The wind on the rooftop was cold, slicing through the silence like a blade. Far below, the city glowed—cars like crawling fireflies, buildings breathing light. But up here, everything felt paused, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Skullstriker stood at the edge of the rooftop, his back to them, staring down at the city he never truly belonged to.
"We are similar," he said calmly, his voice steady but heavy. "Not because of our skills. Not because of our strength. But because of where we came from."
Erika's expression hardened instantly.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice controlled, sharp.
"Where did you come from? Do you know me? And if you do—why are you following me?"
She took one step forward.
"This is not accidental. I don't believe in coincidences. Not like this."
The rooftop felt smaller now.
Skullstriker exhaled slowly, almost like he had been waiting years for this moment.
"You're right," he said. "This was never an accident."
Scott stiffened.
Skullstriker continued, his voice dropping lower.
"I followed you because I had a reason. And not just that—"
He lifted his head slightly, eyes dark.
"—my ambition is to kill you."
The words hit the air like a gunshot.
Scott's heart skipped. One of the fighters clenched his fists. The wind howled louder, as if reacting to the tension.
"And after that," Skullstriker added, without hesitation,
"I will bring down the Firestone Nation."
Silence.
Erika didn't move. She didn't blink.
But inside her mind, everything shattered into clarity.
Historic dimension.
Firestone Nation.
He knows.
Her suspicion became certainty.
So this man…
He wasn't just another underground fighter.
He wasn't chasing power.
He wasn't chasing fame.
He was chasing history.
Her fingers curled slowly.
"You're from my world," she said at last.
"From the historic dimension."
Skullstriker's lips curved—not into a smile, but something colder.
"I know your kingdom. Your customs. Your wars. Your lies."
He stepped closer.
"I know the generals. I know the flags. I know the blood that built Firestone."
Scott looked between them, confused, terrified.
"Wait—what the hell are you both talking about?" he blurted. "Another world? Nation? Fire—what?!"
Erika ignored him.
She was staring at Skullstriker now as if trying to peel away layers of his identity.
How does he know so much?
Why does he hate Firestone this deeply?
And most importantly…
Why me?
"If you know all this," she said quietly,
"then you also know who I really am."
Skullstriker nodded once.
"Yes," he said.
"That's why I called you General Erika."
The fighters exchanged uneasy glances. Scott felt his stomach drop.
Erika took a slow breath.
"Then answer me one thing," she said.
"If your goal is Firestone… why come to me first?"
Skullstriker's eyes darkened.
"Because," he replied,
"you are the only one who the king is dependent upon."
Skullstriker was silent for a moment.
Then he spoke again—slower this time, quieter.
"I guess… I want to tell you something about me," he said.
"So that you can understand the whole thing."
Everyone felt it.
This wasn't a threat anymore.
This was a truth about to be exposed.
He took a step back from the edge of the rooftop and turned fully toward Erika.
"I'm not a struggler," he said.
"My name is Allen ."
The name hung in the air.
"My ancestors," Allen continued, "belonged to the Firestone Nation."
Scott blinked. The fighters exchanged looks.
"But listen carefully," Allen said, his voice tightening.
"We were never of the Firestone Nation."
Erika's eyes narrowed.
"Because of your king," Allen said, staring straight at her,
"because of his mad decisions… everything collapsed for us."
He clenched his jaw.
"Our lands were taken. Our homes were erased. We were called traitors, even though we were loyal. We were punished for mistakes we never made."
His voice trembled—not with weakness, but with suppressed rage.
"So we left."
He spread his hands slightly, as if showing an invisible map.
"We formed our own group. Our own village.
Our own way of living."
Allen continued, each word heavier than the last.
"We grew our own food. Built our own homes. Created our own economy. We didn't beg. We didn't depend on Firestone."
He paused.
"But struggle followed us."
His eyes darkened.
"Our people suffered. Children starved. Elders died without medicine. We were attacked, ignored, erased from history."
Allen's fists slowly clenched.
"And every time we asked why, the answer was always the same."
He looked straight at Erika.
"Firestone."
The wind felt colder now.
"You call it a nation," Allen said.
"We call it the reason our people learned how to survive without mercy."
Silence swallowed the rooftop.
Scott swallowed hard.
No one interrupted.
Allen took a breath.
"So when I say I'm not your enemy because of coincidence…
When I say this isn't accidental…"
His eyes burned.
"This was born the day Firestone chose power over people."
He lifted his head slightly.
"And you," he said quietly,
"are the strongest symbol of that nation."
He wasn't shouting.
He didn't need to.
That made it worse.
Erika didn't respond immediately.
Inside her chest, something twisted—memory clashing with belief, duty colliding with consequence.
Was this another truth Firestone buried?
Another cost she never saw?
For the first time, she didn't know whether to defend her kingdom…
or question it.
(Robotic dimension)
In the robotic dimension, Walt slowly pushed open the heavy metal door.
It slid aside with a low mechanical hiss.
He stepped inside—and froze.
It was the same room.
The room he had cleaned before.
Every surface was spotless again.
No stains. No residue. No sign that anything had ever gone wrong.
Walt's heart sank.
"This doesn't make sense…" he muttered.
He moved forward carefully, his footsteps echoing unnaturally loud. The air felt colder than before—too cold. Too sterile.
Another door stood ahead.
He grabbed the handle and pulled.
Locked.
The panel beside it blinked red.
"Damn it," he whispered.
Walt didn't force it. Something about this place told him not to.
Instead, he walked further down the corridor, where another door waited—half-hidden in the shadows. This one responded when he touched it.
The door opened.
And Walt's breath caught.
Inside the chamber, rows and rows of tall glass tubes stood upright, stretching from floor to ceiling.
They were filled with liquid.
But every single tube was empty.
No bodies.
No machines.
No movement.
Just hollow cylinders—silent, abandoned.
Walt stepped inside slowly, his eyes scanning the room.
The liquid residue clinging to the glass…
He recognized it instantly.
"It's the same chemical," he whispered.
"The same one I cleaned earlier."
His pulse quickened.
This wasn't a storage room.
This was a preparation chamber.
Whatever had been here… had already been moved.
Walt clenched his fist and activated his communicator.
"Surgain," he said, his voice low but urgent,
"I found something."
He turned in a slow circle, staring at the empty tubes.
"And I don't think we're late…"
A faint mechanical hum echoed somewhere deep within the facility.
"…I think we're exactly where they wanted us to be."