Chapter Sixty-One: Rescue

Long ago, Chao Yan of Chu had known that those who danced upon the blade’s edge would meet an untimely end, but she always believed that day was still far from her. It was only when the gleaming bone-carving knife hung before her eyes that she understood: misfortune arrived swifter than tomorrow.

Chao Yan closed her eyes. She had thought herself immune to the fear of death, yet she could not stop her hands from trembling. Memories long sealed away flickered through her mind like a lantern procession. She forced back her tears, summoning the last of her will not to show weakness before these beasts.

Bang, bang. Two abrupt knocks echoed through the dim hall, jarring and out of place, as if two blazing lanterns had been cast into a nest of bats.

Yamamoto Hiroya, the old man intoning prayers, was unmoved. He merely glanced indifferently at the burly man standing by.

Ryunosuke Kagawa nodded, then strode toward the half-closed door, irritation simmering in his chest. Was it GOC this time, or the SCP Foundation? Could these bastards never come all at once? Did they think they were shooting a film, arriving one after another? He was a fastidious chef and detested interruptions before his ingredients were prepared.

He reached the door and delivered a left kick. The composite aluminum door could not withstand such force and crashed down. Almost the instant the door fell, Ji Ning’s mocking face appeared before him.

Ryunosuke Kagawa grinned savagely and lunged at Ji Ning, but as he was about to seize him, something felt wrong. The grinning brat before him acted as though he hadn’t even noticed, not bothering to step back.

The hand that had once crushed countless lives seemed now as fragile as ice slashed by molten steel. Under Kagawa’s astonished gaze, it split in two, half the palm falling limply to the deck. But rather than rage, his first action was to halt all movement and begin to observe.

Five minutes earlier, Kagawa had dragged Chao Yan into the hall. Four shadowy figures scaled the railing outside. Qin Mo took a tiny amplifier, placed one end against the door, and fitted the other, an earpiece, into her ear. In moments, she had deduced the source of the prayers echoing inside. She whispered, “The Flesh Cultists are reciting the pre-Communion prayer.”

At the word “Communion,” the other three paused. No longer green recruits, they had memorized every available scrap of information on the Flesh Cult. “Chao Yan was dragged inside just now,” Afra said, a shudder running through her. The cultists preferred fresh, lively flesh, especially young women; virgins were the ultimate sacrificial offering for any degenerate.

“So Chao Yan came to sabotage the cult’s ritual, but failed and became the sacrificial meal?” Ji Ning mused, revising his impression of the woman who had once deceived him. Whatever her motives, at least she stood opposed to the Flesh Cult.

Katherine wasted little time. “If she’s on the opposing side, we’re obligated to rescue her.”

The others nodded. They couldn’t simply watch the cult host a bloody feast, even if motivated only by the faintest humanitarian impulse.

Once again, Ji Ning was assigned to play the decoy. As the three girls split up, he sighed. Maybe he should buy a hefty life insurance policy—he was always the bait; who could endure that?

“655, are you there?” Ji Ning decided to rely on his trump card. The longer he stalled, the safer Qin Mo would be at the rear.

“I’m here.” SCP-CN-655’s voice was as flat as ever, but Ji Ning trusted it deeply. In contrast to those who panicked, an unflappable ally inspired far greater confidence.

“What should I do?” In the past, he’d always acted before SCP-CN-655 leisurely revealed the optimal solution. This time, he asked directly.

“I recently came across an interesting novel in your mind called ‘Three-Body.’ I think we can borrow an idea—you can use me to create a filament far stronger than anything on Earth.” The response was swift. Of all human traits, imagination was what SCP-CN-655 admired most; it was this that had brought humanity so far.

But Ji Ning’s attention had snagged on the first sentence. He shouted, “Damn it, no wonder you’re sounding more and more human—who gave you permission to rifle through my memories?”

“Didn’t you notice?” SCP-CN-655 replied cautiously. Ji Ning shook his head instinctively, then realized this was tantamount to inviting it to continue. Before he could speak, SCP-CN-655 promised with familiar earnestness, “Very well, I won’t look anymore.”

Ji Ning grumbled inwardly—only a fool would believe that. Still, it struck him: if SCP-CN-655 learned from his memories, was it mimicking him? The thought depressed him further. He knew exactly what kind of person he was. He’d hoped to teach SCP-CN-655 about human goodness, but now could only watch as it became a loser like himself.

As he drew out the transparent filament from his palm, Ji Ning consoled himself: this was like a child learning from its parent. Logically, it should call him ‘dad.’ A father should be tolerant.

“Anything else you want to ask? Five minutes are almost up.” SCP-CN-655 initiated conversation for the first time, sensing that its breach of a human unwritten rule had Ji Ning thinking bizarre thoughts, and perhaps communication was necessary.

Ji Ning adjusted the filament. “Are you reading my memories backwards?” “Yes.”

“How old have you gotten to now?” “Sixteen.”

Sixteen—back then, Ji Ning was a teenager, with all the awkward secrets that came with surging hormones. He winced, wishing he could toss SCP-CN-655 into Mount Vesuvius and let the flames purify all.

But he reasoned with himself: SCP-CN-655 wasn’t human. Human morals didn’t apply. It had no sense of shame. As long as Ji Ning acted as though nothing happened, SCP-CN-655 would never realize what shameful things he’d done under his quilt in countless late nights.

He sighed. “Just don’t ruin my hippocampus.”

“Of course.”

“You just promised not to look at my memories again.”

“If it were you, would you be deterred by an empty promise?”

Ji Ning had to admit he wouldn’t. He ignored SCP-CN-655 and checked the filament, then took a mint from his pocket and pressed it along the line. Without even applying force, the hard candy, wrapper and all, was sliced clean, the surface glistening like ice. He crouched by the door and knocked, secretly hoping the people inside wouldn’t speak too quickly and that he could stall with some verbal sparring before a fight broke out.

Ryunosuke Kagawa’s body, tempered by Karcist rites, no longer responded to pain, but he glared at Ji Ning with fury. He did not speak, but was like a beast in true rage.

What he hated most was when matters slipped from his control. His hand would regenerate, but this taste of the unexpected clung to him like a festering wound.

Was it thaumaturgy or a weapon? The brat before him, or a hidden assailant? Kagawa grew vigilant, observing and thinking. His position was not gained by brute strength alone; among madmen obsessed with physical transcendence, strength was not enough to win respect. Before reaching the pinnacle of might, wisdom was more important.

Meanwhile, the Communion inside the hall had met with disruption. On the ship’s exterior, Katherine had already tossed several smoke grenades into the ventilation. Atop the altar, Yamamoto Hiroya watched the chaos coldly, speaking unhurriedly, “Everyone remain where you are...”

Before he finished, Qin Mo lobbed more mini-explosives into the vent, signaling to Katherine. They vaulted inside, one after the other.

Tetsuya Egawa was uneasy. It was his first time at such a gathering, and his rank relegated him to a distant corner—just as well, for he avoided the initial attack. Ignoring the elder’s command, as the smoke spread, he ran for the door. These grand assemblies always attracted attention from those organizations, he thought. But within seconds, a blast wave toppled him, shrapnel slicing his face. He glimpsed two figures emerge from the vent before vanishing into the smoke.

They had come—those self-proclaimed arbiters of justice. He was still young and uninitiated; his mind and body were weak, so the urge to flee propelled him to his feet.

He shoved open the door, ignoring the two people locked in confrontation outside. The explosion had deafened him, and in that silence, every thought grew loud; survival instincts drove him onward. He was a strong swimmer—if he could clear the railing and dive into the sea, he could escape pursuit. No organization would care about a nobody like him. He had tickets to Vietnam, Myanmar, and safe houses everywhere; once the heat died down, he could return to hunt in the steel jungle.

He quickened his pace, but after only a few steps, he felt himself lifted, the world spinning. The filament created by SCP-CN-655 was now tinged with red. That faint color was enough for Kagawa to detect the anomaly.

Ji Ning watched the twitching remains on the ground without a flicker of emotion. These cultists deserved no pity. Each had blood on their hands. When they knelt before the Arch-Sorcerer Ion’s statue, they ceased to be human. Where morality was meaningless, in the curriculum at Stag College, the only mercy they deserved was a swift death.

Kagawa calmly wiped the blood from his face with his intact left hand, then licked his fingers, savoring the invigorating taste. He flashed a chilling smile at Ji Ning, saying nothing, yet Ji Ning understood him perfectly.

I’m coming.

Ji Ning didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he turned and ran. Kagawa had already spotted the filament and, sensing someone dash past, stepped aside, continuing to observe Egawa with icy detachment.

Spectators always see more clearly than participants. Egawa had inadvertently mapped out the filament’s range for Kagawa with his own body.

Katherine and Qin Mo, back to back, felt their way through the smoke. Cultists occasionally stumbled into them, but none could speak. Compared to the lazy Ji Ning, Sylvia far preferred this gentle but resolute student and had no doubt that she was the most gifted fighter she’d ever seen. The snapping of bones and screams echoed as Qin Mo, moving with balletic grace, dislocated joints and broke arms.

It was her first time using such skills. Her entire body moved with dancer’s precision, effortlessly merging violence with beauty. She marveled at her own instinctive speed, but also wondered why her opponents seemed so slow, so obvious.

Was she truly the genius Sylvia claimed? She’d thought it was just encouragement.

Katherine observed, “Looks like we won’t need the backup plan.” Qin Mo was about to reply when an ancient voice drifted through the smoke, “Oh? You ladies have a backup plan?”

Yamamoto Hiroya was old, but only in appearance; beneath the skin, his body could still erupt with staggering power. The rhythms of the hunt, etched by years, still beat in his heart.

Qin Mo retreated slightly, acutely aware of the strong, rhythmic heartbeat before her. This was no heart of a decrepit old man; only bodies demanding vast oxygen needed such a heart, and that meant muscles burning with aerobic energy. Qin Mo couldn’t fathom how much power was coiled within him, but the animal terror made her step back.

Katherine detected the confidence in his tone but remained unflustered. She showed him the device in her right hand, like a detonator, pointing to the heavy pouch at her waist. “I have a kilo of octanitrocubane. If I detonate it, this ship will disappear forever. But I have no wish to die here.”

Yamamoto smiled and stepped forward, glancing dismissively at her waist. “Why should I believe your nonsense?”

Katherine pointed to Chao Yan, wide-eyed on the altar. “She’s my sister. We’re both GOC operatives. Originally, the explosives were meant for your gathering, but I can’t let my sister die alone.”

Yamamoto hesitated. Katherine pressed on, “Our plan failed. Let us take her now, and we’ll vanish with the explosives.”

Qin Mo had already untied Chao Yan. Katherine gripped the detonator, and the three edged toward the door.

Just when they thought Yamamoto had relented, he spoke again. “Since the Communion has begun, she must lose an arm.”

Katherine shook her head. She knew that if she flinched, he’d sense her bluff. All Flesh Cultists were sharks at the scent of blood. She raised the detonator. “Take one step closer and I’ll blow us all up.” To show resolve, she even stopped moving, but Qin Mo and Chao Yan, unaware, continued, creating a blind spot.

Suddenly, a cultist crept behind Katherine. As she sensed the attack, she flung the detonator at Yamamoto and shouted, “Run!”

Yamamoto caught the device, only to realize it was a black makeup compact.

Katherine threw the attacker over her shoulder, then tossed her bag at Yamamoto as she ran. It was only a bag of clothes, but he chose not to gamble on its contents.

They’d memorized the escape route before deploying the smoke grenades and quickly reached the door. Chao Yan, instead of fleeing, stayed close behind. Whatever her reasons, their timely aid was a godsend.

The doorway was crowded with cultists, but none dared step forward. Several bisected corpses still bled on the floor. Qin Mo threw a random item from her pocket, and the cultists, now jumpy, scattered.

Qin Mo whispered to Chao Yan, “Crawl past.”

Warned by Ji Ning, the three dropped to the floor and crawled through the dark blood, rising only after passing the five-meter mark. Chao Yan, without hesitation, did the same.

On deck, Ji Ning’s right hand was now sheathed in a blue membrane. Kagawa’s martial skills weren’t sophisticated, but his sheer strength made Ji Ning’s bones ache with every clash. Each blow felt like it might be his last, but he pressed on.

When Ji Ning saw the three escaping, he knew the mission was nearly over. He dodged a vicious roundhouse, vaulted over the railing, and plunged into the sea. Once free of the onslaught, he had time to consider: it seemed his opponent had been holding back, leaving just enough openings for him to escape death and reposition.

Kagawa, meanwhile, had no intention of pursuit. Instead, he grew calm, a mocking smile curling his lips as he glimpsed a massive shadow approaching.

Afra rammed the yacht with full force. The jolt and screech of tearing metal was deafening. She left the pilot’s cabin, muttering, “I hate swimming,” pinching her nose as she jumped overboard.

After ten exhausting minutes battling the waves, Ji Ning finally reached the shore, rising under the astonished gaze of tourists. “What are you staring at? Never seen a Tokyo Bay night swimmer?”

He slicked back his wet hair and blended into the crowd. In a big city, everyone was too busy to care about a drenched stranger, no matter how odd.

Soon, he found the other four, equally soaked. Afra wrung out her hair, while Katherine and Qin Mo flanked Chao Yan protectively.

Seeing Chao Yan, Ji Ning’s anger flared. “Was it you who made fools of us last time?” Chao Yan feigned innocence, “What are you talking about?”

Ji Ning glowered at her damp, delicate appearance. Inspired by interrogators in spy films, he tried to twist her arms behind her, but Qin Mo slapped his hand away. “Back off.”

“Okay.” Ji Ning obediently went to one side, gazing at the moon. He knew his place in the team.

“Now that we’re all here, let’s return to the hotel,” Katherine said, confirming they weren’t being followed. She and Qin Mo kept Chao Yan between them, wary of any sudden moves from the mysterious girl.

At the Peninsula Tokyo, Chao Yan offered her hands to be tied to a chair. Her cooperative manner made it hard for anyone to be harsh with her at first.

Ji Ning, now wearing sunglasses he’d bought earlier, sat upright and scrutinized the unflinching Chao Yan. She was trouble—he could see that. “Name?”

Chao Yan replied crisply, “Chao Yan.”

Ji Ning nodded, pretending to jot notes to seem professional. “Gender?”

“What do you think?” Chao Yan almost laughed and glanced at the others. “Can someone normal take over?”

Ji Ning bristled. “Nonsense! That’s how the pros do it in the movies. Answer or you’ll get a taste of pepper spray and the tiger bench.”

Katherine sighed, regretting ever letting Ji Ning take the lead. She knew that, by requesting a new interrogator, Chao Yan was subtly testing them, trying to assert control and strengthen her psychological defense. Katherine wasn’t bothered by such tricks and signaled Ji Ning to continue.

With support, Ji Ning banged the table. “Gender?”

Chao Yan frowned. She recognized that the real leader was the cold blonde beside her; Ji Ning was just a buffer. This farce was a way for the blonde to observe her. Accepting this, she replied carelessly, “Can’t you tell?”

Katherine fetched a cup of hot water and stood beside Chao Yan, holding it threateningly above her head, signaling Ji Ning to go on.

Ji Ning swallowed. He’d never realized how fierce Katherine could be. “Gender?”

Chao Yan finally complied. “Female.” She wasn’t foolish enough to resist when the water was still hot.

Ji Ning nodded, softening his tone. She couldn’t be much older than him—seventeen or eighteen, at most. “Age?”

“Twenty.”

“You don’t look it, honestly.” Ji Ning was skeptical. Unless she’d been pampered all her life, she looked far too young.

Chao Yan misunderstood, thinking he was mocking her. She glared at him, then turned to Katherine. “Go ahead and pour.”

“I meant you look too young, like a high schooler.” Ji Ning waved his hands frantically, not wanting to be glared at by an angry tigress again.

Katherine considered, then prompted, “Next question.”

Ji Ning had no choice but to go on. “What organization are you with?”

“ANDERSON Robotics.”

Ji Ning made a note, puzzled, and pressed on. “How much do you know about the Flesh Cult gathering?”

He remembered that Anderson Robotics’ founder was an alumnus of Stag College, and the two organizations collaborated frequently. Betraying a partner was a rare opportunity—shouldn’t it be reserved for something bigger?

Chao Yan thought for a moment, then answered half-truthfully, “I only knew of the gathering. I had no details.”

Ji Ning smiled. “If you knew nothing, why risk your life? Tired of living?”

Chao Yan was silent, then met his gaze. “Because I loathe the Flesh Cult.” Her face was blank, but her eyes burned with abyssal hatred.

Though she was bound, no one doubted that, if a cultist appeared, the sweet-looking girl would send them to hell with her teeth if need be.

Ji Ning instinctively avoided her gaze and changed the topic. “Last time in Russia, did you use us for something?”

Chao Yan did not hesitate. “Yes. I was after that statue, too. If all went as planned, it should be destroyed now.”

Ji Ning’s expression darkened. “Our mission was to secure the statue, but you destroyed it. What do you propose?”

Chao Yan said nothing, her eyes hidden behind lowered lashes. Ji Ning, his own eyes shielded by sunglasses, muttered, “Forget it. It’s done. We’ll give you a bill for the damages—settle your debts, and we’re even.”

He poured himself a glass of water, puzzled when everyone kept staring. “What? I’m done.”

Katherine resolved never to let Ji Ning handle such matters again. She took his seat, facing Chao Yan. “How did you learn our objective was the statue?”

Chao Yan smiled. “Pure coincidence. I’d been watching Leonid Sidorov for over a month. Once I spotted your activity, I guessed your intentions.”

Katherine studied her, then asked, “Why did you say the statue was only destroyed if nothing went wrong?”

Chao Yan recounted her actions in detail. Katherine listened, then stood and untied her. Chao Yan seemed unsurprised. She nodded. “I’ll remember this debt. Farewell.”

Before she could leave, Afra handed her the itemized bill for their losses. “Seekers of the Forgotten” prided themselves on being lawful good; private vengeance was out of the question.

Chao Yan accepted the bill, reading it as she opened the door. At the final sum, she paused, then turned back. “One more thing—if I heard correctly, the Flesh Cult is planning a major sacrificial ritual in this city. Could this intel offset some of what I owe? If it were before, I could pay it off, but now, honestly, it might be the Year of the Monkey before I can manage it.”

Katherine nodded. “You can offset your debt with any information that helps us. After we evaluate its value, we’ll send you a revised bill. For this tip, we’ll reduce it by a thousand dollars. For more, we’ll reduce more.”

“Extra credit task, here we come,” Afra cheered. She still resented the failed Russian mission—not just for the money lost, but because she’d missed out on academic credit. Why let others assign the Flesh Cult midterm? Better to seize the initiative.

Stag College prioritized practical application. If they could submit a B-level report, the academic office wouldn’t bother with a new midterm—the professors were too busy, after all. World peace wasn’t maintained by adolescent heroes.

Chao Yan counted the digits again and sighed. She closed the door, sat back in the interrogation chair, and glanced at Katherine. “The water’s free here, right? Please pour me another, not so hot this time—I have a lot to say tonight.”

If someone looked beautiful even when frowning, then they truly were handsome. At that moment, to Minami Haruka, Zhao Tianxing was just so. After failing to reach Katherine’s group and finding no signal, Zhao Tianxing, frowning for once, turned the car around and tossed his communicator out the window. Normally, Katherine would keep her communicator on. If there was no response, only two possibilities remained: they’d either deliberately left the signal range due to an emergency—though they would have warned him—or they’d been captured and the communicator destroyed or compromised.

Zhao didn’t know that the standard Stag College communicators weren’t waterproof anymore, after a budget cut. With twenty percent of the field ops budget slashed, only the most essential features remained. Everything else, like waterproofing, required special application. As per regulations, they were to be disposed of every three days to prevent eavesdropping.

Minami Haruka was puzzled. Zhao wasn’t the littering type—last night he’d even helped sweep up dust she’d tracked in. She glanced back. “What did you throw out?”

Driving slowly, Zhao kept an eye on pedestrians. “The communicator.”

But his brief reply only made her more curious. “Why throw it away? Shouldn’t you contact your team?”

He didn’t explain his reasoning, just the conclusion. “It might be compromised.”

Minami Haruka simply said, “Oh.” Ever since leaving the parking garage, she’d felt herself in a movie-like scenario. The bodies on the ground had made her realize she was in danger, likely because of the seal. Instead of ditching it, she felt excited—at least her dull life was changing, even if not for the better. “Where are we going?”

Zhao guessed that Ji Ning’s group had also run into the Flesh Cult, and that people in Haruka’s home might be after her. He hated acting blindly, but a lack of intelligence left him with little choice. He could only suspect the cult was after the seal, thus the ambush. The communicator’s silence made sense.

He looked at the girl in the passenger seat. “Any friends or relatives nearby? You can’t go home tonight. I’ll take you to them.”

She thought and gave him an address. “It’s a friend’s place.”

Zhao didn’t ask if this “friend” was herself. He just set the GPS and drove toward Shibuya at the speed limit. If his car weren’t a clunker, but a Bimota, the two of them would have been mistaken for a pair of delinquents.

Neither knew that, elsewhere in the city, a conversation about them was taking place—a series of coincidences, and even their so-called enemies had only appeared by chance.

“Haruka Minami has been taken from the target area by a man possibly connected to the anomalous world. The cultist sent to maintain the array was knocked out, and the one guarding her was attacked. Should we send more?”

“No. The exposure is enough for the SCP Foundation to be suspicious. An ordinary person shouldn’t draw such attention from the Flesh Cult—do you expect the Foundation to ignore that? Remember, our aim is simple: attract Foundation notice, but make them think this is just a routine ritual. Send ordinary people only—no more attention.”

In a hidden tea room, those used to pulling the strings had no idea that the ripples of the butterfly effect would surprise them all.