Aboard the colossal immigration-warship *Proserpina*, a cold war of shadows simmers beneath the hum of luminite reactors. Sion, an elite agent of the Remna Federation's Karna Division, infiltrates the ship's vast underbelly on a solitary mission with less than a 20 percent chance of survival. Trained to feel nothing, own nothing, and belong nowhere but to her mission, she navigates crowded corridors, back-alley information brokers, and hidden maintenance ducts in search of the data that could ti
Steel Chains of Sorrow - Omen of Reforging
The gaze of that woman in the maintenance passage wouldn't leave her mind.
Cold, ash-blue eyes. Eyes that seemed to see right through everything. In the dimness filled only with the groan of pipes, they had exchanged glances for just a few seconds. And yet, Sion could feel her fingertips trembling faintly.
Even after returning to her cramped hiding spot in Duct 14-C, she replayed that moment over and over.
*(Eyes that seemed to know me.)*
That couldn't be possible. Sion told herself this again and again. She had only infiltrated this ship a few days ago. She hadn't done anything that would reveal her identity to anyone. Her forged ID was perfect, and her intrusion into the ship's network had left no traces. Still, those eyes were different. They were eyes that seemed to think this wasn't their first meeting.
Sion let out a small breath and closed her terminal.
The analysis of the navigation data was proving difficult. The security was far tighter than anticipated, and constructing an intrusion route was taking time. Moreover, from the rumors she'd picked up aboard the ship, she wasn't the only one after the navigation data. Agents from other factions might also have infiltrated the vessel.
*(I'm one of them. And so is that woman.)*
She stood up.
It was time to resupply. The emergency rations at her hideout would last 48 hours. Her water was running low too. She also needed to show her face in the central corridor of the general sector, both to gather information and maintain her cover.
She changed into civilian clothes and picked up her forged ID.
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Block 3, Central Corridor.
Passing by the mess hall "Comet" and glancing at the sign for the tavern "Stardust," Sion headed for Distribution Point "Depot 7." It was a supply hub for daily necessities and clothing. The manager, Corin, was ostensibly just a surly man, but rumor had it he also dealt in contraband.
The distribution point was at the end of the corridor, tucked slightly out of the way.
Pushing open the entrance door, she saw canned goods, clothing, and dried foods lined up on shelves under dim fluorescent lights. The air was dusty, with a faint smell of disinfectant.
Behind the counter was the manager, Corin.
A sullen-faced man around thirty. Thin, with sunken cheeks. His eyes were restless; the moment Sion entered, he glanced at her, then immediately averted his gaze.
"Rations."
Sion held out her forged ID.
Corin took it, ran it through his terminal, then glanced at her again.
"It's awfully quiet. Is it always like this here?"
"Ah... today's a bit, well..."
Corin's voice trembled slightly.
Sion instantly heightened her alertness.
The movement of his eyes. The way he seemed to be fumbling for something under the counter. His unnaturally shallow breathing. These weren't the movements of a trained professional. They were the movements of an amateur hiding something.
*(Was I informed on?)*
Her body moved before she could think.
She didn't take the ration bag, instead stepping back.
At that moment, the door of the distribution point burst open.
"Don't move!"
Guards.
Six of them. All equipped with standard electromagnetic restraints and batons. The uniforms of the Vespa Agency's security forces. Black and gray combat suits. Faces hidden by helmet visors. They quickly spread out left and right, completely blocking Sion's escape route.
Corin, hands trembling, pulled a small communicator from under the counter.
"I-I pressed the send button... I did it, just like you said. So, my payment..."
One of the guards spoke in a cold voice.
"Shut up."
Sion slowly raised both hands.
She could feel the back of her mind turning cold and clear. Combat mode.
*(Six of them. Equipped with electromagnetic restraints and batons. No firearms. Low-penetration rounds for shipboard combat are possible, but at this distance, the risk of them firing is low.)*
Her eyes alone scanned the interior of the distribution point.
Emergency exit behind her. But Corin was blocking the way in front of the counter. The six in front were closing in, forming a semicircle. They were coordinated. Trained movements.
*(Can I win?)*
Sion made her judgment in an instant.
*(Impossible.)*
A cramped room. Numerical disadvantage. No weapons. Besides, they were aiming to take her alive. If she resisted, she'd just be subdued by force. In that case, it was better not to waste unnecessary energy here.
She didn't resist.
One of the guards approached, raising his electromagnetic restraints.
"Don't resist. Try anything funny, and I'll break your bones with this baton."
Sion didn't answer.
She didn't move, merely observing the opponent's movements.
Distance to the nearest guard: three meters. Two meters. One meter—
*Clack.*
The cold touch of metal on her neck. The electromagnetic restraint was fastened.
Immediately, a weak electric current ran through her entire body. The sensation of her muscles being forcibly relaxed. Strength drained from her limbs, and her knees buckled. She put her hands on the floor. Her breathing became shallow.
"Secured. Contact Nebel Bureau."
Nebel Bureau.
The moment she heard that name, a sharp pain shot through Sion's chest.
Everyone on the ship knew it. The Vespa Agency's counter-intelligence and interrogation department. Approximately 300 members. Among them, 40 interrogators. They used a final interrogation technique called "Reforging," capable of completely destroying a subject's personality and remaking them into a subservient being.
She was being sent there.
Which meant she was no longer just a prisoner.
Sion bit her lip.
The taste of iron spread through her mouth.
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Block 6, Nebel Wing.
This sector was one of the highest-security areas on the ship. Walls fully equipped with soundproofing and electromagnetic shielding. About 120 permanent personnel. Of those, 40 were interrogators. It was said that only a handful of prisoners had ever left this place alive.
Flanked by guards holding her arms, Sion was walked down a long corridor.
The lighting was minimal. The walls and floor were covered in featureless gray panels. The air was cold, faintly mixed with the smell of disinfectant and something else—something metallic, like blood.
Heavy metal doors lined both sides of the passage.
Confinement cells. Interrogation rooms. And beyond that, probably a drug storage vault and analysis rooms. The structural diagram of Nebel Bureau she had seen in Karna Department's preliminary research materials surfaced in her mind.
She was taken to the central interrogation room.
The room was sterile.
Gray panels on the walls, floor, and ceiling. The only light source was the recessed ceiling lighting, casting uniform illumination into every corner. There was nowhere for shadows to form. The temperature and humidity were likely strictly controlled by the air conditioning. A chill that felt cold against the skin brushed her neck.
In the center of the room sat a single restraint chair.
A rugged metal chair, with restraint belts attached to the armrests and leg sections. The backrest was slightly reclined, designed so that sitting would naturally put one in a supine position. The headrest also had a band for securing the head.
The guards silently sat Sion in the chair and fastened her limbs with the belts.
The coldness of the metal bit into her wrists and ankles. The electromagnetic restraints were removed, but now she was completely physically immobilized. She couldn't move a finger. Sion felt her heartbeat gradually quickening.
*(So this is an interrogation room.)*
The guards confiscated her boots, the small communication terminal she had hidden, and her spare energy pack. Then, without a word, they left the room.
The sound of the heavy door closing.
The metallic sound of the lock engaging.
Silence.
Alone, sitting in the restraint chair, Sion looked up at the ceiling.
*(Am I going to be interrogated here?)*
In training, she had learned methods to resist interrogation. She could endure pain. She could handle sleep deprivation and sonic psychological attacks. But Reforging was different. A technique that used a combination of drugs and neural stimulation to destroy and reconstruct the personality itself. It was said that no human could withstand it.
*(It hasn't been decided that I'll undergo Reforging yet.)*
She told herself that.
First, an interrogator would come and try to extract information.
How long had passed since then?
Her sense of time was becoming vague. The ceiling lights didn't flicker, and no outside sounds could be heard. Complete soundproofing. Only her own breathing and the sound of her heart seemed strangely loud.
*Thump. Thump. Thump.*
And then—
*Click.*
The sound of the door lock disengaging.
Sion turned her head to look at the entrance.
The door slowly opened.
Standing there was—
Long, silver-gray hair. Straight, reaching down to her waist. Cold, pale blue eyes, inorganic. Eyes that looked gray depending on the light, cold. A small body, about 162 centimeters tall, wrapped in a loose uniform. A small, old scar on her left wrist.
It was that woman.
The interrogator she had seen in the maintenance passage.
Sion gasped. A shock beyond words exploded deep in her chest.
*(This woman is... Sylvie?)*
The interrogator entered the room with quiet footsteps. She walked in a way that barely made a sound. She stood in front of Sion and, expressionless, slowly looked down at her.
Cold, ash-blue eyes moved as if licking over Sion's entire body.
"Nice to meet you. I am Sylvie. An interrogator of Nebel Bureau."
Her voice was surprisingly gentle.
Polite, smooth, and utterly devoid of emotion. A voice precisely modulated, almost like synthesized speech. And yet, strangely pleasant to the ear.
"What is your name? Your real name, of course, not the one on your forged ID."
Sion didn't answer.
She kept her chin down and silently looked up at Sylvie.
Sylvie tilted her head slightly.
"I see. Silence. That is a wise choice. Not giving your opponent information in the first stage of interrogation. Evidence that you've received basic training."
She began to walk slowly around Sion.
Silver-gray hair swayed at the edge of her vision.
"But I know. Your real name, and your affiliation. An agent belonging to the Remna Federation's Karna Department—an intelligence bureau with a 0.3 percent selection rate. Age 24. Over the past three years, you have successfully completed seven infiltration missions. An excellent operative."
Sion felt her heart freeze.
*(How does she know that much?)*
Information on the Karna Department was top secret even within the Federation. An operative's personal data should never leak to outsiders. How could an enemy interrogator know it so thoroughly?
"Who told you that?"
The words escaped her involuntarily.
Sylvie stopped walking.
She returned to stand in front of Sion, leaned forward slightly, and stared intently at her face. The distance was only a few dozen centimeters. Her ash-blue eyes glowed faintly.
"I cannot answer that yet. But there is one thing I can say."
She extended her slender, white, unusually long fingers.
And gently touched the thin scar running from Sion's left temple to her cheek.
Her fingertips were cold as ice.
"This scar wasn't from training. It's from actual combat, close-quarters fighting, grazed by an opponent's knife. Three years ago, in a skirmish between the Federation and the Agency. The scar from when you killed an enemy for the first time."
Sion felt as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs.
*(She knows. This woman knows my past—everything.)*
Fingertips slowly traced over the scar.
"You are very capable. But that is all. Your life is nothing but missions. Outside of your organization, you have no place. You are needed by no one."
Sylvie's voice remained utterly gentle.
That made it all the more terrifying.
"Even if you die, no one will remem
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