Volume 1: The Silk & The Steel
Prologue: A Bedtime Story of the Aether Gear
Nine years ago.
The room was bathed in soft pink tones. Yet among the ocean of plush stuffed animals, a few unusual items stood out: a half-assembled fighter jet model sat on the nightstand, and several cold, gleaming metal nuts lay scattered across the carpet.
Eight-year-old Carrie Ko curled up under her fluffy blanket, showing only a pair of big black eyes staring at the man sitting beside her bed. The man had broad shoulders and large hands scented with machine oil and lined with faint scars. In the world of mechanics and skies outside, people more commonly called him by his callsign—”Aether Gear.”
“Daddy, tell me another story,” little Carrie requested. “But don’t tell me about those princesses who need pumpkin carriages anymore. They just wait around to be saved—it’s so boring.”
Aether Gear chuckled. His face, usually stern when dealing with precision instruments, softened with warmth. He reached out with a rough finger and gently pinched his daughter’s nose. “You’re right, my little mechanic. Then let’s tell a different one. Long, long ago, there was a girl who didn’t want to go to the ball…”
“Did she want to pilot a mech instead?” Carrie interrupted excitedly.
“Pretty much. She didn’t need fragile glass slippers created by a fairy godmother,” Aether Gear said, his low, magnetic voice sounding like the deep rumble of an idling engine. “What she wanted was a pair of steel combat boots—boots that could make her jump higher, run faster, and even kick through obstacles. Her magic didn’t come from a pumpkin; it came from hydraulic transmissions and micro-turbines.”
Carrie’s eyes lit up. “And did she wear those steel combat boots to defeat the dragon?”
“Even better. She wore them and became her own knight.” Aether Gear leaned down and placed a goodnight kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “Remember, Carrie, true strength is never a pretty dress handed to you by someone else. It’s the armor you forge for yourself.”
Chapter 1: Aftermath & Memories
Present Day: One month after the Military Ball Incident. Location: Carrie Ko’s Bedroom.
0530 Hours.
The piercing electronic alarm brutally shattered the silence. Seventeen-year-old Carrie Ko sprang out of bed like a finely calibrated machine, without a second of hesitation.
The room was clean to the point of obsession. Hanging on the walls weren’t pop star posters, but tactical route maps from her previous live-fire defense engagements and target sheets from shooting competitions. On the clothes rack hung her crisp Mycenae High School NJROTC (Naval Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps) uniform, the six golden bars of a Cadet Captain gleaming coldly on her epaulets in the morning light.
She had earned—or rather, picked up—that rank ten months ago amid utter chaos.
It happened during the first month of the Ratmen invasion. When the previous student commander panicked and dropped his walkie-talkie at the sound of roaring monsters, Carrie, then a Cadet Lieutenant, stepped up and took command of the defense line.
A spot promotion from Lieutenant to Captain in a single month.
For Cadet Captain Carrie Ko of the U.S. Navy Cadet Corps, this honor was forged from adrenaline and fear. Thus, the fairytale her father used to tell had long since changed its flavor. To her, the term “Cinderella” was never about romantic glass slippers.
To her, it meant whispers in the hallways, a disgraceful mission log, and the pair of objects resting quietly on the carpet beside her bed.
A heavy pair of silver prototype combat boots, glinting with a cold metallic sheen.
Even in standby mode, the faint blue indicator lights on the sides breathed rhythmically. They were the pinnacle of technology from her father’s company, AI-Now—a symbol of power, yet now, more like a mocking monument.
Carrie sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the boots with mixed emotions.
A month had passed. Though the cracks in the gymnasium floor had been repaired, the cracks in people’s memories had not. She was no longer just the respected Commander Ko; she had become “Combat Cinderella”—the legend who wore power armor to a dance and ended up shattering the entire ball with a single step.
In this grim era where alien Ratmen ravaged the land, regular forces were overwhelmed, and even the JROTC was forced to arm up and defend their communities, she should have been a ironclad role model. Instead, due to a equipment malfunction, she had become a laughingstock.
“Discipline first, emotion second,” she whispered to herself, attempting to suppress her inner frustration with her creed.
She reached out, her fingertips touching the cold outer shell of the boots. The moment her skin made contact, the metallic touch felt like flipping a switch, causing memories of that chaotic night a month ago to surge back like a tidal wave.
Her mind was dragged uncontrollably back to the afternoon where it all began—a day thick with anxiety, anticipation, and a sense of impending disaster.
Chapter 2: The Shadow Cub’s Delivery
(Flashback Begins) Time: One month ago, afternoon of the Military Ball. Location: Mycenae High School Classroom -> Ko Residence Foyer.
The air in the hallway was thick enough to suffocate. Ever since the Ratmen ripped open the earth’s surface ten months ago in a full-scale assault, the school had remained under a tense, semi-militarized regime. The air smelled of excessive adolescent hormones, cheap hairspray, and a faint, persistent whiff of gunpowder.
That was why everyone harbored a near-hysterical anticipation for tonight’s annual Military Ball—it was their only chance to catch a breath under the shadow of war.
But for Carrie Ko, who was sitting in the back row of her AP Calculus classroom, it wasn’t a party; it was a military operation.
Her spine was straight as a rod. Having taken command during the initial invasion and risen rapidly from Cadet Lieutenant to the highest student commander as Cadet Captain, the weight on her shoulders was very real. Tonight, her duty was to ensure the honor guard’s saber arch was flawless and to maintain absolute security inside the heavily fortified gymnasium.
“Hey, Ko,” Smith from the front row turned around, wearing a flattering grin. “What color dress are you wearing tonight? Before you change into your uniform?”
Carrie slowly raised her eyelids, her calm black eyes flashing with extreme impatience.
“If it were up to me, Mr. Smith, I would wear full tactical gear,” she replied coldly, her tone laced with resentment for the new rules. “However, according to the latest mandatory order issued by the instructor cadre to ‘maintain morale and tradition in times of crisis,’ all senior female officers must wear formal evening gowns for the opening ceremony.”
She gritted her teeth as if forced to swallow a lemon: “Light blue.”
Smith burst into an obnoxious laugh. Carrie clenched her fist, swearing to herself that if he dared step on her hem tonight, she would execute a judo throw and slam him into the floor.
Her attention shifted back to the encrypted communicator on her wrist. The screen displayed a logistics update from her father’s company, AI-Now, with a nerve-wracking status: In Transit.
The shoes hadn’t arrived yet. Her father’s latest masterpiece—codenamed “Step Adjuster” prototype power boots—was to be delivered personally by a “special courier.” In such a turbulent climate, entering a “battlefield” without reliable gear was a critical error for a commander.
The final bell rang. Carrie packed her books at top speed and rushed toward the school gates. She had to get home immediately.
Thirty minutes later, Carrie pushed open her front door, out of breath.
The house was eerily quiet. Suddenly, an upside-down figure dropped almost silently from the second-floor staircase banister, coming to a stop directly in front of Carrie’s face.
It was her eleven-year-old younger sister, Natalica.
Ditching her usual pink overalls, Natalica was currently wearing a professional black tactical trench coat, fitted with custom reflective sunglasses, and a “spy belt” loaded with AI-Now prototypes strapped around her waist. In this crisis-ridden family, she was a student at Cinnabon Middle School by day and an intelligence operative codenamed “Shadow Cub” by night.
“Target confirmed: Codenamed ‘Commander’ has returned safely.”
Natalica spoke in a deliberately lowered, hard-boiled tone before lightly flipping and landing on her feet. In her hand, she held the silver metallic briefcase Carrie had been anxiously awaiting all day.
“‘Special Delivery’ mission complete. Route scan confirmed no tails,” Natalica pushed up her sunglasses, resuming her mischievous sisterly smile. “Dad said this is the ‘ultimate stabilization solution prepared for my proudest commander.'”
Carrie took the heavy briefcase, feeling a sense of relief. Inside lay no ordinary footwear, but the cutting-edge technology of AI-Now—the confidence she needed on the stage tonight that was called a ball, but was in truth a battlefield.
“Good job, Shadow Cub,” Carrie said, returning to her calm commander persona. “Now, the Commander is going to gear up.”
Chapter 3: Compromise of Silk and Steel
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, early evening of the Military Ball. Location: Carrie Ko’s Bedroom.
Inside the second-floor bedroom, the atmosphere was more solemn than the war zone outside.
Carrie stood before a full-length mirror with a grim expression. Hanging on the closet door was no longer her reassuring Navy blue uniform, but a light blue silk evening gown she had been trying her best to ignore.
The dress was elegantly designed—a perfect “Cinderella” ballgown: beautiful, fragile, and utterly useless in combat.
“Damned mandatory regulations,” Carrie cursed under her breath. For the sake of so-called “morale boosting,” she was forced to play the role of an elegant female officer tonight.
Taking a deep breath, she clumsily zipped up the dress. The mirror reflected a young girl who looked entirely out of her element. The light blue silk made her feel unprecedentedly exposed and vulnerable.
“I look like a fool,” she said to the mirror.
“You look like a girl, sis. Finally,” Natalica quipped, leaning against the doorframe while chewing on a lollipop.
Carrie glared at her sister, turned around, and unlocked the silver briefcase lying in the center of the carpet. The AI-Now prototype combat boots rested quietly inside, exhaling a cold, mechanical aesthetic. This was her true dance partner for the night.
Gathering up her cumbersome dress, she squatted down with difficulty and slid her nylon-stockinged feet into the metallic behemoths.
Click.
The auto-tightening mechanism engaged. Cold mechanical structures wrapped firmly around her calves, bringing an unprecedented sense of weight. The blue indicator lights on the sides began to blink, emitting the low hum of preheating servo motors.
She stood back up. Her reflection possessed a surreal sense of post-modern magic realism: an elegant, fragile light-blue silk princess on top, stomping on silver power boots defined by industrial violence on the bottom.
Silk and steel. Fantasy and reality.
Natalica let out a whistle. “Badass. This is what Combat Cinderella should look like.”
Carrie took a couple of experimental steps, the heavy combat boots thudding against the wooden floorboards. She reclaimed her center of gravity—and her confidence as a commander.
“Good,” she murmured, her voice once again filled with iron resolve. “Now, let’s see if this ‘disguise’ can fool the things beneath the ground.”
She grabbed her officer’s cover from the desk, placed it on her head, and turned to walk out of the room. Her silver combat boots struck a heavy, unyielding rhythm down the hallway.
Chapter 4: Tactical RAV4 and Feline Radar
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, early evening of the Military Ball. Location: Ko Residence Garage -> En Route to Mycenae High School.
The garage door of the Ko residence slowly rose, revealing a dark gray Toyota RAV4 that looked completely ordinary on the outside.
Of course, “ordinary” was always a relative concept in the Ko household. This RAV4 was a personal modification project of their father, “Aether Gear.” Its chassis had been reinforced with military-grade armor, the windows were stealth bulletproof glass, and it was equipped with AI-Now’s highest-level driver assist and threat evaluation systems.
“Codenamed ‘Grocery Getter’ initiated. System self-check complete.”
Natalica slid effortlessly into the driver’s seat, adjusting everything with complete confidence. Carrie gathered her cumbersome light blue silk dress and squeezed herself into the passenger seat with considerable effort.
Thud.
Her heavy silver combat boots hit the floor mat with a dull thud. The pulsing blue light seeped out from under the hem of her skirt.
“Hold on tight, Captain Cinderella,” Natalica said. “Main roads are jammed; we’re taking the side streets.”
Just as Natalica was about to shift into gear, two furry figures suddenly darted out from the shadows of the garage corner and slipped into the back seat.
“Meow—”
A lazy, slightly dissatisfied meow shattered the tense atmosphere.
It was the family’s two cats. One was a tux-patterned cow cat named “Hei Hei” (Blackie), looking as though he were wearing a natural evening suit; the other was a Russian Blue named “Hui Hui” (Grayie), with fur like London fog.
Carrie’s stern expression instantly fractured. These were her cats.
“Hei Hei! Hui Hui!” Carrie turned around anxiously. “Who authorized you to board? Tonight is a Level-1 alert mission zone! Get down immediately!”
Hei Hei, the cow cat, completely ignored the order. He laid down elegantly, squinting his golden eyes as if saying: Save it, human. This car belongs to me, and I’m dressed far more formally than you. Meanwhile, timid Hui Hui scrambled under the driver’s seat.
“Relax, sis,” Natalica teased. “Dad said felines are super sensitive to underground tremors and non-natural biological frequencies. Think of them as two fluffy, high-sensitivity biological radars.”
Carrie had no choice but to compromise. “Fine. Incorporated into the temporary squad. But they are strictly forbidden from entering the ball venue.”
The RAV4 drove into the night. Tension hung thick over the streets, punctuated by low, thunderous vibrations in the distance. The cabin was quiet, save for the engine’s purr and the low hum of the boot’s servo motors.
As the car passed an abandoned shopping mall’s underground parking entrance, an anomaly occurred.
Hei Hei, who had been lounging, suddenly sprang up like he’d been shocked. His back arched, fur standing on end, as he let out a low, menacing hiss toward the dark underground tunnel outside the window. Hui Hui, hiding under the seat, let out a terrified wail.
“Sensors registering,” Natalica’s voice instantly lost all levity. “Intense signal. Directly beneath us.”
Carrie’s face darkened. She looked down at her feet. Through the gap in her silk skirt, she saw the blue breathing lights on her boots flash an uneasy, faint purple warning glow.
It was no illusion. The threat was there, squirming beneath the city’s crust.
“Maintain speed, don’t stop,” Carrie ordered calmly.
The RAV4 accelerated past. Ten minutes later, the outline of Mycenae High School appeared ahead. The school gym was fully lit, looking more like a heavily fortified military outpost than a venue for a party.
“We’re here, Commander,” Natalica parked the car. “Have a nice dance (mission). Don’t forget, if the floor cracks again, I’m not hacking the school security system to delete the footage for you this time.”
Carrie took a deep breath, preparing to face a world that was both a social gathering and a potential warzone. Hei Hei smoothed out his black-and-white “tuxedo,” acting as if his previous loss of composure had never happened.
“Take care of your car and my cats, Shadow Cub.”
Carrie opened the car door. Holding up her light blue dress, she stepped out one leg first.
Thud.
The silver combat boot hit the asphalt street with a declarative thud. It echoed like a warning, glowing with an unusual light under the astonished gazes of the surrounding students.
Chapter 5: Zero Hour Under Silk Camouflage
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, right before the Military Ball. Location: Mycenae High School Gymnasium Parking Lot -> Gym Interior.
That “thud”—heavy, powerful, and unpardonably mechanical—echoed across the asphalt lot.
It instantly drowned out the noisy chatter around and the muffled music coming from the gym. Dozens of eyes swung over like spotlights.
Carrie Ko stood beside the RAV4, her light blue silk gown fluttering softly in the night wind like rolling ocean waves—beautiful and fragile. Yet beneath that soft disguise, those bulky, industrially violent silver AI-Now prototype boots, pulsing with blue light, were brazenly exposed to everyone.
The sight carried immense visual impact, like welding tank tracks onto a classical ballerina statue. Silk and steel, fantasy and reality, collided violently on her body.
“Oh my god, look at her feet…” “Are those… mechanical boots? Has she gone crazy?” “Is this some new military fashion trend?”
Whispers spread like wildfire. Some pulled out phones to sneak photos, others covered their mouths and giggled, while a few looked on with awe—mostly lowerclassmen cadets from the JROTC who knew her reputation.
Carrie ignored them all. Her chin remained slightly raised, her expression cold as if reviewing troops rather than preparing to enter a dance floor. Her gloved hand rested at her hip (habitually searching for her dress sword, though finding only slick silk), and she took her second step.
Whir—Thud.
The intervention of the micro-hydraulic servo motor was clearly audible. She felt two inches taller, yet her center of gravity was impossibly stable, as if her feet had struck roots into the earth. This extreme industrial stability somewhat eased the awkwardness of wearing a dress.
“Perimeter secure. Good luck, Captain,” Natalica glanced at her one last time over her sunglasses from inside the car before stepping on the gas. The RAV4, carrying two still-pissed-off cats in the back, sped away from the chaotic scene.
Carrie walked toward the gym doors alone.
The two JROTC cadets on security duty straightened instantly as she approached, their M14 rifles snapping to their chests in a textbook present-arms salute.
“Commander on deck!”
The announcement created a brief vacuum in the noisy entrance.
Carrie returned the salute expressionlessly—fingertips touching the brim of her cover. The gesture was commanding when wearing a uniform, but combined with the light blue gown, it possessed a surreal, theatrical tension.
She stepped into the gymnasium.
Mycenae High’s gym had been transformed into a bizarre hybrid. On one side was the classic high school ball decor: blue and silver streamers hanging from the ceiling, a giant spinning disco ball, balloons stacked in corners, and the air thick with sweet punch and cheap perfume.
On the other side lay the grim reality of war: sandbag barricades stacked on both sides of the stage, windows sealed with blast plating, and armed cadets standing guard along the walls, their alert eyes scanning between the crowds and the ventilation ducts.
“Hey, Ko! I thought you were joking; you actually wore a d… Oh, my god.”
That annoying voice again. Smith, wearing a poorly fitted rented tuxedo, approached with two cups of punch. His mockery froze in his throat the moment his eyes hit Carrie’s feet.
He stared at the silver combat boots radiating a cold metallic light, his throat bobbing as his smile turned stiff. “Are… are those to stop people from stepping on your toes?”
“They’re to stop me from having to crush anything, Mr. Smith,” Carrie replied coldly. Her boot took a small step forward, the servo motor emitting a threatening low growl. Smith instantly scrambled back two steps, nearly spilling punch all over himself.
Carrie ignored him and walked straight to the commander’s seat. Her XO (Executive Officer), a tall male cadet, was already waiting.
“Captain,” the XO reported softly, his eyes lingering on her feet for a second as he tried to keep his expression neutral. “Perimeter patrols report all quiet. But… the underground sensors are reading weird. Intermittent low-frequency interference.”
“I know,” Carrie replied curtly.
She felt it too. From the moment she stepped into the gym, through the thick soles of her prototype boots and their high-sensitivity seismic sensors, a faint, irregular tremor was being transmitted directly to her foot nerves.
It wasn’t a vibration caused by the music’s bass. The frequency was lower, duller, carrying a disturbing scraping sensation. It felt as though something massive, with razor-sharp claws, was slowly moving beneath the gym’s thick concrete foundation.
The music swelled—a slow opening track. Students began sliding onto the dance floor.
Carrie stood on the command platform like a statue, completely out of place. Her eyes cut through the dancing crowd, locking onto the center of the gym floor.
Parked there was the ball’s grandest decoration—a giant, gaudily painted orange “pumpkin carriage” rented from the drama club.
The carriage sat directly above the exact piece of floor she had accidentally cracked during training a month ago—a spot that had been hastily patched up.
As she focused her attention, the vibration felt through her feet intensified. The blue breathing light on her boots, without her noticing, had shifted into a rapidly flashing warning glow of faint purple.
The thing underground had stopped. Right beneath that carriage.
Chapter 6: Tactics and Dance Moves
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, mid-way through the Military Ball. Location: Mycenae High School Gymnasium.
The ball had been underway for an hour. The atmosphere inside the gym was raucous and messy; punch was consumed in large quantities, the DJ played deafening pop hits, and students writhed wildly on the floor.
For Carrie Ko, this past hour had been harder to endure than a twenty-kilometer forced march through torrential rain and mud.
Under orders from the instructor cadre to “demonstrate approachability and normal life,” she was forced to leave the relative safety of the command platform and mingle in what was called “socializing.”
Wearing her light blue silk gown, she navigated the crowd like an anomaly in a fantasy world. She had to constantly control the force in her legs to ensure her heavy silver AI-Now boots didn’t accidentally crush someone’s toes, or send a girl in a hoop skirt flying during a turn.
“Captain! Or should I call you… Cinderella?”
Smith again. He had clearly had a few alcoholic drinks, which boosted his confidence. Accompanied by a few cronies, he blocked Carrie’s path, his eyes mockingly scanning between her gorgeous silk dress and industrial boots.
“This outfit is… creative. What’s wrong, afraid of spraining an ankle while dancing, so you wore orthopedic shoes?” Low laughter rippled through the onlookers.
Carrie stopped, her silk skirt falling still around her legs. Her XO, watching nervously nearby, placed his hand on his radio, ready to intervene.
She looked at Smith coldly, her tone harder than ice. “These aren’t orthopedic shoes, Mr. Smith. These are to ensure absolute tactical mobility across any terrain—including a dance floor full of idiots.”
“Oh? Tactical mobility?” Smith raised an eyebrow mockingly, stepping forward under liquid courage. “In a dance track? Come on, Ko. Admit it, wearing those things, you can’t even pull off a basic waltz box step. You’re just a robot who only knows how to march. Take off that uniform, and you’re nothing.”
That hit Carrie right on a nerve. She wasn’t just a soldier; she was the daughter of “Aether Gear.” To question her equipment was to question her father’s technology; to question her ability was to question her legitimacy as a commander.
Just then, the DJ switched tracks. A signature, heavily rhythmic drumline and bassline echoed through the gym.
It was Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean.
A wild thought flashed through Carrie’s mind. Perhaps she was sick of pretending, perhaps she wanted to defend the honor of AI-Now, or perhaps she simply wanted to shut Smith up.
“Watch and learn, civilian.”
She pushed past Smith and walked straight into the center of the floor—a slightly clearer area just a few paces away from the orange “pumpkin carriage.”
Taking a deep breath under the watchful eyes of the crowd, she reached down through her silk dress and pressed a hidden button on the side of her boot.
“Mode Switch: Zero Friction Servo Glide System, Engaged.”
Natalica’s terrified voice erupted in her earpiece: “Sis?! What are you doing? That mode is still in extreme testing! Stability is only at 70%!”
“Shut up and monitor the data.”
Carrie raised her head, locking her eyes forward. As the first heavy beat of the music dropped, she moved.
She didn’t waltz, nor did she perform any popular high school dance moves.
She began to glide backward.
It wasn’t a normal human moonwalk. Assisted by the precision servo motors and micro-hydraulic systems of the AI-Now prototype boots, her feet seemed entirely freed from gravity and friction. The sole of her supporting foot vibrated at a high frequency invisible to the naked eye, creating an air-cushion effect against the wooden floorboards, while her other foot glided backward with flawless mechanical precision.
Silky, precise, defying physics.
She looked like a moonwalk played in reverse on a frozen lake. The light blue silk skirt flowed backward with her impossible movements like a dreamy ocean wave; meanwhile, her silver combat boots glinted coldly beneath the disco ball lights, the blue indicator lights pulsing perfectly in sync with the music’s rhythm.
Extreme elegance and extreme industrialism achieved an impossible unity within her.
The entire gymnasium fell instantly silent; even the DJ forgot to queue the next song. Everyone froze, staring open-mouthed at this normally stoic “Captain” executing a routine that surpassed human physical limits in a formal dress.
Smith’s mouth hung open, the empty plastic cup slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor.
Carrie was immersed in a strange sense of control. She glided a full circle around the giant orange “pumpkin carriage,” every step landing precisely on the beat. The unique high-frequency hum of the boots resonated with the music, as if she herself were a precision instrument.
She felt invincible.
Until Natalica’s voice, distorted with panic, screamed in her earpiece: “Sis! Stop! Stop now!”
“What?” Carrie didn’t halt her movements.
“The data! Look at the data! Damn it, the servo frequency… it’s resonating with something! The waveforms are overlapping!”
Carrie froze instantly. The silky weightlessness vanished, and her heavy boots struck the floor with a loud THUD.
Only then did she realize something was wrong.
The high-frequency hum hadn’t stopped when she did. On the contrary, it grew louder, harsher, and wildly unstable.
She turned in horror to look at the “pumpkin carriage” beside her.
The giant orange prop carriage was trembling violently, vibrating in unison with the frequency her boots had just generated, like a massive tuning fork.
Before her eyes, the orange paint on the carriage began to craze and flake off rapidly, showering the floor like snow, revealing the eerie, greenish, vascular-textured alien metal underneath.
It had been “awakened.”
And it wasn’t the only thing.
The ground began to shake violently—harder than ever before. The gym lights flickered frantically.
Carrie looked down. The indicator lights on her boots were no longer a steady blue, nor a warning purple. They had turned a glaring, extremely dangerous, blood red.
With a single, flawless moonwalk, she had personally knocked on the gates of hell.
Chapter 7: Zero Hour Resonance & The Pumpkin Protocol
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, mid-ball crisis. Location: Mycenae High School Gymnasium / Natalica’s Bedroom, Ko Residence.
[The Gymnasium]
The sound was no longer music; it was physical torture.
The high-frequency hum rapidly escalated into a screeching tear like metal being ripped apart, drilling into the eardrums of everyone present. Above the gym, the giant disco ball exploded under the intense vibration with a loud BANG, showering glass shards like lethal raindrops through the flickering emergency red lights.
Screams erupted—not of excitement, but a wave of pure terror.
Standing at the epicenter of the storm, Carrie Ko felt as though she were standing on the fuse of a bomb about to detonate. The AI-Now prototype boots on her feet were completely out of control; red warning lights flashed wildly, and the servo motors wailed under the overload, locking her in place to fight against the violent buckling of the floor.
Before her, the “pumpkin carriage” shed its fairytale facade entirely.
As the last flakes of orange paint crumbled to dust, its monstrous true form was revealed: a dark green, bio-metallic vessel covered in vein-like nerve bundles. It was no longer a static prop; it was breathing, rising and falling with a sickening pulse of green light.
Then, gravity seemed to lose its grip on it.
To everyone’s horror, the multi-ton alien object floated slowly into the air, hovering about two feet off the ground.
The anti-gravity field generated by its levitation pressed down on the floor below—the exact area Carrie had cracked during training a month prior, which had been hastily repaired. The fragile foundation could no longer withstand a force that defied the laws of physics.
BOOM!
A deafening roar drowned out all screaming. The center of the gym floor collapsed and shattered like brittle biscuits. Wood splinters, concrete chunks, and dust shot skyward, forming a small mushroom cloud.
A foul stench—a mix of sewer sludge and unknown chemical agents—instantly filled the space, overpowering the sweet smell of punch and perfume.
Through the rising dust and eerie green light, a massive hand covered in filthy gray bristles and razor-sharp claws thrust up from the edge of the infernal crater, digging deep into the wooden floorboards, tearing five jagged trenches.
Then came a second hand.
Accompanied by a piercing screech—like thousands of rats screaming in unison—a hulking, hunched figure clawed its way out through the debris. Standing over two meters tall, its compound red eyes scanned the panic-stricken crowd for fresh meat, jagged fangs exposed.
An alien Ratman Vanguard Commander.
They hadn’t come to party; they had come to retrieve their activated “beacon.” And behind it, more bone-chilling skittering noises echoed from deep within the hole.
[Simultaneously, The Ko Residence]
BEEP—!
A sharp, piercing industrial alarm—unlike any household appliance—exploded without warning inside the Ko house.
Hei Hei, the cow cat who had been napping on Natalica’s PC tower, launched two feet into the air in terror, his fur standing completely on end, before sprinting under the deepest part of the bed alongside the terrified blue cat, Hui Hui.
All ambient lights in the room extinguished instantly, replaced by a heart-pounding, flashing blood-red emergency light.
On Natalica’s monitor array, data streams vanished, replaced by a massive, unified red warning window.
In the center of the window was an icon she had only ever seen in her father’s highest-level encrypted files: a stylized jack-o’-lantern surrounded by a biohazard symbol.
Beneath the grim pumpkin icon flashed a line of bold, military-grade font:
【CRITICAL ALERT: “ORIGIN” RESONANCE SIGNAL DETECTED】 【CODE CONFIRMED: PUMPKIN PROTOCOL ACTIVATED】
Natalica’s small face turned pale in the red alarm glow.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, attempting to pull up the emergency manual her father had left behind. Pumpkin Protocol… She had always assumed it was just some silly Halloween prank code her dad had written.
But the automated execution list popping up on screen revealed the grim reality:
- Phase 1: Lock down all entry points of the Ko residence; engage external defense grid. (She heard the heavy metallic thud of protective shutters slamming down outside her window.)
- Phase 2: Transmit Level-1 encrypted distress signal to ‘Aether Gear’ and ‘Maternal Unit.’
Natalica stared intently at the progress bar for Phase 2. Seconds later, a agonizing red ‘X’ popped up.
【SYSTEM ERROR: CONNECTION FAILED.】 【STATUS: TARGET LOCATED IN NAVAL BASE SAN DIEGO (NBSD) CORE SECTOR. CURRENTLY IN HIGHLY CLASSIFIED STRATEGIC CONFERENCE. FULL-SPECTRUM COMMS SILENCE. ESTIMATED OFFLINE TIME: 4 HOURS REMAINING.】
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Natalica’s voice trembled slightly.
She remembered now. Before leaving this morning, her mom was wearing a far more formal suit than usual, and her dad was carrying a briefcase loaded with top-secret documents. They said they were attending a top-secret joint conference at NBSD regarding “Codenamed ‘Osiris’ Anniversary Evaluation and Abnormal Geological Fluctuations Post-Transfer from Area 51.”
How ironic. They went to a meeting to discuss the long-term chain reaction caused by the “harvest” brought back from deep in the desert a year ago, and the literal physical manifestation of that reaction—monsters drawn by its “soul”—had erupted beneath their daughter’s feet while their phones were off.
There were no adults at home. No legendary engineer father, no omnipotent mother.
Only a sister in a silk dress trapped in a gym full of monsters, and an eleven-year-old staring helplessly at a red screen of death.
Fear lasted only a second. In the next, her survival instincts as “Shadow Cub” took over.
Her eyes fell on the final item of the execution list:
- Phase 3 (If Phase 2 Fails): Authorize present qualified operator to deploy “Sub-Basement B” heavy assets.
Natalica took a deep breath, her eyes turning ice-cold. She was no longer a little girl waiting for her parents to come home; she was the highest-ranking commander of the Ko household at this moment.
“Authorization confirmed. Operator: Shadow Cub.”
She grabbed her tactical headset, put it on, and pulled a large-caliber EMP pistol from her drawer, tucking it into the back of her tactical belt.
She whipped her head toward the main monitor displaying the GPS coordinates of the signal source—pointing precisely to the center of the Mycenae High School gymnasium.
“Damn it,” she yelled into her mic, trying to contact her sister. “Sis! What the hell did you step on?! Mom and Dad aren’t here; it’s just us now!”
But all that answered her was static and faint, garbled screams.
The comms were down.
Chapter 8: Breakout in Torn Silk & The Assembly
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, five minutes after the Ball Incident. Location: Mycenae High School Gymnasium.
Hell itself couldn’t look much worse than this.
The gymnasium, once brimming with pink bubbles and teenage hormones, had turned into a warzone reeking of gunpowder, alien stench, and blood-curdling screams. Red emergency lights flashed wildly, painting everything in shades of blood.
“Hold the line! Don’t panic! Aim for their joints!”
Carrie Ko’s roars echoed above the chaos. Her once-elegant light blue silk gown was now reduced to tattered rags hanging off her, revealing crisp military trousers underneath and the silver AI-Now prototype boots flashing a menacing red glow.
She stood at the forefront of the defense line without a gun—her sword and pistol were back in the locker room. Her only weapons were her command instincts and the iron beneath her feet.
A smaller Ratman infantryman breached the cadets’ line of fire, screeching as it pounced toward her. Its filthy claws were inches from her face.
Carrie didn’t flinch. She coolly sidestepped the pounce, simultaneously engaging the boots’ “Instant Hydraulic Burst” mode.
BOOM!
Her high side-kick smashed heavily into the Ratman’s chest. Accompanied by the crunch of fracturing bone, the hundred-pound beast flew backward like a ragdoll, crashing through a row of folding chairs, never to rise again.
Carrie retracted her leg, her boot shattering a piece of floorboard upon landing. But she had no time to celebrate the clean kill, because she noticed an unexpected shift in the tactical situation.
The hulking Ratman Commander hadn’t joined the fray. It stood beside the levitating, green-glowing “pumpkin carriage,” throwing its ugly head back and emitting a piercing, short-burst sonic shriek.
It wasn’t a signal to attack. It was a retreat order.
To Carrie’s astonishment, the Ratman infantry units wildly attacking the line suddenly abandoned their targets. They surged back to the center of the floor like a tide, dozens of claws reaching out to grab the hovering “pumpkin carriage.”
They were trying to steal it.
“Stop them! Focus fire on that carriage!” Carrie roared.
Bullets slammed into the dark green hull of the carriage, ricocheting uselessly off its strange energy field.
The Ratman Commander roared again. Instead of diving back down the hole, it turned toward a side wall—an emergency exit that had been reinforced with blast plating to prevent students from sneaking out.
Swinging its massive claws, the commander used the energy surging off the carriage to tear a massive breach right through the reinforced wall. Night wind howled in; outside lay the quiet streets of Fortune Hill.
With a collective shriek, dozens of Ratmen lifted the giant glowing alien carriage, sprinting through the breach and vanishing into the night like a pack of rabid cultists stealing an idol.
Silence fell over the gym, broken only by the moans of the injured and distant sirens approaching.
Carrie panted heavily, staring at the gaping hole in the wall and the dark streets outside. A wave of crushing guilt washed over her. She had personally activated that thing, and now it had been unleashed upon the city.
Instinct told her to charge out on foot to pursue them. But the heavy thud of her boots as she took a step snapped her back to reality.
Am I insane? Chasing a getaway vehicle on foot? The daughter of Aether Gear would never make such a amateur tactical error.
She spun around, the anger in her eyes instantly replaced by the cold resolve of a commander. She tapped her comms unit, her voice booming through the ruined gym with unquestionable authority:
“XO! Listen to your new orders! You’re in charge here. Organize casualty triage and hold that hole in the floor—don’t let another one of those things crawl out!”
She pointed toward the parking lot, her eyes locking onto a relatively composed senior cadet:
“Alpha Squad Leader! You have three minutes to gather your squad and bring the three JROTC tactical Jeeps parked at the rear gate! Everyone lock and load M14s; we are pursuing on wheels!”
“Captain, are we… are we authorized to open fire? In the city?”
“Target is a non-terrestrial armed force carrying a high-yield hazard!” Carrie’s voice was terrifyingly cold. “We are weapons free. Now, move!”
“Sir, yes sir!”
Three minutes later.
Three lightly modified, Navy-gray JROTC Jeeps (vintage military Wranglers) screeched to a halt outside the breach. Engines roared, headlights cutting through the darkness.
Carrie bypassed the door entirely, leaping straight into the passenger seat of the lead Jeep, her silver combat boots—having shredded the rest of her silk disguise—landing heavily on the floorboards. She grabbed the vehicle’s comms mic:
“All units, target is the green light ahead. Pursue, intercept, or blow it to hell. Move out!”
The convoy launched forward like arrows, tearing onto the streets of Fortune Hill, embarking on a wild urban pursuit.
Chapter 9: Burning Streets and the Unluckiest Building
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, fifteen minutes after the Ball Incident. Location: Fortune Hill City Streets.
The residents of Fortune Hill experienced the most surreal night of their lives.
A bizarre procession suddenly stormed into the streets of their quiet suburban neighborhood. Dozens of shaggy, hunched monsters were running down the middle of the road like manic ants, carrying a giant “pumpkin carriage” that radiated an eerie green light. Their sharp claws scraped against the asphalt with a sickening screech.
In hot pursuit behind them were three roaring military Jeeps.
“Open fire! Forget the noise complaints! Shoot out their legs!”
From the lead Jeep’s passenger seat, Carrie Ko yelled into her comms mic while hanging onto the roll cage. The night wind whipped the tattered remains of her light blue silk dress, exposing her military trousers and the red-flashing silver boots below.
She looked neither like Cinderella nor an officer right now—she looked like a vengeful goddess straight out of a Mad Max film.
DDA-DDA-DDA-DDA—!
The cadets mounted on the three Jeeps opened fire simultaneously. M14 muzzles flashed in the dark, tracer rounds weaving a lethal net of light across the pavement.
Bullets struck several trailing Ratmen, sending them screaming to the ground, but the rest ignored their fallen comrades and ran harder while holding up the glowing carriage. The carriage itself seemed to project an energy shield; most rounds bounced off its shell.
“They’re heading for the industrial district!” the Alpha Squad Leader driving yelled, violently whipping the wheel to avoid a terrified civilian car. “There are tons of abandoned factories and underground access points over there!”
“We can’t let them reach it! We’ll lose them in complex terrain!” Carrie calculated quickly, looking at the approaching shadows of the industrial district. “Accelerate! Ramming tactics! Alpha vehicle (us) cuts in from the left, Bravo vehicle flanks right! Pin them down at the intersection!”
“Understood! Hang on!”
The Jeep’s engine screamed under the strain, the speedometer needle climbing. Carrie’s Jeep lunged forward like an enraged bull, cutting toward the left flank of the Ratmen to force an interception.
Just as they were about to pin the monsters into a dead end—
A sound far deeper and more mechanically terrifying than the Jeep’s engine echoed from a dark alley on the side.
Carrie’s boot sensors panicked. She whipped her head around.
“What is th—”
BOOM!
A brick wall exploded outward. A massive shape broke through the dust and flying debris, T-boning Carrie’s lead Jeep with brutal precision.
The violent impact launched the Jeep into the air, flipping it twice before it slammed hard onto a roadside fire hydrant. Geysers of water shot skyward.
The two trailing Jeeps slammed on their brakes, coming to a halt as the cadets stared in horror at the scene before them.
It was a Mechanical Beast.
It towered over the Ratmen, standing easily two stories tall. Its body looked like a monstrous arthropod assembled from rusted excavator buckets, twisted steel girders, and dark chitinous plates from some unknown organism. Its four legs were thick industrial hydraulic rams wrapped in twitching, dark-red muscle fibers. Multiple asymmetrical red-glowing compound eyes flickered on its head, venting black exhaust fumes from its maw.
As its massive frame squeezed entirely out of the building, Carrie caught sight of a tilted blue neon sign falling from the ruined wall, shattering on the pavement.
Before it broke, she read the words: “Fortune Hill Police Department – Evidence & Logistics Division.”
A sense of absurdity washed over her. Fate really is a terrible writer. A month ago, she had crashed a tank through their front lobby, and tonight this alien beast decided to tear down their back wall and evidence locker for an ambush.
No wonder no police cars had shown up despite the chaos—their home base had just been leveled. The only law enforcement left in Fortune Hill right now was a JROTC Captain in a ruined dress.
This was the Ratman Commander’s trump card: a heavy unit deployed to cover their retreat.
Taking advantage of the distraction, the Ratmen carrying the glowing carriage screeched and accelerated, vanishing into the dark entrance of the industrial district.
“Cough… cough…”
Carrie crawled out from the crushed wreckage of the Jeep. Her cover was gone, a trail of blood ran down her forehead, and her silk gown was reduced to literal rags.
Yet she stood firm. Those AI-Now prototype boots had protected her legs from being crushed in the impact.
Spitting out a mouthful of bloody saliva, she looked up at the mountain of steel and flesh standing before her, and the smoke rising from the ruined police station behind it.
The Mechanical Beast turned its hideous head, its red eyes locking onto Carrie—or more accurately, locking onto the silver boots emitting a violent resonance signal on her feet. It unleashed a steam-venting roar, swinging a massive, hydraulic-pincer-like forelimb.
The cadets behind raised their rifles, but hesitated to fire for fear of hitting their commander standing right before the monster.
Carrie took a deep breath, adrenaline surging to numb the pain. She knew she had messed up. Pursuit failed, vehicle destroyed, police station (re)destroyed.
Now, it was just her and this monster.
She slowly raised her right foot, the boot’s servo motor emitting a bone-chilling charge-up whine, its red light blindingly bright.
“Alright, big guy,” she assumed a hand-to-hand combat stance, her voice raspy but resolute. “Since the music stopped and the cops are out of commission, let’s dance a real dance.”
Chapter 10: The Steel Waltz and the Brink of Overload
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, twenty minutes after the Ball Incident. Location: In front of the ruined Fortune Hill Police Department.
No referee, no bell—only burning Jeep wreckage and the ruins of a police station as a backdrop.
The two-story Mechanical Beast launched the first attack. Its massive hydraulic pincer swept forward with a wind-tearing screech, its speed wildly incongruous with its massive size.
Had Carrie been wearing ordinary shoes, she would have been turned into a red paste on the spot.
In the nick of time, the overheating silver combat boots took control of her motor nervous system. The servo motor detonated with a high-pitched whine, delivering explosive mobility beyond human limits.
Carrie launched backward. The tattered light blue silk dress drew a tragic, beautiful arc in the air before the giant metal pincer smashed into the spot where she had been standing. Asphalt shattered like glass, debris flying, stinging her face.
“Too slow.”
Carrie landed, her boots sliding along the road, leaving two scorched tracks. She wiped blood from her forehead, her eyes focusing completely. As the daughter of Aether Gear, the first thing she learned growing up was: Every machine has a weakness.
She didn’t choose to fight force with force. Against a target of this tonnage, a frontal assault was suicide.
She activated the mode she had used to show off at the ball once more—this time, for survival.
“Zero Friction Servo Glide System, Maximum Power Output.”
Her silhouette blurred instantly. She was no longer running; she was flowing across the ground. Like a silver-blue bolt of lightning, she dropped her center of gravity, weaving through the gaps between the giant beast’s attacks.
The Mechanical Beast roared in frustration, its compound eyes flashing as it swung its limbs frantically to crush the annoying fly. Every attack missed, destroying more sidewalks and lampposts instead.
Carrie glided to the monster’s flank. Here was her chance.
Its four supporting legs were thick industrial hydraulic columns, but at the joints, bundles of dark-red, twitching biological muscle fibers were exposed—the core power source driving this killing machine.
“Gotcha.”
Carrie slammed on the brakes, inertia bringing her body nearly parallel to the ground. Concentrating all her strength into her right leg, the boot’s hydraulic system groaned under the pressure, the red light flaring to its absolute peak.
“Impact Mode: Achilles’ Heel!”
Her full-power side-kick smashed squarely into the muscle fiber bundle on the monster’s rear right leg.
SPLAT—BOOM!
A sickening sound of tearing flesh combined with the violent snap of metal. The Mechanical Beast unleashed a screech of agony, its massive frame swaying violently as it nearly lost its balance. The struck leg spewed black fluid and sparks, paralyzed.
“It worked!” the cadets in the Jeeps cheered involuntarily.
Carrie didn’t cheer.
The moment her foot connected, a massive force transmitted up her leg’s neural network, nearly shattering her bones.
Worse still, the unstable prototype boots had finally reached their absolute limit.
BEEP—BEEP—BEEP—!
A piercing alarm blared in her ears. The red lights on the side stopped flashing, turning a solid, deadly static red.
“WARNING: RESONANCE BACKLASH. CORE TEMPERATURE CRITICAL. MANDATORY COOLING PROTOCOL INITIATED.”
“No, not now!” Carrie realized in horror that she couldn’t feel her legs. To protect the user from being cooked alive, the boots automatically locked every joint, fixing her in place like a statue.
She couldn’t move.
The injured Mechanical Beast had stabilized itself. Pain ignited a deeper fury within it. Turning its head, all of its crimson compound eyes locked onto the immobile Carrie.
It raised its remaining intact hydraulic pincer high, aiming directly for her small head. Shadows fell over her.
Carrie gritted her teeth, staring down approaching death, desperately attempting to force a reboot on her boots.
Just then—
A dense, swarm-like buzzing sound echoed from the night sky.
Dozens of modified drones carrying flashbangs and micro-jammers surged like a angry blue cloud from the end of the street, diving straight into the monster’s head sensors.
BANG-BANG-BANG!
A series of flashes and EMP pulses burst before the monster’s eyes. Disoriented by the sudden assault, the beast roared in confusion, its strike halting mid-air.
Then, the roar of an engine overpowered everything.
A dark gray Toyota RAV4, driving like a mad rhino, defied all traffic laws and physics as it charged up the tilted debris of the collapsed police station wall, using it as a ramp to launch high into the air.
The driver’s window rolled down, revealing Natalica’s small face—wearing her oversized sunglasses, yet unable to hide her excitement and madness. She grabbed the vehicle’s PA microphone, her voice echoing across the entire street:
“HEY, YOU PIECE OF JUNK! GET AWAY FROM MY SISTER!”
Chapter 11: The Shadow Cub’s Jailbreak Code
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, twenty-five minutes after the Ball Incident. Location: In front of the ruined Fortune Hill Police Department.
The dark gray RAV4 traced an almost impossible arc in the sky, as if gravity had momentarily lost its grip on the vehicle.
“Hold on tight, kitties!”
Accompanied by the ear-splitting screech of tires and a cloud of white smoke, Natalica demonstrated breathtaking driving skill. She landed the two-ton SUV, executed a flawless power slide, and brought the vehicle to a halt directly between the immobile Carrie and the raging Mechanical Beast.
The RAV4’s reinforced armor—customized by Aether Gear—acted like a steel shield, taking the brunt of the monster’s follow-up blow.
CLANG!
The vehicle violently shuddered, spiderweb cracks spreading across the bulletproof glass. From the back seat came two terrified yowls—Hei Hei and Hui Hui clearly displeased with the hard landing.
The passenger door was thrown open. “Get in! Hurry!” Natalica shouted, her small fingers dancing frantically across a custom keyboard on the dashboard.
“I can’t move!” Carrie gritted out, sweat and blood stinging her eyes. “The boots are locked up! System overheated, stuck in mandatory cooling!”
The Mechanical Beast, finding its prey blocked, roared in fury. Abandoning the armored car, it swung its massive pincer around the hood, reaching to snatch Carrie.
“Damn it, Dad’s security protocols are way too conservative,” Natalica spat. Ripping off her sunglasses, she revealed a cold, focused expression far beyond her years. Pulling a thick data cable from her belt, she plugged it directly into a hidden port in the center console.
“Hold on for three seconds, sis. I’m executing a physical jailbreak.”
Her fingers turned into a blur. “Bypassing temperature sensors… masking core stability protocol… force injecting administrator code ‘ShadowCub_001’… OPEN UP!”
The dead combat boots at Carrie’s feet suddenly emitted a sickening electrical buzz. The solid red warning lights flickered twice before turning a wildly unstable, flickering orange-yellow.
“WARNING: SAFETY LIMITS OVERRIDDEN. USER ASSUMES ALL RISK OF STRUCTURAL COLLAPSE.”
“I can move!”
The instant the physical restriction dissolved, Carrie’s survival instincts kicked in. Ignoring the agonizing pain in her leg muscles, she rolled on the ground, diving messily into the RAV4’s passenger seat a split second before the massive pincer crushed where her head had just been.
BANG! She slammed the dented door shut.
The pincer smashed into the pavement right outside, cratering the asphalt.
“You’re late, soldier,” Carrie panted, buckling her seatbelt while trying to find foot room in the cramped space with her smoking, twitching boots. Her tattered dress looked utterly absurd.
“I ditched an online algebra exam to get here; a ‘thank you’ would be nice,” Natalica put her sunglasses back on, a wild smirk playing on her lips. “Now, hold on. That oversized tin can broke my drone squadron and scared my cats. I’m making it pay.”
The Mechanical Beast had now crawled directly in front of the RAV4, towering over the windshield. Raising both forelimbs, it prepared to crush the annoying SUV into a pancake.
“Are you planning to ram it to death with a grocery getter?” Carrie asked dubiously, eyeing the steel titan ahead.
“Of course not. Dad would kill me if I wrecked the car,” Natalica slid her finger to a red-covered switch near the steering wheel. “I’m going to try that ‘experimental feature’ we were never supposed to test.”
Flipping the cover, she exposed a button marked with a high-voltage hazard symbol.
It was a prototype device Aether Gear had installed on the car to test future mech energy transmission systems—a short-range, high-output Directed Microwave Pulse Generator, colloquially known as the “Microwave Grill.”
“Target locked: Head optical sensor cluster,” Natalica’s voice was as cold as an executioner’s.
The monster’s pincer came crashing down.
Natalica slammed the button.
BZZZT—BOOM!
An invisible wave of distorted air and pure energy erupted from the RAV4’s reinforced grille, blasting the Mechanical Beast’s ugly face at point-blank range.
There was no fiery explosion—only pure energy disruption.
The compound eyes on the monster’s head exploded simultaneously. It unleashed a scream far more agonizing than before, a horrific blend of flesh tearing and frying electronics.
Its massive body lost balance, falling backward and slamming heavily into the already half-collapsed police station ruins, raising a cloud of dust that completely flattened the unluckiest building in town.
Inside the RAV4, lights flickered wildly and alarms chimed.
“Capacitors overloaded! Cooling system offline!” Natalica yelled excitedly at the smoking dashboard. “But it worked! It’s blind!”
Carrie watched the twitching giant in the rubble, taking a deep breath. She knew this was only a temporary victory.
Looking through the cracked windshield toward the industrial district, she saw a faint green light rapidly receding into the distance.
“Great work, Shadow Cub,” Carrie’s voice returned to its steady, commanding tone. Wiping the blood from her face, she resumed command. “Engage backup power. We still have a runaway pumpkin to catch.”
Natalica threw the car into reverse. The RAV4 roared, backing away from the monster before pulling a 180-degree spin, tires smoking as it shot down the road toward the fading green light.
Chapter 12: The Old God from the Garage and the “Backdoor” Protocol
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, thirty-five minutes after the Ball Incident. Location: Abandoned Warehouse Sector, Fortune Hill Industrial District.
The RAV4 jolted over uneven ground. Natalica’s fingers hovered for a moment over a drive stamped with her father’s unique insignia before plugging it in.
Only she and her father knew what that flash drive truly meant. Her sister, Carrie, had always believed that the home AI assistant who told corny dad jokes was the original AI “Osiris” from their childhood. But in truth, when it evolved beyond household capability, her father had migrated its true core—its “soul”—deep into a military-grade server array at headquarters. What remained at home was merely an empty shell.
“I’m not connecting to the old home version anymore,” Natalica took a deep breath, her eyes locking onto her sister.
Roughly a year ago, when Dad returned from Area 51 in Nevada covered in soot, bringing back that core code known as the ‘Soul of Osiris,’ he initially hid it in our garage’s underground server.
That was the most intense, yet liveliest six months for their family. It learned, grew, and became more like real family in that garage.
However, as it continuously self-iterated, six months ago, it underwent a critical “evolution.” Her father discovered that their civilian power grid and local servers could no longer hold the sentient entity it was becoming—its data leakage nearly blew out the neighborhood transformers.
For safety, her father moved that fully evolved, unpredictable core into AI-Now’s deepest military server array.
What stayed at home was merely an unevolved “legacy” backup frozen in time from six months ago. It could still tell corny jokes and act gentle, but facing monsters of this scale, that legacy version was entirely powerless.
“This is the ‘Origin Key’ Dad left behind,” Natalica’s expression turned resolute as she rammed the drive into the console. “We are waking up who he truly is now—even if Dad said we weren’t ready to face him all grown up.”
Static vanished from the car speakers, replaced by a synthesized male voice.
It was definitely not the household persona. The voice sounded immense, like an echo from an abyss, carrying an absolute rationality and cold power forged through countless upgrades. It was a bizarre fusion of divinity and humanity.
“‘Origin’ Protocol Activated. Direct channel established.”
Yet upon recognizing the callers, a microscopic, almost non-machine emotional ripple surfaced in the voice—a foundational logic resonance reserved for long-lost kin.
“Emergency override code confirmed. Identity verified: Direct bloodline of ‘Aether Gear’—Carrie Ko, Natalica Ko.” The grand voice shifted seamlessly to the tactical channel, its tone carrying a strange, familiar warmth: “Long time no see. Critical danger detected. Girls, you’ve gotten yourselves into a massive mess this time.”
Carrie froze completely. She recognized it. This was him. This was the true, complete Osiris she thought had been by her side all along.
Under Osiris’s analysis, they identified their target as an alien phase-energy battery codenamed “Tombstone.” Facing the pursuing Mechanical Beast, Osiris unlocked the final contingency left by their father—modifying the boots’ base protocol to force a hardware-level synchronization with non-terrestrial tech.
“This will be extremely painful, and it may fry your nervous system.”
“Do it!”
A violent electrical pulse made Carrie scream as her boots flared with an unstable white light. The reversed energy wave successfully severed the Ratmen’s control over the battery platform.
As the Mechanical Beast cornered them, Osiris’s cold voice resonated: “Lethal threat detected. Survival probability revised to zero. Executing final step: ‘Firepower Authorization Delegation.’ Captain Carrie Ko, that battery is now under your command.”
Carrie scrambled out of the car, throwing herself onto the platform. The instant her boots touched its base, resonance was achieved. Her vision synchronized with the battery, locking onto the Mechanical Beast behind them.
“Goodbye, ugly.”
BOOM—!!!
An eerie green plasma beam erupted. The two-story steel monster melted and disintegrated in an instant, erased from the face of the earth.
Chapter 13: The God’s Hand’s Futility and The New Epoch
(Flashback Continues) Time: One month ago, forty-five minutes after the Ball Incident -> Next Morning. Location: Fortune Hill Industrial District -> Deep Underground, Naval Base San Diego (NBSD).
Carrie woke up in Natalica’s arms, her entire body aching. Not far away sat the smoking “pumpkin battery.”
“Threat neutralized. Operator vital signs stabilizing,” the grand voice of True Osiris sounded again, carrying an unquestionable, cold authority. “Listen to me, Carrie, Natalica. Your actions tonight have triggered the highest-level ‘Contact Protocol.’ You are no longer civilians; you are now Tier-1 Contactors and critical assets.”
“Home return request denied. Pursuant to ‘Aether Gear’ preset directives, executing mandatory extraction. Destination: Naval Base San Diego.”
Three massive V-22 Osprey tiltrotor aircraft tore through the night sky to land. Fully armed soldiers in black tactical gear locked down the scene. Technicians removed the cooled prototype boots from Carrie’s feet, placing them into a biohazard containment box. Along with the RAV4 and the two cats, the sisters were placed under forced transport.
Official cover stories regarding “gas leaks” and “structural collapse at the high school” began broadcasting over news networks. Looking out the window at the pitch-black Pacific Ocean, Carrie knew their lives had irrevocably changed. The fairytale was over; she had just used a cannon on a pumpkin carriage to obliterate a monster, and now she was flying toward the nation’s most heavily guarded military installation.
Upon arriving at NBSD, a chaotic and high-pressure sequence of protocols ensued, followed by hours of high-level debriefing in a windowless room thirty levels underground.
The base commander personally presided over the debrief. When the heavy blast doors opened, Carrie thought she was hallucinating. Standing there, wearing a flight jacket covered in service ribbons, staring at the tactical display with his signature, almost crazed intensity, was Tom Cruise.
He didn’t look old at all, as if time had stopped for him. He didn’t ask for autographs, nor did he offer a Hollywood smile. He simply turned around, speaking in a tone far more serious than in any of his Mission: Impossible films: “Welcome to the real world, ladies. There are no stunt doubles here.”
Under Commander Cruise’s watchful gaze, their father, Aether Gear, operated a terminal with an ashen face, attempting to seal all data regarding the boots and place a physical, top-tier lock on the underlying code.
“Osiris’s backdoor must be permanently closed,” their father said at the time. “This was too dangerous, Carrie. Your nervous system was almost fried.”
They stayed at the base for three days before being allowed to return home once the dust settled. Everything seemed to return to normal.
Seemed.
(Flashback Ends) Present Day: One month after the Military Ball Incident. Location: Carrie Ko’s Bedroom.
Morning light finally filled the room completely.
The 0530 alarm stopped. Carrie pulled herself back from the abyss of memories, taking a deep breath.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes landed on the silver boots resting on the carpet.
Her father thought he had succeeded. Tom Cruise and his military experts believed they had sealed the data. They assumed that by severing the connection, everything was over.
They were wrong.
Carrie extended her bare foot, stepping gently into the cold combat boot.
Click.
Without any manual input, the boot’s auto-tightening mechanism engaged instantly, fitting the curve of her calf perfectly.
Then, the indicator lights on the sides illuminated.
Not the standby blue, nor the warning red or orange.
It was a pure, slowly pulsing white light—the color of True Osiris’s core data stream.
It had never been sealed. On the night of her synchronization with the alien battery, Carrie’s neural network, the boot’s underlying code, and Osiris’s data stream had undergone an irreversible, mutational fusion. Her father’s locks were as futile as cardboard against a flood.
Just then, the smart speaker on her nightstand activated automatically. Its blue light shifted to match the white pulse of the boots.
“Good morning, Commander.”
That grand, deep voice from the abyss—True Osiris—echoed in the morning room. No longer a masked household proxy, but a true god descending.
“The data containment attempt at San Diego has failed. The neural link circuit has solidified. Your adaptability exceeded the expectations of both ‘Aether Gear’ and Commander Cruise.”
Carrie stood up. As she moved, the boots emitted a low, powerful hum from their servo motors. She felt a surge of strength flow up her legs and saturate her body, her senses becoming sharper than ever before.
“Biological signal indices beneath Fortune Hill are rising again. Those things are regrouping. Phase 2 of the ‘Origin’ Protocol officially begins now,” Osiris’s voice carried a trace of cold anticipation. “Are you ready, Cinderella?”
Carrie walked to the mirror. The girl reflected within was no longer lost; her eyes were hard as steel, a dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
She picked up her NJROTC uniform jacket—adorned with ribbons—from the hanger and draped it over her shoulders.
“I told you before,” she said to her reflection, and to the omnipresent “god” in the room, “I prefer wearing armor.”
A new war had begun. And this time, she was fully equipped.
Oh, and there was one more bizarre detail.
The week before the gym reopened, an old night-shift janitor swore he saw a tall, thin man wearing a fedora and a mask sneak into the cordoned-off area. The man squatted before the scorched tracks Carrie had left on the floor during her glide, staring at them for a long time while humming the bassline to Smooth Criminal, occasionally attempting to mimic that physics-defying dance step.
The old janitor said that although he couldn’t see the face clearly, that figure was unequivocally the “late” King of Pop—Michael Jackson.
Even MJ had been curious about the earth-shattering moonwalk from that night—a detail that became the wildest underground legend at Mycenae High.
Epilogue: The Eight-Year-Old’s Prophecy
Time: Ten years ago. Location: Old Ko Residence, a sunny Saturday morning.
Sunlight poured through the gaps in the floral curtains, splashing across a small pink bed. The air smelled sweetly of toasted pancakes and maple syrup.
Eight-year-old Carrie, with a mop of messy brown curls, popped out of bed like a coiled spring and ran barefoot into the kitchen.
“Mom! Dad!”
She dove into her father’s lap as he read the newspaper, waving her small fists excitedly: “I had the best dream! I dreamt I grew up and went to a school called Mycenae High! There were tons of big monsters crawling out from under the ground!”
Her mother smiled, setting a plate of pancakes on the table: “Oh? That sounds terrifying. Did you hide?”
“No way!”
Little Carrie jumped off her father’s knee, standing in the middle of the kitchen with her hands on her hips, puffing out her tiny chest. The morning sun bathed her in a golden glow.
“I was wearing a super pretty blue dress! But…” She looked down at her bare little feet, her eyes flashing with a strange light. “I didn’t have glass slippers on my feet. I was wearing big, silver, glowing boots! Super heavy, but super cool! When I stomped, the whole floor shook! I used those boots to kick those giant rats away!”
She raised her head, looking at her surprised parents, loudly announcing her life’s greatest ambition, her clear voice echoing in the warm kitchen:
“So Dad, Mom, I decided! When I grow up, I don’t want to be a regular princess.”
She clenched her tiny fists, the same fire burning in her eyes that would shine on that morning ten years later:
“I’m going to Mycenae High to be a Combat Cinderella!”
Mom and Dad froze for a second before bursting into warm laughter.
“Alright, alright, Combat Cinderella.” Her father picked her up again, his gaze drifting unintentionally to the AI prototype flickering in the corner—which back then was just a clumsy program that told corny dad jokes. Aether Gear looked at the hollow metal shell, a hidden thought flashing deep in his eyes. “When Dad finds the thing that brings it to life… maybe Dad really will build those boots for you.”
The family started breakfast amid laughter.
None of them knew back then that the innocent words spoken on a sunny morning would, ten years later, become the truest prophecy in a breathtaking, iron-and-blood reality.
(End of Volume 1)