CHAPTER 186: CHAPTER 186: ALARMS OF THE FORGOTTEN

The guardian lay in ruin, its massive body crumpled against the steel flooring. Sparks spat from severed hydraulics, and its crimson veins dimmed to nothing. The once deafening thrum of its existence was replaced by silence—an eerie, suffocating quiet that filled the chamber like a shroud.

Lin stood in the middle of it, shoulders heaving, his hands dripping with blackened fluid that stank of rust and rot. His body was battered, every muscle screaming from the force he had unleashed. Yet the worst pain wasn’t physical. It was in his head.

The whisper lingered, Jin’s voice like an ember that refused to die.

"You feel it, don’t you? The rush. The power. You’ll never be rid of me."

Lin clenched his fists, trying to shut it out. His heartbeat felt jagged, like his veins were filled with electricity rather than blood. He didn’t answer the voice, but the shadow in his eyes betrayed the storm raging inside.

Keller broke the silence first. He holstered his useless pistol and let out a long exhale, the sound of someone who had just stepped back from the cliff’s edge. "That thing..." He shook his head. "That wasn’t just a guard dog. That was a statement. Whoever built this place wanted to make sure no one walked out alive."

Min-joon was still crumpled near the wall, pale and trembling. His eyes darted to the remains of the guardian, then to Lin, then back again as if he couldn’t decide which one was more terrifying. His lips trembled, but words refused to come.

Lin turned, his gaze briefly softening. "Breathe," he told Min-joon, voice rough but steady. "You’re alive. That’s enough for now."

But the boy flinched at his voice, eyes widening as though he wasn’t sure if Lin was speaking as himself—or as the shadow that sometimes bled through.

Before Lin could say anything else, the silence shattered.

A low siren began to wail, first distant, then swelling until it rattled the walls. Crimson lights ignited in the ceiling, spinning in dizzying circles, washing the chamber in red. The facility had registered the guardian’s death.

Lin’s jaw tightened. "They know."

Keller cursed under his breath. "Great. So much for moving quietly." He pulled Min-joon to his feet, steadying him with a hand that was rough but surprisingly gentle. "Come on. We’ve got to move before they send something worse."

The chamber’s far wall hissed. Hidden doors began to grind open, revealing passageways that stretched into darkness. From deep within, mechanical sounds stirred—gears clicking, hydraulics hissing, footsteps that didn’t belong to anything human.

Lin’s instincts screamed. "They’re sending units."

Keller nodded grimly. "Figures. You don’t put all your defense in one monster."

They backed toward the only unopened corridor, a narrow passage that seemed to descend deeper into the facility. The crimson glow bled down its walls like veins, pulsing in rhythm with the alarms.

Min-joon shook his head frantically. "D-deeper? We can’t— we should go back, go out—"

"There’s no going back," Lin said flatly. "You saw what’s behind us."

As if to punctuate his words, the grinding of gears behind the open doors grew louder, the metallic clank of marching units echoing closer.

Keller gripped Min-joon tighter and shoved him toward the narrow passage. "Move. Now."

They ran.

The corridor was claustrophobic compared to the chamber. The walls were lined with cables that pulsed faintly with light, carrying energy deeper into the belly of the complex. Every step they took was accompanied by the echo of pursuit—the metallic rhythm of soldiers that weren’t human.

Lin glanced back once, his vision sharp despite the haze of fatigue. Figures emerged from the chamber behind them: humanoid constructs, skeletal frames plated with thin armor, their eyes glowing faint crimson. Each carried a weapon fused directly into their arms, barrels humming with power. They weren’t as large as the guardian, but they didn’t need to be. They were efficient, relentless, and many.

Keller swore again. "Sentinels. Goddamn factory-grade sentinels."

Min-joon’s voice cracked. "We’re dead. We’re—"

"Shut up and keep moving," Lin snapped, though his tone carried no cruelty. It was sharp, the voice of someone holding the fraying edges of survival together.

They sprinted deeper until the corridor opened into another chamber—smaller than the first but lined with consoles and towering data pillars that stretched into the ceiling. Streams of code and imagery flickered across the displays, incomprehensible in their speed.

Keller skidded to a stop. His eyes darted over the screens, recognition flashing in his expression. "This isn’t just a lab. It’s a server core. They’re storing something here."

Lin scanned the room quickly. The alarms were deafening now, and the sentinels’ footsteps were closing in. "Can you access it?"

Keller hesitated, then nodded. "Maybe. But it’ll take time."

Time they didn’t have.

Lin positioned himself between the corridor and the chamber, fists clenched. He could already see shadows flickering in the passage behind them, the first glimmers of crimson eyes.

"You’ll get your time," Lin said without turning.

Keller moved fast, dragging Min-joon toward one of the consoles. "Stay with me, kid. Don’t faint on me now." His fingers flew over the interface, bypassing layers of encryption with a mix of muscle memory and desperation. Lines of code screamed across the display, each one trying to throw him out.

Meanwhile, Lin took his stance. His breath came slow and measured, but inside, the storm raged louder. He could feel Jin pressing harder now, the voice delighted by the chaos.

"You can’t fight them all. You know it. Let me in. Let me give you the strength to protect them."

Lin gritted his teeth, every muscle in his body taut. "I don’t need you."

The first sentinel stepped into the chamber. Its eyes burned red, its weapon-arm glowing.

Lin moved.

He struck before it could fire, his fist smashing into its chest. The construct crumpled under the force, but two more stepped through behind it. Lin ducked a blast, the heat searing past his cheek, and retaliated with a brutal sweep that sent one sentinel crashing into a console.

Sparks exploded, but Keller didn’t stop typing. "Keep them off me!"

Lin roared, spinning into another strike. His body screamed in protest, his veins burning with the unnatural energy he had no choice but to use. Each hit dismantled another sentinel, but each one cost him. His vision blurred at the edges, his breaths came shallow, and still more poured into the chamber.

Behind him, Keller shouted, "Got it! I’m in— I think I’m in!"

"What did you find?" Lin grunted, slamming his elbow into a sentinel’s head and tearing it free from its body.

Keller’s eyes darted over the screen, his face pale. "It’s... not just data. These servers—they’re... they’re archives of experiments. Entire blueprints. Bioweapon schematics. And..." He froze, eyes narrowing. "...files on you, Lin."

Lin’s blood went cold.

At that moment, the sentinels surged again, their sheer numbers threatening to overwhelm him. He braced, fighting tooth and nail, but Keller’s words had already lodged into his mind. Files on him. On what he was.

The whispers surged.

"See? You’re not free. You’re not real. You’re a project. A product. Just like them."

Lin’s fist faltered for half a second, and a sentinel’s blade sliced across his side. He staggered, blood blooming beneath his shirt.

Keller shouted, "Lin!"

Lin growled, forcing himself upright, shoving the voice down with sheer will. He wasn’t a product. He wasn’t Jin. He was Lin.

With a primal roar, he launched forward, tearing through another wave of sentinels, his fury cutting through the haze.

Behind him, Keller’s hands trembled as he saved what files he could, transferring them into a portable drive. His eyes darted to Lin’s back, to the way he fought like a storm barely contained. The man wasn’t just strong—he was dangerous. Dangerous to their enemies... and maybe to themselves.

When the last sentinel fell, Lin stood in the ruins of the chamber, chest heaving, blood dripping from his side. Keller closed the drive and pocketed it, his expression grim.

"Lin," he said quietly. "We need to talk. But not here."

Lin didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the server screens, on the fragments of his own name flickering there before the system wiped itself clean under the facility’s failsafes.

Somewhere deep inside, Jin’s laugh echoed.