They found the supplies Renji had stashed years ago in the hut's cellar: weatherproof gear, forged documents, and a rugged, all-terrain vehicle with a full tank of gas. As Kuro hotwired the vehicle to bypass its aging ignition, Renji stood watch, scanning the horizon.
"Don't get comfortable," he warned, his eyes fixed on the sky. "The moment The Director realizes we're not in that crater, this entire country becomes a hunting ground. No airports, no train stations. We go to the ground. We become ghosts again."
Kuro looked up from the engine, his face grim in the dashboard's glow. "There's a problem with that. I've been running a passive scan of global network traffic. W.A.O. has activated something called the 'Oracle Protocol.' They're using a predictive algorithm, likely powered by a quantum computer, to analyze our digital footprints—our past movements, our known associates, even my coding style. It's designed to predict our next move before we even make it." He sighed, the weight of their situation pressing down. "Essentially, they've built a real-world Minority Report to hunt us. We can't run. We can't hide. The system will always be one step ahead."
Hikari, who had been cleaning the grime from her face with a piece of cloth, looked at them, her amber eyes clear and steady. "Then we don't do what it expects," she said simply.
Renji and Kuro turned to her.
"The system is designed to predict the actions of fugitives," she explained, her voice gaining strength. "Fugitives run. They hide. They try to disappear. So, we'll do the opposite. We won't run from the fire. We'll walk right into it." She looked directly at Renji. "Where is the last place on Earth they would ever expect us to go?"
Renji considered her words, a slow, dangerous glimmer entering his eyes as he understood her logic. It was insane. It was suicidal. And it was the only move the Oracle Protocol would never predict.
He started the engine, the vehicle roaring to life. He pulled out onto a barely-there dirt track, heading not towards the remote wilderness, but back towards civilization.
"There's an old contact in Geneva," he said, his voice a low, determined growl. "A man who specializes in making inconvenient people disappear. But we're not going to ask him to hide us." He glanced in the rearview mirror, at the smoking ruin of the mountain behind them, and the open road ahead.
"We're going to ask him to help us get to The Director."