The massive explosion shook the desert sky like the dying roar of something that should never have been created. Flames billowed high from the logistics sector, engulfing rows of steel crates that held dozens of next-generation killer robots. The heat wave rippled outward, causing the transport aircraft parked at the end of the runway to tremble slightly.
Inside the control cabin, the bespectacled man—the mysterious businessman who never revealed his real name—stared at the monitor with wide eyes, though his lips remained tightly shut. His fist clenched on the table as one by one, red dots—representing robot units—disappeared from the radar.
The main control system projected a final screen: [CONNECTION LOST – ALL UNITS OFFLINE].
The only remaining unit was the main prototype, stored inside a large black crate in the aircraft’s cargo bay. Untouched. Unscathed by the blast. And that was all that mattered to him.
With a blank expression, he stood up and strode quickly toward the cockpit. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit, he pulled out a small device resembling a metallic injector, but with a flat-headed tip. The device glowed faintly with a soft blue light.
In the front seats, the two Sparta Ares pilots remained focused on the aircraft’s windshield, watching the flames and chaos unfold outside.
Without a single word of warning, the man pressed the device against the right temple of one of the pilots. A surge of micro-electricity flowed instantly, sending the pilot’s body into violent convulsions for several seconds before falling still. His eyes stayed open—but now vacant, filled with obedience.
He moved on to the second pilot and did the same. The result was identical: spasms, stillness, then silence.
Then, in a flat, emotionless voice, he ordered, "Take off. Set course for the civilian settlement skies. I’m not going home empty-handed. At the very least, the Ultro prototype will gather live combat data."
Without a word, both pilots nodded obediently and began the takeoff procedure. The turbofan engines began to hum, stabilizer rotors activated. The aircraft began to vibrate gently.
The man turned around and walked back to the logistics room, his eyes fixed on one thing: the bomb David had planted in the side locker. He exhaled softly, then pulled a mini laser cutter from his pocket. With meticulous precision, he traced the trigger wires connected to the detonator.
Within two minutes, he had severed the trigger cable and removed the primary battery. The bomb was now inert.
"C4 Military-grade bomb? Hmph... too simple," he muttered flatly.
He stood again, adjusted his suit, and stared at the black crate in the corner—the one containing Ultro, the most advanced military AI ever created, waiting for orders. There was no emotion on his face. No concern for the lives lost. To him, they were just numbers. Progress. A phase in his ambition.
This man was no mere businessman. He was part of a global elite network hiding technology far more advanced than anything the public could imagine. To them, the world was a chessboard. And today... a single pawn had been sacrificed to open the king’s path.
Fujisawa stood amidst the dying flames, his breath heavy and ragged. His body was covered in wounds and dust, his mind almost convinced that it was all over—until the roar of jet engines from the transport aircraft thundered across the air, signaling the rise of a new threat.
Behind him, a hoarse voice whispered faintly.
"Fujisawa... they still have it," said David, staggering, leaning against a piece of twisted metal. "One primary drone unit... created by that man... it’s still on the plane. The bomb I planted has been disarmed. The pilots inside... he’s taken control of them."
Fujisawa turned sharply, his face tensing. "Who is that man!? Who could make you submit!?"
David looked up at the sky, his breathing shallow and broken. "Xavier Edison... chief scientist and CEO of TAE Industries."
The name hit Fujisawa like a hammer to the chest. Xavier Edison—the mastermind behind the world’s most advanced military technologies. TAE Industries’ products were spread across the globe—from light firearms and military satellites to full-scale national defense systems. Even the pistol Fujisawa was now holding was made by TAE.
And now, the creator himself had stepped into the field.
Without hesitation, Fujisawa turned around. He saw the aircraft slowly taxiing at the end of the runway. It was about 300 meters away. He glanced at David one more time, who gave him a weak nod.
Then he ran—defying time, pain, and logic—chasing after the last shadow of an unfinished threat.
Leaving David behind, who slowly smiled before slipping into unconsciousness from the severe impact injury to his ribs.
Fujisawa’s combat boots pounded against the rough asphalt in a rhythmic thud, his body cutting through the wind as he dashed down the runway, now choked with dust and smoke from the earlier wreckage. Ahead, the Spartan Ares transport aircraft was slowly picking up speed, its wheels beginning to rattle as they prepared to lift off—ready to vanish into the sky, taking with it a danger that could not be allowed to fly free.
The jet engine’s wind slammed into his face, making each breath feel like it was slicing through a storm. But Fujisawa kept running. His leg muscles screamed, his lungs burned, but his eyes never wavered. In his mind, only one thought remained: I can’t let that go.
Each second felt like a detonation of time. He knew that if the plane took off, the nightmare wouldn’t end here. The Ultro prototype—untested, yet promised to be the ultimate weapon—would become an uncontrollable entity over the civilian skies. Not just a killing machine, but a combat data collector, perfecting the algorithm of death.
The plane’s tires screeched as they began to lift off the ground, its nose tilting slightly upward. Fujisawa pushed his body to the brink. One step, two more—
His left hand grabbed the edge of the rear landing gear. His grip nearly slipped from the wind and the oil coating the metal surface, but he held on. His body swung violently as the aircraft ascended, tearing through the air like a steel beast escaping the earth.
Fujisawa pulled himself up, entering the narrow mechanical bay of the plane, vibrating with motion. Wind howled through the metal seams, the engine’s roar deafening, but his hands clung tightly to the crossbars. He inched forward, sliding through pulsating cables and hot pipelines, every movement wracked with pain from wounds that hadn’t yet healed. But his resolve never faltered—I have to stop this. Now.
Above, in the aircraft’s main cabin, Xavier Edison stood before a glowing laptop monitor. His fingers moved rapidly, finalizing the Ultro’s activation algorithm. Energy flowed into the system, and only one step remained: final input.
But before he could press the last command, a thunderous crash erupted from the floor. A steel panel flew upward, and from beneath it, a figure covered in dust and wounds leapt out—Fujisawa.
Xavier was startled but reacted quickly. He drew a pistol from beneath his lab coat and fired two rounds at Fujisawa.
But to the battlefield demon, bullets were no threat. He ducked swiftly, dodging with fluid motion, and rolled to the side. His eyes locked onto Xavier—
Xavier stepped back slowly, one hand gripping the small pistol with calculated tremors, the other hand behind his back, pressing a hidden touch panel on his smart belt. The monitor on the side wall reflected glowing red numbers—94%, 95%, 96%...—Ultro’s system installation was nearing completion, slow but steady.
Meanwhile, Fujisawa advanced, his steps heavy but steady. His eyes sharp, tracking Xavier’s every move. He knew this man wasn’t just an ordinary scientist—he was dangerous precisely because he didn’t fight with muscle, but with a mind sharp as a blade.
"Funny," Xavier said, his voice calm but laced with venom. "You’re a soldier, born in chaos. I’m a scientist, raised in labs. Yet here we are—on the same stage, hunting each other’s lives."
Fujisawa didn’t respond. He just closed the distance, his hand inching toward the hilt of the knife strapped to his chest.
Xavier continued, as if savoring the game. "You think I’m afraid? No. Fear is for those who think they can still win. Let’s see if you can fight against civilization itself!"
Suddenly, he pulled the trigger—twice. Bullets zipped through the air, but Fujisawa dove to the side, rolled across the metal floor, and slid behind a storage crate. Bullets struck the crate with sharp sparks. Xavier moved to the control panel, feigning distraction, but in truth, he was unlocking the manual emergency hatch.
He knew he couldn’t match Fujisawa physically. But he could stall—trap him. Redesign fate from even the smallest opening.
97%... 98%... the screen glowed brighter.
Fujisawa burst out from behind the crate, knife in hand, and charged. Xavier fired again—missed. Fujisawa knocked the pistol away with his blade, sending it flying from Xavier’s hand. Then his knee slammed into the scientist’s gut, knocking Xavier to the floor, writhing in pain.
Yet even in that state, Xavier chuckled quietly.
"You’re too late, Akuma. I’m no fighter... but I am the victor. Once this system activates... the world won’t bleed—it’ll analyze."
Fujisawa grabbed Xavier by the collar and dragged him roughly into the console.
Xavier only smiled, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "It’s already too late."
The screen flared bright, then all the lights in the cabin dimmed—as if the plane itself was holding its breath. Then...
A heavy thud rocked the fuselage. From the rear cargo hold, one of the largest steel crates burst open with a screech of tearing metal and a blast of pressurized steam. White smoke spread, and from the mist, heavy footsteps echoed—steady, deliberate, like the heartbeat of a war machine.
Emerging from the shadows was a humanoid figure standing 180 cm tall. Its body was encased in matte black armor laced with glowing red lines pulsing softly, like synthetic veins. Every movement was precise—nearly graceful, yet intimidating.
Its head resembled a modern combat helmet, with an extended jaw guard and a glowing red horizontal visor for eyes, forming a flat, unnerving expression—alien enough to raise the hair on one’s neck.
Then it spoke—in a cold, digital, emotionless voice:
[System Ultro: Active. Priority: Annihilate target.]