CHAPTER 41: CHAPTER 41: THE AUCTION LIST

Day 8 - Crucible Initiative Facility - 3:47 AM

WAIL—WAIL—WAIL.

The alarm tore Yoo from shallow sleep.

Not the morning chime.

Not a drill.

Emergency lockdown.

His eyes opened — gold and silver patterns catching the red emergency lights. Through the walls, he heard boots hammering against concrete. Shouting. The distinct snap–hiss of barrier arrays activating.

Someone was attacking the facility.

For me?

His door opened before he could stand.

Han. Tactical gear. Blade already drawn. Her expression gave nothing away, but her knuckles were white around the sword grip.

"Get in your combat gear, Now."

Yoo didn’t ask questions. He pulled on the reinforced clothing she tossed onto his bed — dark fabric that felt heavier than it looked. Spatial-resistant weave, if the faint shimmer was any indication.

"The Syndicate?" he asked while lacing boots.

Han’s jaw tightened. "Six confirmed. Gold minimum. Maybe Platinum command."

The Syndicate.

Black market. Slave trade. Artifact trafficking.

And now, apparently, Primordial seed recipients.

"How did they know I’m here?"

"Someone talked." Han’s voice was flat. "Or someone’s been feeding them information. Either way, Director Kwan wants you in the vault until we handle this."

Yoo finished with the boots. Stood. "I can fight."

"You’re Iron 27. They’re Gold 35 and up. You’d be a liability."

"Then I’ll be a liability who learns something."

He met her eyes. "I need combat experience. Against real threats. Not simulations."

Han stared at him. Three seconds. Five. Her grip on the blade shifted.

"...Fine. You follow orders. No improvisation. You observe unless cornered. Clear?"

"Clear."

They moved through corridors that smelled like burned ozone. Emergency lights painted everything in shades of red and black. Shadows jumped wrong, making Yoo’s enhanced vision work harder than it should.

His integration had hit 53% this morning. Every percentage point made the world sharper. Louder. More overwhelming.

Focus. Filter. Adapt.

"How’d they find me?" Yoo asked as they rounded a corner.

"Unknown. Your presence here is Eyes-Only clearance. Senior staff. Ten people maximum." Han’s boots barely made sound despite their speed. "Which means someone with access talked. Or someone took our files."

Information leak. Inside the facility.

That’s... concerning.

They reached the command center.

Director Kwan stood before holographic displays — facility layout in blue wireframe. Red dots marking enemy positions. Blue dots for defenders.

The red dots were advancing faster than the blue ones could regroup.

"Instructor Han." Kwan didn’t look away from the displays. "Subject Yoo should be in the vault."

"He requested observation."

Kwan finally looked at them. His expression was blank — the kind of blank that came from making too many difficult decisions.

"Keep him away from actual engagement. His research value exceeds any tactical benefit."

A pause. "For now."

Still an experiment. Not that I care.

Better they think I’m just data.

The facility shook — BOOM — something massive hitting the outer walls. Dust sifted from the ceiling. One of the holographic displays flickered.

"Siege equipment," Kwan muttered. "Not an extraction team. They’re planning to take the whole facility."

"For one boy?" Han sounded skeptical.

Kwan pulled up a file. Yoo’s file. With a price tag.

BLACK MARKET VALUE: 8,000,000,000 CREDITS

CONDITION: INTACT, CONSCIOUS, SEED UNHARMED

BIDDING: ACTIVE — 3 MAJOR FACTIONS

Eight billion.

That’s... more zeros than I expected.

"On the black market," Kwan said, "a successfully integrating Primordial seed recipient is worth more than most small countries’ GDP. More if they can extract the seed without killing the host."

"Sir, sector three breach!" a technician’s voice cracked. "Gold team engaging!"

The display showed blue dots converging on red. They clashed. Thirty seconds of intermixed positions.

Then a blue dot vanished.

Another.

Two dead. Half a minute.

"Too strong," Kwan said. "Pull team three back. Seal sector four. Inner defense positions."

SLAM—SLAM—SLAM.

Heavy doors dropped throughout the facility — segmenting it into defendable zones. The building was eating itself, creating walls where there had been corridors.

"ETA on reinforcements?" Han asked.

"Eleven minutes. Hunter Association Diamond team."

"Syndicate knows that. They have eleven minutes to grab the target and run." Han glanced at Yoo. "They’ll push hard now."

As if responding to her words—

CRASH.

Not from outside.

From inside the command center.

The door didn’t explode. It folded — compressed by spatial manipulation until it collapsed into something the size of a fist. The metal screamed the whole way down.

Through the opening stepped something that made Yoo’s senses recoil.

Tall. Nearly seven feet. Covered in armor that seemed to drink the emergency lighting — obsidian black, absorbing photons like an event horizon. The helmet was featureless. No eyes. No mouth.

But the presence.

Heavy. Crushing. Like the air itself gained weight in a three-meter radius.

Platinum. High Platinum.

"Director Kwan." The voice was wrong — synthesized, layered, coming from everywhere and nowhere. "The Syndicate offers twenty billion credits. Intact delivery. Conscious. Do we have terms?"

Kwan’s hand moved fractionally toward the alarm panel. "The Syndicate knows our answer."

"Unfortunate."

The armored figure’s helmet turned toward Yoo. Despite the mask, Yoo felt the gaze — like being examined.

"Iron 27. Integration at fifty-three percent. Eight days since implantation." The synthesized voice held something like appreciation. "Impressive survival rate."

How do they know the exact percentage?

Real-time data. Someone’s feeding them updates.

Recent updates.

"Instructor Han." Kwan’s voice stayed level. "Protocol seven."

Han grabbed Yoo’s arm and pulled — hard enough to nearly dislocate his shoulder. They dove toward a wall that suddenly opened — hidden panel, concealed passage.

WHOOSH.

The space where they’d been standing ceased to exist.

Not destroyed. Just... gone.

They ran.

The passage was narrow. Dark, not a nice smell. Emergency lights every twenty meters — red islands in a black ocean.

"Extraction point beta," Han said between breaths. "Portal to secondary facility. If we reach it before they cut the power grid—"

SLAM.

Someone dropped from the ceiling ahead.

Gold 35. Female. Syndicate tactical gear. Face covered. Twin daggers catching emergency light.

"Step aside, Instructor." The voice was professional. Bored, even. "We only want the boy."

"Well..." Han’s blade rose. "That can be arranged."

The operative moved — fast — daggers flashing red-black-red.

CLANG!