The next night, beneath the dim glow of an abandoned metro tunnel in Suzhou’s forgotten industrial district, Tianming moved like a ghost between rusted support pillars and collapsed scaffolding. Fang followed close behind, sweeping her silenced pistol toward every shadow. Behind them, Zhao lagged slightly, clutching a tactical laptop patched into the city’s defunct security network.
“There,” Zhao whispered, pointing toward a metal blast door embedded into the tunnel wall, half-buried under rubble and corrosion. “According to Dr. Jin’s metadata, the facility is behind that. Zhenmo Site-4. No longer in the main grid. Totally off the books.”
Fang knelt by the keypad next to the door. “Looks encrypted.”
“I’ve got it.” Zhao dropped beside her and jacked in his device. Sparks flickered. The screen blinked. Then the door hissed open with a heavy groan, revealing a pitch-black corridor that stank of chemicals and old blood.
Tianming entered first.
As they descended, the air thickened. Pipes lined the walls, some hissing quietly with unknown gases. Dim emergency lights pulsed overhead. They reached a T-junction—then the sound hit them.
Footsteps.
Not hurried. Not clumsy. Disciplined.
“Guards,” Fang muttered.
Tianming gestured for silence. Three men appeared, each clad in black combat armor laced with fiberoptic circuits. Their faces were masked, movements mechanical. One of them stopped abruptly, sniffing the air.
“Clear,” he said in a flat tone.
But Tianming was already moving.
He launched from the shadows like a bullet, slamming into the first soldier with a flying elbow to the jaw. The helmet cracked from the force. Before the second could react, Tianming grabbed the first one’s body, twisted it, and hurled it into him like a battering ram. Both crashed into the wall.
The third drew a baton crackling with voltage and swung.
Tianming ducked under the arc, stepped inside the guard’s range, and delivered a brutal knee to the gut, followed by an upward elbow strike to the throat. The man stumbled—Tianming pivoted, swept his legs out from under him, and stomped hard on his chest, leaving him gasping.
One of the first two was trying to rise.
Tianming didn’t hesitate—axe-kick to the spine, and the man dropped like a marionette with cut strings.
Fang shot the final one in the leg before he could raise his weapon, then stepped over his writhing form and tased him unconscious.
Zhao exhaled. “Remind me never to piss either of you off.”
They pressed deeper.
At the end of the hallway, a circular vault door stood sealed. Beside it, etched into the steel, were words that made Tianming’s blood freeze:
“Subject Zero Must Never Be Reclaimed.”
Zhao glanced at Tianming. “That’s you.”
Fang placed a hand on the scanner. “If this is what they’re hiding, it’s big.”
The scanner rejected her.
Tianming stepped forward, placed his hand on the panel.
It glowed green.
ACCESS GRANTED.
The door hissed open to reveal a chamber of cold white light and rows of cylindrical tanks filled with pale, floating bodies—each one deformed, stitched together with wires and metal. Failed clones. Mockeries of life.
In the center was a single pod.
Inside it, suspended in cryostasis, was Dr. Jin Wei.
Fang’s voice dropped. “She’s alive.”
Tianming stepped up to the glass. Her face was thinner, older. But unmistakable.
Zhao looked around. “If they left her here… it means she knew something they couldn’t kill. Something they were saving.”
Tianming whispered, “Let’s wake her up.”
Behind them, another door began to open.
Warning lights flashed.
The facility was activating.