CHAPTER 47: CHAPTER 47: THE TRANSFER

Unknown Location - 11:47 AM

Yoo woke to the smell of salt water.

His head felt stuffed with cotton, dry mouth, thick tongue. The sedative hadn’t fully cleared from his system.

He opened his eyes.

Metal ceiling. Rust stains. The occasional creak... creak... of old machinery.

And that smell—ocean, fish, engine oil mixed together.

A boat.

They’d moved him to a boat.

His hands were bound, not restraints—just zip ties, cheap plastic ones. His broken fingers throbbed, swollen purple and hot.

Akasha Archive, location analysis.

"Insufficient data. Detecting motion patterns consistent with waterborne vessel. Estimating: offshore, minimum 40 kilometers from coast. Time unconscious: 3 hours, 22 minutes."

Three hours.

The convergence was in sixty-four hours now.

Yoo tested the zip ties. Tight, but not impossible, with his broken fingers, though, getting free would hurt.

He started working on it anyway.

—Clank.—

The door opened.

Director Kwan stepped through, ducking under the low frame. Behind him, two guards. Different ones from before. These looked like private military—uniform gear, no insignia, professional stance.

"You’re awake. Good."

Kwan pulled up a rusted chair, metal scraping on metal floor.

"We need to talk."

Yoo said nothing. Kept working on the ties behind his back.

"Crucible Initiative’s facility was compromised. Not just the data leak—physically compromised. Someone planted listening devices in every major room. Tracking equipment in the ventilation. We found seventeen separate surveillance systems from eleven different factions."

Kwan leaned forward.

"Keeping you there was a death sentence...So we decided to move you."

"To international waters."

"Yes, Smart boy, Yes, beyond Seoul’s jurisdiction and beyond any faction’s legal reach." Kwan gestured around the cramped room. "This vessel is registered in the Loen Kingdom. Technically, you’re on foreign soil now."

"Why tell me this?"

"Because in sixty-four hours, dimensional barriers thin. Every faction with Damascus Protocol data will converge on extraction points. They’ll tear Seoul apart looking for you."

Kwan’s expression didn’t change.

"But they’re looking in the wrong place."

The zip tie gave slightly. Yoo kept his face neutral.

"You’re planning something," he said. "The move isn’t just for my protection."

"Perceptive."

Kwan stood, walked to a porthole. Gray ocean stretched endlessly. Waves hit the hull—thud... thud... splash."

"Tell me—what do you know about the Serpent’s Eye ritual?"

"The extraction procedure requires seven recipients. Primordial seeds harvested during convergence."

"That’s what the leaked files say. But you’re smart enough to question it."

Kwan turned back. "Why would anyone leak extraction procedures? What’s gained from starting a faction war?"

Yoo’s mind raced. He’s testing me. Wants to know how much I’ve figured out.

"Distraction," Yoo said carefully. "While factions fight over recipients, someone does something else. Something they don’t want noticed."

"Close. But not quite."

Kwan pulled out a data chip—different from the one Instructor Han had given him.

"The ritual’s real purpose isn’t extraction. It’s activation."

—Click.—

He inserted the chip into a wall terminal.

A hologram flickered to life.

Seven points arranged in a circle. Connecting lines. And in the center—something that made it apain to look at.

"Primordial seeds aren’t just power source, they’re keys. Specifically engineered by entities we call Primordials to unlock dimensional barriers."

Kwan highlighted the center of the diagram.

"Seven keys, seven deaths, all at the moment of convergence. Creates a rift to the place where Primordials originate."

"Why would anyone want that?"

"Wrong question. Ask instead: who benefits from Primordials entering our world directly?"

Yoo stared at the diagram.

Not extraction. Summoning.

Someone wants to bring Primordials through.

"You," he said slowly. "Crucible wants this."

"We want knowledge. The Primordials possess understanding of reality manipulation that would advance humanity centuries in a single generation."

Kwan’s eyes gleamed.

"But we can’t do it in Seoul. Too many witnesses, too much oversight. So we leaked false data, turned it into a limited resource factions would fight each other for, let them destroy each other searching for recipients who aren’t there."

"While you take the real recipients offshore."

"With five are already secured, you’re number six. Subject 31 remains missing, but we’ll find her."

Kwan closed the hologram.

"In sixty hours, this vessel will anchor above a natural convergence point. Far from land, with no interference. We’ll perform the ritual, open the rift. And make contact with the Primordials directly."

"You’ll kill seven people."

"Seven people who are already dying. Seed integration is fatal long-term—you know this. Current projections give you maybe two years before the foreign biology overwhelms your human systems completely."

Kwan’s tone was just like his facial expression, serious and a little bit obsessed.

"We’re simply accelerating the inevitable for a greater purpose."

—

Snap.—

The zip tie broke.

Yoo kept his hands behind his back, not letting on.

"What makes you think Primordials will negotiate? They might just kill everyone."

"That’s a risk. But the potential gain outweighs it."

Kwan moved toward the door.

"You have two choices. Cooperate—help us refine the ritual, increase success probability, die quickly and painlessly. Or resist—we sedate you for sixty hours, you wake up during the ritual, die screaming as your seed tears out of your chest."

He paused at the threshold.

"I’d prefer cooperation. You’re brilliant. Your insights could save us months of trial and error. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter. You’re already dead. The question is whether your death amounts to something."

The door slammed.

—Thud.—

The guards stayed, watching Yoo with flat expressions.

Yoo waited thirty seconds. Then pulled his hands forward, zip tie hanging loose.

The guards tensed.

"Relax," Yoo said. "Where am I going to run? We’re forty kilometers from shore."

He stood slowly, testing his balance. The sedative still made his legs weak, but functional.

One guard stepped forward.

"Sit back down."

"I need water, three hours unconscious, no hydration. My integration percentage will drop if I’m dehydrated. You want me healthy for the ritual, don’t you?"

The guards exchanged glances.

"There’s a sink in the corner," the second guard said. "Use that."

Yoo walked to the small metal sink.

Turned the tap.

—Gurgle... hiss... sputter...—

Brown water coughed out, then cleared.

He drank, cold metallic taste. Probably recycled from the bilge, but it helped.

While drinking, he studied the room properly.

One door, no windows except the porthole, metal walls, bolted furniture. This room was definitely designed to hold someone.

But not him.

"Current physical state: compromised. Broken fingers, sedative residue, dehydration. Enemy forces: unknown total, minimum 12 combat personnel. Location: 40+ kilometers offshore. Probability of successful escape: 0.7%."

Point-seven percent.

Basically zero.

"Eight hours minimum."

Too long. By then they’d have moved him again or increased security.

Alternative plan?

Yoo touched his pocket subtly. The vial was gone. They’d searched him while unconscious, found the Serpent’s Venom.

But they’d missed something.

The data chip from Instructor Han—he’d hidden it in his mouth before the sedative hit. Tucked between cheek and gum. Still there.

Small advantage. What can I do with it?

The guards were watching him, professional, alert, not the type to make stupid mistakes.

He needed a different approach.

"The ritual," Yoo said, turning from the sink. "How many have you tested?"

"Shut up."

"I’m serious. You’re attempting dimensional manipulation using Primordial-tier components, one calculation error and the rift destabilizes, everyone on this boat dies."

He looked at them directly.

"Have you tested the procedure? Even once?"

The guards didn’t answer, but their body language shifted. Uncertainty.

They didn’t know if it had been tested.

"Director Kwan said I’m brilliant, he’s right, I am, and I’m telling you—dimensional rifts follow strict mathematical principles. The Damascus Protocol’s procedure has twelve steps. If even one is miscalculated by point-zero-one percent, the rift collapses inward instead of opening."

Yoo stepped forward slowly.

"Inward collapse creates a spatial implosion. Everything within fifty meters gets compressed to the size of a fist, Instantaneous, painless only because your brain doesn’t have time to process what’s happening."

The first guard’s hand moved to his weapon.

"I said sit down."

"I’m trying to save your life."

Yoo’s voice was flat.

Factual.

"You think Crucible cares about you? You’re expendable, hired contractors, the moment the ritual starts, if anything goes wrong, you’re the ones who die, not Kwan, not the researchers. You."

Silence.

The second guard shifted his weight.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Let me review the full ritual specifications, I’ll find the errors, correct them, increase success probability."

Yoo met his eyes.

"You live. I live. Everyone wins."

"Except we still kill you when the ritual happens."

"Maybe, or maybe the rift opens and Primordials are grateful enough to intervene. Save the keys that unlocked their door."

Yoo shrugged.

"Either way, better odds than dying in an implosion because Kwan’s math is wrong."

The guards looked at each other.

"We need to ask—"

"Ask and Kwan says no because he doesn’t want me touching anything, I’m a security risk. He’ll keep me sedated until the last moment."

Yoo’s tone didn’t change.

"Then you all die together because nobody checked the calculations."

More silence.

Finally, the first guard pulled out a communicator.

"This is Delta-Seven. Requesting clarification on prisoner protocols."

He listened to the response.

"Understood. No changes."

He pocketed the device and looked at Yoo.

"Sit. Down."

Yoo sat.

Worth trying.

—Click.—

The door opened again.

A woman this time, middle-aged, wearing a researcher’s coat.

She carried a medical kit.

"I’m Dr. Shen. Here to check your injuries."