The screen lit up—
Incoming Call: UNMARKED | Signal Source: Unknown
Rick sat upright.
"Mute the engine. Pull over."
777 nodded, easing the van to a crawl until it rolled beside an old vending machine—its red error light blinking like a heartbeat lost in time.
They stared at the screen.
Didn't touch it.
Didn't breathe.
The signal wasn't local.
Wasn't foreign.
It was something else. Off-grid. Off-record. The kind of transmission you weren't supposed to find unless you were already marked.
Rick reached forward and tapped the screen.
The line opened.
At first—
Nothing.
Just the soft static of a signal clawing through layers of digital fog.
Then a voice.
Garbled. Hollow. Human.
"…Rick. If you can hear this… she's not the only one they made."
Silence.
Then—
A second voice cut in. Clearer. Sharper. Way too familiar.
One Rick hadn't heard in years.
He stiffened.
Fingers tensed near the comm.
Then he hit mute, turned to 777.
"Call of my sister," Rick said quietly.
777 just blinked. "Yeah, so?"
Rick unmuted the mic, leaned in.
Voice low. Almost casual.
"Hello, sis… It's been a long—"
"Don't give me that," her voice snapped—furious and raw.
"You haven't called me since— You idiot. After all this time, I finally find your fucking number, and this is how you open?!"
Rick didn't even sigh.
He just hung up.
The van went silent.
777 didn't even look up from the dashboard.
"…That went well."
The phone rang again.
Shrill. Persistent. Relentless.
777 glanced at the screen. "Might be something urgent."
Rick's eyes didn't leave the windshield.
"Yes," he muttered. "But I'd have to sit through a full-volume emotional podcast first, and I'm physically incapable of that right now."
777 cracked a smirk. "Okay. I'll talk."
Rick slid into the driver's seat without hesitation.
"Then I'll drive."
The phone rang again.
777 didn't wait this time—he picked up on speaker.
"Hey, Kirika. 777 here."
"Use first name, you son of a bitch."
"Ah—my ears," 777 winced, holding the phone slightly away.
"You're with Rick?"
"Yeah. Any problem?"
"No. Give him the phone."
"He's driving."
"And?"
"What if I say no?"
"I'll kick your ass."
"Through the phone?"
"No. I'll cut your salary and your tech budget."
777 blinked. "What're you gonna do—complain to a senior?"
"Do you even know what's going on in the bureau right now?"
His smirk dropped immediately.
"…Okay. RICK—SHE'S GOING FULL BUREAU MODE."
Rick didn't even glance away from the road.
"You started it."
"Did you even open the bureau's internal news app?" Kirika snapped.
777 scoffed. "Who downloads a 20GB app just to read government newsletters?"
"Oh, so you really don't know my position."
"Like I care," 777 muttered, slouching lower in his seat.
They stopped at a red light.
Rick reached a hand out, calm. "777, pass the water bottle."
"Here," 777 grumbled, handing it over without looking.
Then—
"I'm the new Head Chief of the Bureau."
Rick choked on his water and spat it across the dashboard.
777 blinked like he just saw a glitch in the matrix.
"…Nah."
Rick wiped his mouth. "Jennifer, can you check that?"
"Using 'I' interface," Jennifer replied calmly. A few seconds passed.
"Confirmed. She is stating the truth."
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
The traffic light turned green.
The van rolled forward—slow, heavy, like even the asphalt was judging them.
Then Kirika's voice cut back in.
Sharp. Cold. Bureau tone activated.
"Now listen up, both of you. I didn't climb into this position just to watch you two trauma-bond your way through classified horror shows."
Rick didn't say a word.
Just kept his eyes locked on the road.
777 slouched deeper into the seat like a gremlin with emotional damage. Arms crossed. Hoodie half-zipped. Mouth shut—for once.
"Internal's already asking if you've gone 'rogue again.'"
Rick blinked.
"…'Again'?" he muttered.
Then, louder:
"What do you mean 'again'?"
Kirika's voice dropped a notch—still sharp, but personal now.
"You were spotted in Miyazaki."
Rick's knuckles whitened on the wheel.
"So?"
"You know what happened there."
"I don't," Rick said quickly.
"Rick," she said flatly. "Don't. I know it was you. I know you don't trust the Bureau. But you can trust me."
"There's no one on this call. No trace. No record. Just me. Talk."
Silence.
The van rolled past a shuttered gas station. A security drone buzzed overhead—didn't stop. Didn't scan. Just moved on.
Rick sighed.
And then—finally—
"…Okay."
He exhaled slow, like giving up oxygen hurt.
"Fine. Here's what happened—"
And he told her.
Everything.
The forest. The mimic. The tank. The mimic pretending to be 777. The time loop. The hand with the lighter. The locker. The message. The screams. The explosion. The child.
He didn't leave anything out.
When he finished, the line went quiet.
No static.
Just quiet.
Then, Kirika's voice—low. Quiet.
But not angry.
Just... tired.
"Rick… what the hell did they make?"
Rick stared at the road like it might answer for him.
"I don't know," he said. "But it recognized me. And it wasn't just cloned. That thing learned. It spoke before it had lungs."
Kirika didn't speak.
777 just whistled softly. "Y'all are really out here speedrunning godhood."
"Enough," Kirika snapped. "Here's what's going to happen."
Rick raised an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt.
"You're going to stay off-grid. No check-ins. No Bureau base visits. No flare pings. Nothing."
"You think you're protecting the girl by staying rogue? Good. Then stay fully rogue."
Kirika's voice was sharp and ice-edged through the comm:
"As of this moment, I'm listing both of you under 'Presumed KIA.'"
777 raised an eyebrow.
"KIA? Like... killed in action?"
She didn't miss a beat.
"Exactly. Dead on paper. That's the only way I can buy you time."
Rick muttered, eyes still on the road:
"Guess we're ghosts now."
Kirika voice frustrated "it is not like everyone is eruption in Bureau but those people know how to hide and the info they leak also stay secret nobody know if the info is leaked after they leak"
Kirika's voice returned—low, cold, and laced with ancestral weight:
"The Bureau isn't aflame—not yet. But those in shadow?"
"They move like foxfire on dead leaves… seen too late, gone too soon."
"And when they speak—"
"—their truths are like a curse carved into rice paper: fragile, faded… and deadly the moment it's read."
A pause.
Then 777, leaning back like none of it hit him:
"Alright, Granny Warnings. We're on night patrol. Catch you later—bye."
He ended the call with a smug flick of his thumb.
The van went quiet.
Rick didn't look over.
He just muttered, "You know she's gonna kill you, right?"
777 shrugged. "Yeah. But if I die, at least it won't be in another goddamn lab."
BZZZ-BZZZ-BZZZ.
Rick's comm lit up.
Not a call.
Text.
Kirika.
One message. Then ten. Then twenty.
Rick scrolled, jaw tight. "She just sent a full APA report in all caps."
777 peeked over. "How many death threats?"
Rick's eyes narrowed. "Lost count after 'burn your stupid hoodie and your DNA.'"
Another buzz.
Kirika again.
Rick read the last line out loud:
"You better pray I don't reassign your asses to janitorial at Site-13."
777: "Site-13's the haunted one, right?"
Rick just sighed.
"Drive."