, only the crunch of glass under their boots and the whispered orders over their internal communications could be heard.

  “Team One, lobby clear. Advancing to the main elevators.”

  “Team Two, east flank. We found… bodies. Security guards.”

  It was then that the nightmare began.

  From behind the marble counters and the openings of the disabled elevators, a perfect, methodical, devastating crossfire erupted. These were not spontaneous panic shots, but short, controlled bursts from assault rifles. Yuri’s men, Team Ron, turned into vengeful ghosts after sealing their own fate, had no intention of retreating.

  “Ambush! Heavy fire from elevated positions!”

  “We have casualties! I repeat, we have wounded!”

  The screens in the command truck became a chaos of screams, static, and muzzle flash bursts. Yamamoto could see how the SAT formations, flawless in training, were disintegrating under the ferocity of a defense prepared by professionals of equal caliber. The terrorists were not defending the lobby—they were using it as a meat grinder.

  “Captain Tanaka, order the withdrawal!” Yamamoto roared into his microphone, but static was the only response.

  It was at that moment of maximum confusion that Barcelona, following Yuri’s final orders, fulfilled his ultimate duty. From his position, with his last breath, he sent the signal.

  The explosion was not a blast; it was a guttural roar that seemed to shake the foundations of the tower. The lobby facade erupted outward, spewing a wave of fire, glass, and metal fragments. The video screens in the command truck went white for a moment before cutting out completely. The sound arrived seconds later—a muffled detonation that made the police vehicles vibrate.

  When the smoke began to clear, the sight was Dantean. The lobby no longer existed. In its place was a smoking crater, a dark chasm leading to a devastated interior. The assault teams who had not managed to retreat in time lay scattered, their motionless silhouettes outlined against the inferno burning inside.

  The withdrawal was chaotic. The surviving teams, shocked and dragging their wounded, fell back to the police cordonc again. The operation had been a catastrophic failure.

  The explosion in the Fujikawa Tower lobby was not a simple blast, but a deep roar that shook the very foundations of the district. From the outside, the lower-level windows blew outward, raining sharp glass over the parked patrols. A cloud of dust and dark smoke surged from the main entrances, followed by a terrifying silence that lasted only seconds before the first cries of pain and terrified orders filled the air.

  Captain Tanaka, his face smeared with soot and the blood of one of his men splashed across his uniform, staggered out of the chaos. His helmet was cracked, and his rifle hung uselessly from its strap. “Retreat! Retreat now!” he shouted, his voice broken with desperation. “The lobby is mined! They’ve blown the structural columns! All main access points are blocked!”

  The lightning operation that Tanaka had planned so carefully had become a massacre within minutes. The terrorists were not just entrenched—they had turned the lobby into a deadly trap, sacrificing their own escape route to decimate their attackers.

  Senator Yoshida watched the scene from behind the security cordon, his face impassive. He showed no surprise, no anger, no concern for the fallen men. His prediction had come true: the SAT, with all its brute force and rigid protocols, had been ambushed and humiliated. Now, the path was clear for his masterstroke.

  Senator Yoshida showed not a trace of surprise or dismay. Only a cold gleam of confirmation in his eyes. He turned halfway around, without uttering a word to Yamamoto, whose face was a mask of fury and helpless horror. He walked with determination, stepping over the debris and shards of glass that his own actions had caused, escorted by two of his personal bodyguards, toward a black, unmarked truck parked on a side street, away from the floodlights and cameras.

  The door hissed open. Inside was a sanctuary of silent technology. Touchscreens displayed structural diagrams of the tower, thermal readings, and camera feeds that even the SAT had not accessed. And there, waiting, were they.

  Seven figures clad in matte black tactical gear that reflected no light. They bore no insignias or patches. Their full-face helmets, angular yet organic in design, concealed any human features. They did not speak. They did not move. They were statues of a future war, radiating a stillness more threatening than any battle cry.

  One of them, slightly taller than the others, turned toward Yoshida. There was no greeting.

  "Senator," said a synthesized voice, flat and devoid of any emotion, coming from a speaker in the helmet.

  Yoshida studied them, and for the first time that night, a genuine smile, charged with glacial ambition, spread across his lips.

  "The SAT demonstration is concluded, as expected," Yoshida declared, his voice clear in the silence of the truck.

  "Their failure aligns perfectly with the projected scenario."

  "Now, it is time for the true response. The display of force this country needs to witness."

  "This time, we won’t let the tragedy of the Ueno Dam happen again. We won’t allow Japan to be disgraced in the same way ever again."

  "Tonight is the baptism by fire of SECTOR D; this is the beginning of our legend."

  He approached the main console and pressed a button. A three-dimensional model of the Fujikawa Tower rotated on a screen.

  "The threat inside has been classified as Level Epsilon."

  "Among the list of hostages, Adelis's sister has been identified as one of the people present."

  "Reconnaissance has confirmed the presence of the White Demon too in the vicinity."

  "From what I've been able to hear, it is she herself who has been fighting the terrorists since this began."

  "She was probably called in to intervene to save Adelis's sister from this whole mess."

  "I have no doubt that intelligence agencies around the world are watching us closely right now."

  "This is the ideal scenario to show what we've been working on and that we operate at the same level."

  "They have their Ark suits, we have you."

  "I don't just want you to save the day, I want you to crush the enemy."

  "You three in the back, I want you to eliminate every terrorist threat from level 60 and below."

  "You two, I want you to investigate exactly what those terrorists were planning."

  "Clearly, Mr. Fujikawa was a target tonight — find him and rescue him, if he is already dead, erase the evidence of his funding for our project and his bank accounts."

  "You, I want you to find Miss Damaris and rescue her above all the other guests."

  "Don't let anyone else rescue her first, even if you have to kill."

  "We have to win the alliance coordinator to our side and earn her backing, not the edge of her sword."

  "Touch a single hair on her head and I will personally press the detonation button on your collar."

  "However, you — Keisuke,"

  "I know you have your own personal history with the white girl, so I'm giving you this chance for your revenge."

  "If we manage to eliminate one of the main foreign agents on our territory while being able to hide it as a 'human error,' it would be deeply beneficial for our team."

  "But make sure every other terrorist ends up dead in the end."

  "The hostages... are an acceptable variable."

  "The terrorists are competent. They've sealed the building and maintain control of the upper floors. They have an objective, and they're fulfilling it," Yoshida said, pointing to a concentrated heat signature on the 80th floor.

  "You will not use the entrances. The building is your terrain."

  "On the other hand, this unit was created to be unconventional. I trust your abilities as well as the team that has been built for you with so much effort."

  He moved to the side of the truck, where seven rifles of an angular, futuristic design were secured. They were not AK-12s nor any mass-produced model.

  "The SAT assault team has created the perfect distraction. The enemy believes they've bought themselves a respite. They're wrong."

  He picked up one of the rifles and handed it to the leader of SECTOR D, Tetsuo Keisuke.

  "Go and free this country from the evil that stalks it."