The moment Kafka's eyes opened, the entire underground facility went on high alert.
Heavy metal shutters slammed down over the observation window, plunging the control room into the crimson glow of emergency lighting. On Mina's personal comm, the panicked voice of the base commander was already shouting about escalating containment protocols. She ignored him, her gaze still fixed on the monitors that showed the interior of the pod.
Kafka didn't move. He just floated there, his expression placid, his gaze distant. He seemed to be looking not at the room around him, but through it, as if observing a world no one else could see. The frantic energy that defined the 'Jumper' was completely gone. He was unnervingly still.
"He's awake," Hoshina stated, his voice tight, as he and Kikoru rushed back into the room. "And his energy signature is… clean. Stable. There's no chaos. It's like a perfectly maintained engine, idling."
"It's Sovereign's influence," Kikoru breathed, her eyes wide as she looked at the monitors. "He didn't just heal him. He… house-trained the monster."
Mina finally tore her gaze away from the screen and keyed the intercom. Her voice was firm, reclaiming the authority of her position. "Kafka Hibino. Can you hear me?"
Inside the pod, Kafka slowly turned his head. His eyes, now clear and focused, found the camera lens. He gave a single, slow nod.
"I need answers, Kafka," Mina continued, her voice a mix of a commander's demand and a friend's plea. "What are you? How did this happen?"
Kafka's lips parted. For a moment, he looked like he was about to answer. A flicker of his old, familiar self, a hint of desperation and regret, crossed his face. But then, it was gone, replaced by the same unnerving calm.
When he spoke, his voice was not his own.
It was a perfect, resonant echo of Sung Jin-Woo's low, authoritative baritone, emanating from Kafka's mouth. It was a sound that made the very air in the control room vibrate.
[The vessel you call Kafka Hibino is currently unavailable. You are addressing his master.]
The three officers in the control room froze. Mina took a half-step back from the console, her blood running cold. Hoshina's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blades. Kikoru simply stared, her jaw slack.
They weren't talking to Kafka. They were on the phone with a god, and Kafka was the unwilling receiver.
"Sovereign," Hoshina whispered, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of terror and tactical fascination. "He's using him as a mouthpiece. A direct line."
[A clever observation, blade dancer,] the Monarch's voice responded through the intercom, having seemingly heard Hoshina's whisper. [I have found it… inconvenient to travel for trivial conversations. This method is far more efficient.]
Mina found her courage, forcing the shock down. "What have you done to him?" she demanded, her voice shaking with rage.
[I have saved him. I have improved him. And I have bound him to my will,] the voice answered with brutal honesty. [He now serves a purpose greater than himself. You should be grateful.]
"Grateful? You've turned him into a puppet!"
[All soldiers are puppets, Commander Ashiro. The only difference is the station of the one holding the strings. Yours are held by scared politicians. Mine are held by me.] The Monarch's tone was dismissive, as if explaining a basic concept to a recalcitrant child.
Inside the pod, Kafka's face was a placid mask, but his eyes told a different story. They were wide with a silent, screaming horror. He was a prisoner in his own body, forced to watch as this alien intelligence used his tongue, his vocal cords, to conduct this terrifying interview.
Hoshina stepped forward, his analytical mind kicking in, pushing past the fear. This was an unprecedented opportunity. A chance to gather intelligence directly from the source.
"Sovereign," he said, his voice respectful but firm. "The orbital strike. The one that nearly killed the Commander and Hibino. It came from your rival, the Architect?"
There was a moment of silence.
[It did,] the Monarch's voice replied. [A predictable, if bold, tactic. The Architect is a being of pure creation and logic. It calculated the highest probability path to crippling your world's defenses: assassinating your most powerful long-range combatant. It failed to account for my soldier's… sentimental attachment.]
The word "sentimental attachment" was spoken with a hint of disdain, a flaw in his tool that had unexpectedly proven useful.
"So this Architect is your enemy?" Hoshina pressed. "Why? Are you at war?"
[War is a conflict between equals,] the voice corrected him, a hint of cosmic arrogance in its tone. [This is an extermination. The Architect and its masters are cosmic parasites. They terraform worlds, consume them, and move on. My purpose is to hunt such parasites. In this matter, our objectives… temporarily align.]
Temporarily. The word was a chilling reminder of the Monarch's earlier threat. He was not their ally. He was a predator, and the Architect was simply his chosen prey. They were just the terrain the hunt was taking place on.
Kikoru, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, her voice filled with a desperate need to understand. "The energy… inside me. You said it came from you. How?"
Kafka's—or rather Jin-Woo's—gaze shifted as if seeing her through the walls and shutters.
[When we first met, in Yokohama, your suit's systems were failing. Your body was near its breaking point. In shielding you from a Kaiju's attack, a minuscule fragment of my shadow energy was infused into your bloodstream. For a being of your world's low mana density, even a drop is a sea. It has been rewriting your genetic code, unlocking a potential you never knew you had.]
Kikoru staggered back, her hand flying to her chest. It was true. Her reflexes were faster, her strength greater, even out of her suit. She'd attributed it to pushing past her limits, but it was something else entirely. She had been unknowingly tainted—or blessed—by the power of a monarch.
[You are becoming the first of your kind. A human attuned to the power of shadow,] the voice finished. [A curious side-effect. It may prove useful.]
Every answer Jin-Woo gave was a bombshell, reshaping their understanding of the conflict, of their own biology, of the universe itself.
Mina stepped back up to the console, her fear now completely replaced by a cold, hard pragmatism. She had to take control of this situation.
"What do you want from us?" she asked directly.
[From you? Nothing,] the voice replied. [From my soldier, I demand progress. The Architect now knows I am here. It is hiding, analyzing, building. We are in a race against time. My soldier will be the tip of my spear. He will be my bloodhound.]
The Monarch's voice then took on a hard, commanding edge.
[You will release him.]
The command was absolute.
"He is a member of the Defense Force, and a citizen of Japan. He is in our custody," Mina stated, her own authority flaring.
A quiet, humorless chuckle echoed from the intercom. It was the most unsettling sound they had ever heard.
[Citizenship. Custody. Your mortal laws are quaint. They are irrelevant,] the voice stated. [I am not asking. I am informing you of the next sequence of events. You will release him. You will re-integrate him into your forces. You will give him the freedom to operate. He will draw the Architect's creations out of the shadows, and I will be there to collect the spoils. If you refuse… I will come and take him. And I will dismantle this base, brick by brick, until I find him. The calculation of your usefulness is being re-evaluated with every second you hesitate.]
It was a perfect, inescapable threat. An ultimatum.
Mina stared at the screen, at the face of her friend being used as a mouthpiece for this cosmic tyrant. She was trapped. Defying Sovereign meant annihilation. Obeying him meant letting the monster—and his master—run free within her own organization.
The Monarch had him in chains. And now, he was handing the leash to her, and ordering her to walk the dog.
Inside the pod, a single, silent tear, born of pure despair, escaped Kafka's eye and floated away in the golden light of the stasis field. His conscious mind was trapped, but it was still there. Listening. And breaking.