The soldiers reached the elevators after a long, frantic run. By then, the crowd had completely dissipated. Only a few people remained, waiting to go up and escape. They had been left alone for quite some time, as most of the soldiers were busy fighting the Ijo throughout the bunker.
As the young curly-haired soldier passed by, he was shocked to see the body of a woman brutally mutilated and covered in blood, slumped against the wall. What disturbed him just as much was the presence of a handgun, also stained with blood, lying a short distance from the corpse. It almost looked as if the gun had come to life and shot the girl itself. And yet, that was impossible.
Near the gun—almost beneath it—there was a large pool of blood. For a few meters toward the exit door, it stretched, dragging along the floor, as if someone—the one who had used the gun—had been wounded and tried to escape. But the trail was too short. It stopped far too abruptly.
"So what really happened here?" He thought.
The boy kept thinking about it even as he ascended to the surface on the platform. For some reason, that scene had deeply unsettled him—and truth be told, that wasn't unusual. He kept asking himself how something like that could have happened. How it was possible to reduce a young body to such a state.
"With all the soldiers around… and no one saw anything…" He still thought.
Yet he didn't think about it in a desperate tone. Quite the opposite.
"Damn it… who the hell is going to clean up a mess like that?"
He looked around with clear irritation. He was deeply shaken by the situation, something reflected in the almost manic way his jaw kept shifting from side to side. It was made worse by the fact that he was carrying Oltmann's lifeless body—completely unresponsive at that moment. He glanced at him with what seemed like disgust. As if he hated him for wasting his time, for forcing him to struggle for nothing.
But behind that cold, brutal look was immense gratitude—almost as if he felt honored to have saved someone like him.
More than irritation, what truly bothered him was the possibility of failing at something that meant everything to him. Despite those harsh thoughts, the boy felt sick about that corpse. But in that moment, all he could think about were the aftermath—the consequences. That was what irritated him. What would come next.
He felt responsible for almost everything that happened around him. He was convinced that the stability of the situation depended on him. That wasn't entirely wrong. He was a soldier—especially one from the Oberhaupt Unit. That made him almost a predestined martyr, a lone beacon of hope. And if he couldn't prove that—if he couldn't save lives and contain death…
"…then what kind of soldier am I?"
Carrying the weight of so many lives was something no one should ever have to do. He didn't want it. He had to. It was his responsibility. His job. His purpose.
Part of his frustration also came from the fear of failing at that job—of being criticized, punished, even severely. He wasn't the only one who thought that way. But he didn't know what the others were thinking. As he kept looking around, he became more and more aware that he had no idea who they were. He didn't know their names. Barely their faces. Only their surnames, repeated endlessly during service.
And yet, he would risk his life to save them.
Suddenly, the elevator reached the top. Everything around them was completely desolate and empty. The only sounds present—aside from the faint, hot wind that, like a tickle, brushed against the soldiers' faces, and the crackling fire from their cars, completely destroyed and freshly exploded—were the growls of the Ijo that had just destroyed them.
The creature was the most peculiar—disturbing and grotesque—the soldiers had ever seen. The boy wasn't afraid. He looked at it with horror, of course. But he felt no fear, nor disgust. What he felt was a deep hatred and contempt.
"You are an insult to life…"
The soldiers immediately armed themselves. Those carrying the survivors moved away, supported and protected. The others were ready to attack. The boy, being part of the Oberhaupt, was obligated to engage. He stood on the front line.
"I already know you can't wait, Mickey," one of the soldiers said to the boy in a mocking tone, wearing a wide grin and a deliberately provocative expression.
"You bet…" Mickey replied. "Took me four hours to get those junk heaps running again."
The Ijo began to move slowly toward the soldiers. It had already sensed their presence. It was just waiting for the right moment.
The creature was horrifying in indescribable ways. It was made of a rotting, damp mass of flesh and tentacles—eight or maybe ten of them—each covered in an impossible number of small, white eyes, along with blades sharp enough to cut just by looking at them. Its putrid, aggressive body was composed of four additional appendages, more robust and complex, almost resembling limbs—arms and legs—while smaller ones moved frantically beneath its belly like cockroach legs. Its head looked like a malignant tumor, pulsating, with blood spurting from the dry, hollow cavities that had once been ears. The curved shape of its skull was vaguely visible. The rest was all tangled in thick strands that connected to the rest of the body. Its face was completely disfigured. There were no eyes, no mouth, no nose—only more tentacles, smaller and sharper, like fangs, like stingers. Slimy, dripping bones emerged from its throat and, like tubes, connected directly to its lungs. The beast oozed blood and human fat, along with oil, all burning, making the flames look like a divine yet sick aura surrounding the monster.
The creature growled and roared in short bursts. Those sounds were worse than forks scraping slowly across a chalkboard. They were so painful it felt like the ears were being scratched and pierced all the way to the eardrum by large, jagged shards of glass. Its screams were devastating—not only psychologically. Just hearing them destabilized the soldiers instantly. Mickey felt sick. It was as if his heart were exploding and his organs collapsing. He trembled, struggling to stay on his feet and not fall victim to that beast.
Among them all, he was the only one who truly managed.
Among them all, he was the only one who looked the monster straight in the eyes.
Among them all, he was the only one the monster looked straight in the eyes.
It was as if it reminded him deeply of someone. For him, it was almost a rematch against an old enemy—or, more accurately, a way to violently vent his rage on something that resembled that enemy, just to feel stronger, despite his inner weakness.
But the Ijo did not seem weak. On the contrary, it seemed almost ecstatic from the tension building between them.
Immediately, Mickey sealed the helmet of his suit, which wrapped around him like a blanket. Instantly, everything went dark.
No sound. No sensation. Slowly, a pleasant scent spread.
Everything seemed to move too fast.
IJO DETECTED: K44-83.
ESTIMATED LEVEL: BETA.
CODENAME: STARFISH
The boy stopped thinking.
He would have wanted to speak.