Under the cover of night, pirate ships emerged from hyperspace, casting long shadows over the darkened planet where Nokam Corp's stronghold lay hidden. Their hulls were thick, reinforced, built for battle—but their mission tonight was not conquest.
Songidan Captain: “Our objective is supply acquisition. Move quickly. Avoid unnecessary engagement.”
But something was off.
As they approached, the United Government forces that supposedly guarded the facility made no attempt to intercept. The soldiers held position, unmoving. No warnings, no defense.
Deputy (whispering): “This isn’t right…”
The pirates crept closer. Then, suddenly—an alarm blared from within the facility.
Nokam’s automated defense system roared to life.
Laser turrets pivoted and fired without warning.
Captain: “RETREAT! NOW!”
A storm of laser fire tore through the fleet. The pirates scattered, their formation breaking apart. The captain’s instincts screamed that something was wrong—not with the facility, but with the guards.
He turned his ship toward the soldiers. Still motionless. Still… lifeless.
As he landed and approached cautiously on foot, the truth became apparent.
Captain: “They're… unmanned?”
Each “soldier” was a machine. Drones. Decoys.
Then the facility’s gate opened.
No resistance.
An invitation.
Captain: “This is a trap…”
Still, curiosity—or something deeper—compelled them forward.
Inside, silence.
Then—shock.
The halls were lined with stasis pods. Inside: twisted shapes, once human, now distorted beyond recognition. Pale flesh. Incomplete limbs. Faces with no eyes.
Captain (murmuring): “So this is what they meant by ‘purity’...”
They advanced deeper into the lab.
And there, the horror escalated.
Massive tanks, filled with cloned human bodies. Perfectly formed, but empty-eyed and unmoving. Each one connected to nutrient tubes, suspended in silent incubation.
Next to them—storage units. Refrigerated shelves filled with human organs, skin, entire limbs, meticulously labeled and preserved.
The captain's eyes widened.
Captain: “They’re… growing humans. Like livestock... for sale?”
He turned toward a thick glass wall beyond the laboratory.
A room lined like a showroom. Dozens of living humans. Imprisoned. Displayed.
Waiting to be sold.
His fists clenched.
Captain (whispering): “The pirates they captured… They used them for this?”
The missing crew. The whispered rumors. The lost convoys.
It all made sense now.
Captain (coldly): “Nokam… you monsters.”
He turned to his crew.
Captain: “Burn it all. Save the living.”
Without hesitation, his people raised their weapons. The facility would burn—but the truth would survive.
The Songidan fleet moved in chaos.
Sensors blared. The United Government had dispatched overwhelming reinforcements—clearly to bury what they had just discovered inside Nokam's hellish labs.
The moment their approach was detected, the pirate captain barked an order.
Captain: “All units—battle stations! Survival is our mission now!”
Explosions rocked the skies.
Drones and fighters screamed down from above, unleashing a relentless storm of laser fire. Songidan’s ships trembled as shields buckled and hulls cracked.
Crew Member: “Captain! Our forward shields are down—we can’t hold this position!”
Captain: “Activate all defense turrets! Return fire!”
Countermeasures deployed—automated lasers took down a few drones, but the enemy numbers were overwhelming.
Crew Member: “We’re being breached—multiple entry points!”
The captain’s face was grim.
Captain: “We won’t survive in the air. Prepare for ground deployment—now!”
They loaded into transport shuttles. Engines ignited. The crafts roared downward, diving through the atmosphere.
As they landed, shockwaves rolled through the surrounding terrain.
Captain: “Everyone accounted for?!”
Crew: “Some injuries—nothing fatal!”
But there was no time to breathe.
Crew: “Enemy ground forces inbound! They’ll surround us any minute!”
The captain scanned the terrain—and saw it. A hidden hatch beneath some debris: a Nokam underground passage.
Captain: “There! Into the tunnels—we’ll buy time!”
Weapons drawn, they rushed in.
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Dark. Wet. Mechanized hums echoed from unseen chambers. They descended deeper.
Then—another nightmare.
They stumbled into a massive bio-storage facility, even more grotesque than the last.
Suspended tanks held failed experiments. Flesh that quivered. Limbs stitched together unnaturally. Creatures that once may have been human.
Crew Member: “What… the hell is that…”
But before they could get closer—
WEEEOOOO—!!
An alarm.
The United Government had followed them in.
Captain: “Positions! We fight here!”
A beat of silence.
Then gunfire lit the tunnels.
Captain: “This isn’t just an escape. This is a battle to expose the truth!”
The air filled with smoke and screams.
Then—a burst of blinding light from above.
Crew: “What is that?!”
They looked up—through cracks in the ceiling, massive ships pierced the atmosphere, descending rapidly.
Their hulls were marked with a familiar symbol.
Crew (shouting): “Lucisa?!”
Lucisa’s private military forces deployed mid-air, unleashing a brutal wave of fire on the United Government’s flank.
The battlefield shifted instantly.
Captain: “This is our chance! Regroup and push forward—link up with Lucisa!”
The pirates reformed their ranks. The United Government, thrown into confusion, faltered.
Crew Member (in disbelief): “Did they come to save us…?”
Captain (gritting his teeth): “Maybe. Either way—we live. Hold formation and fight your way out!”
Underground, a war ignited.
Above, allegiances blurred.
And for the first time, Songidan saw a flicker of survival in the chaos.
Jungwoo had been asleep for what felt like days—maybe longer.
His body was broken. His mind clouded. But only one thought pulsed through him:
I have to get back. Back to the troop.
Jungwoo (weakly): “Hi, Lucy… status analysis.”
Her voice, cool and precise, echoed in his mind.
Lucy: “Warning: bio-energy critically depleted. Activation of abilities may significantly increase fatality risk.”
Jungwoo groaned as he slowly lifted his head.
He had no time to recover. They needed him. They needed to know.
Jungwoo: “I’ll use it. I have to.”
He clenched his jaw, summoning the last reserves of strength—and activated his hidden function.
His eyes flashed blue.
Around him, the world shifted.
The trees, the terrain, the air itself became mapped in luminous threads. A glowing network stretched out before him, revealing safe paths, hidden dangers, and optimal routes.
Jungwoo: “Route analysis mode… online.”
Glowing dots floated in the air, guiding him forward.
Jungwoo (panting): “If I follow these… I won’t get lost…”
With staggering effort, he moved—one step at a time.
Every movement threatened collapse. Every breath burned. He stumbled, fell, crawled—but he didn’t stop.
Jungwoo: “Just a little more…”
Finally—after what felt like forever—he saw them.
The troop.
His troop.
As he took one final step, his vision swam, and his knees gave out.
He collapsed.
The last thing he saw were gorillas rushing toward him.
Then—darkness.
Voices.
A distant stir of breath and sound.
He opened his eyes to see them gathered around him. Worry in their eyes. Gentle hands holding him up.
Jungwoo (confused): “You… helped me…?”
It didn’t make sense. Until now, they had eyed him with suspicion, caution. But now—they looked at him as one of their own.
The crowd parted.
The alpha gorilla stepped forward.
A quiet hush fell over the troop.
Alpha: “You’ve returned.”
Jungwoo's voice trembled.
Jungwoo: “But… I failed you. Many of our kind died. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t do anything…”
Shame clung to his words.
But the alpha placed a firm, steady hand on his shoulder.
Alpha: “We do not blame you. If not for you, more would have perished. You are one of us now. You are not alone.”
Jungwoo felt something deep in his chest loosen—a burden long carried now beginning to lift.
He rose, unsteady but stronger than before.
Jungwoo: “Then listen. I need to tell you… about the enemy we’re facing.”
Jungwoo sat in the center of the troop, face to face with the alpha gorilla.
Flickering firelight cast long shadows through the forest canopy. Around them, the other gorillas formed a quiet circle, their eyes reflecting the flames.
Jungwoo: “We don’t have much time. Movements are happening. If we don’t act, we’re all in danger.”
The alpha listened in silence, his massive hands resting on the ground.
After a moment, he nodded slowly.
Alpha: “You know much, Jungwoo. More than we do. But this is no longer a fight of strength alone. As you’ve seen… the enemy has weapons we can’t imagine.”
Jungwoo exhaled deeply.
Jungwoo: “That’s why we need more than instinct. We need strategy. Coordination. Unity. We can’t win by brute force anymore.”
The alpha was quiet again.
He dug his fingers into the soil, his expression thoughtful.
Then—finally—he spoke.
Alpha: “Jungwoo, I trust you. We all do. You’re not like us… and that’s why we need you.”
Jungwoo felt his chest tighten.
He already knew where this was going.
Jungwoo (softly): “You think I should lead the troop.”
The alpha met his eyes without blinking.
Alpha: “My strength is primitive. I was born to fight, to protect. But the enemies we face now… they are beyond that. You’ve walked in both worlds. You must be the one to guide us.”
Jungwoo looked away.
His voice was hoarse.
Jungwoo: “I’m not ready. You… you’re still the better leader. I haven’t let go of who I was. I don’t even know if I can.”
He clenched his fists in the dirt.
Jungwoo: “I don’t know if I can be what this troop needs.”
The alpha placed a hand on his shoulder—firm, steady.
Alpha: “Leaders are not chosen by themselves. They rise when the troop needs them. And we need you.”
Jungwoo stared at him.
There was no arrogance in the alpha’s voice. Only truth.
And trust.
The silence between them stretched. Finally, Jungwoo nodded—just slightly.
Jungwoo: “Then… you keep leading. For now. I’ll stand beside you. I’ll learn. And I’ll be ready when the time comes.”
The alpha smiled—not with lips, but with presence.
Alpha: “Then we begin. Tell us… about the enemy. And how we fight.”
Jungwoo took a deep breath.
The fire crackled. The troop leaned in.
And the war to reclaim their future began—not with roars, but with whispered truth.
In a dimly lit, cavernous conference chamber, two figures sat across from one another.
The Chairman of the Sesi Group, his body fully mechanized—skin replaced by gleaming alloys, face devoid of emotion, expression sealed beneath a smooth titanium mask.
The Chairwoman of the Cookie Group, by contrast, retained a fully human appearance—warm, poised, yet with eyes that shimmered with unreadable calculation.
Sesi Chairman (calmly, mechanical):
“We stand at a pivotal crossroads. The situation between the United Government and Nokam is spiraling beyond prediction. A stronger alliance is no longer optional.”
The Cookie Chairwoman smiled politely.
Cookie Chairwoman:
“If the Sesi Group requires support, the Cookie Group is more than willing to provide the necessary supplies. Of course, we would appreciate more transparency in how those resources are being utilized.”
The Sesi Chairman fell into a moment of stillness. He had no biological need for food—yet the obsession with the agricultural materials provided by Cookie Group was growing.
Sesi Chairman:
“Some needs cannot be explained by logic alone. Your produce is… essential to us. What matters is that the supply remains uncontaminated and punctual.”
The Cookie Chairwoman tapped her fingers lightly on the glass table.
Cookie Chairwoman:
“Certainly. Your deliveries will remain a top priority. Though since we’re on the topic—might I ask? Why is it so important? I was under the impression your kind no longer required organic sustenance.”
The Sesi Chairman didn’t flinch. His blank metal face reflected nothing.
Sesi Chairman:
“That question is… inappropriate. What matters is consistency. Our internal protocols require it.”
Behind her calm exterior, the Cookie Chairwoman was already planning. Every word, every demand was a crack—a pressure point she could exploit later.
Cookie Chairwoman:
“Of course. We’ll ensure your needs are met. In return, however, we’d like more access to Sesi’s technological infrastructure. It will help optimize our distribution chains.”
The Sesi Chairman paused.
Then nodded.
Sesi Chairman:
“A negotiable proposition.”
But the Cookie Chairwoman wasn’t interested in technology.
She was interested in dependency.
By adjusting food supply levels, she would gradually increase Sesi’s reliance on her group. Until they couldn’t function without her approval.
Then, the Sesi Chairman changed the subject.
Sesi Chairman:
“The current instability must be addressed. Lucisa should bear responsibility. They failed to contain the situation between the United Government and Nokam. This is their mistake.”
The Cookie Chairwoman offered a slow, amused smile.
Cookie Chairwoman:
“I agree. If we formally assign blame to Lucisa, we can distance ourselves from the chaos. I trust Sesi will provide the data to support this narrative?”
The Sesi Chairman gestured.
Immediately, a mechanical aide transmitted encrypted files to her private terminal—data extracted from battlefield surveillance and intercepted communications.
She skimmed it with practiced detachment.
Cookie Chairwoman (pleasantly):
“Very useful. We’ll begin preparing our position.”
But inside, she was already devising her next move.
If she played her cards right, she wouldn't just turn the public against Lucisa—she’d make Sesi her next pawn.
On the surface, cooperation.
Beneath it, a race for control.
In the web of alliances and betrayal, the war had already begun—without a single bullet fired.
