Relieved to have some extra help for the manual labor, Zack headed inside the Mansion. He went straight to the basement, where he removed his armor with the help of a mechanical arm. Despite the suit's air circulation system, sweat clung to his clothes after the intense combat.
"I need a shower," Zack muttered with a smirk, wrinkling his nose slightly before heading upstairs.
On the main floor, Zack spotted a familiar figure sprawled on the couch—Sarah, still unconscious. Annie was nearby, watching her with wide, curious eyes, her childlike fascination apparent. On another sofa, Sophia eyed Zack with an expression that was hard to read as he stepped off the elevator.
"Why did you bring her back?" Sophia asked, her tone holding a mix of disbelief and something that might have been jealousy.
"Huh?" Zack looked genuinely confused. He hadn't intended to bring Sarah back—he'd planned to send her to the steel plant. But with everything going on, she'd slipped his mind.
"Guess it's fine," he shrugged, muttering to himself. "We've got enough room anyway."
Sophia murmured something under her breath, but Zack cut her off. "Sophia, why don't you head upstairs and get some rest?"
She looked away, a little indignant, but allowed Annie to help her to the elevator. As they disappeared, Zack turned his attention back to Sarah, still unconscious on the couch.
"Ego, you know what I'm thinking, right?" Zack asked, a sly grin on his face.
"I must caution you, sir," Ego replied dryly, "your idea could earn you three to five years in prison."
"Oh, shut up," Zack retorted. "I'm just worried she'll wake up and roast me alive."
Though Zack's physical strength had been improving, he knew his real power came from his armor. Sarah, on the other hand, was a walking danger—like a ticking time bomb. Determined to minimize the risk, Zack hurried back to the basement. When he returned, he was holding a necklace-like device.
Without waiting for her to wake up, he gently but firmly fastened the device around her neck. It wasn't just a necklace—it was a failsafe, a remote-controlled bomb Zack could detonate if necessary. Just as the clasp clicked into place, Sarah stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She glanced around, her gaze sharp as it landed on Zack.
"Where… where am I?" she demanded, her voice rising in alarm as she took in her surroundings. Her hand flew to her neck, fingers brushing against the device. Realization dawned, and her expression shifted to incredulous anger.
"What the hell?!" she snapped, glaring at Zack. "Did you seriously put a collar on me? Don't think for a second this makes me yours."
Zack tried to keep a straight face, but her reaction was a bit much. "Relax. It's just a tracking device," he said, though even he didn't sound particularly convincing. "It's for identifying friend from foe."
The look she gave him made it clear she didn't buy it. With a sigh, Zack dropped the act. "Fine. It's a remote-controlled bomb. If you step out of line, it'll go off."
For a moment, she just stared at him, stunned. Then her expression shifted, her eyes narrowing with something almost playful. "Oh, I see. So, if I don't behave, boom, right?"
Her gaze lingered on him, and Zack couldn't tell if she was amused or plotting revenge. "You say you're not a pervert, but here you are, putting something like this on me," she added, her tone teasing. Then, almost shyly, she mumbled, "It's not like I'd be that hard to get…" Her face turned faintly red as the words trailed off.
Zack was at a loss for words, mentally grumbling to his AI companion. "Ego, I'm starting to think her brain's not working right. Her way of thinking is just… strange."
Finally, he shrugged and decided to play along. "Think whatever you want," he sighed. "But listen—don't mess with it. If you try to take it off, it'll blow up immediately. So, just behave, okay?"
Sarah huffed, curling up on the sofa with a muttered complaint. "Everyone acts like they know him, but they don't know a thing."
Zack ignored her, grabbing some clean clothes and heading toward the bathroom. Meanwhile, on the outskirts of what was once New York City, now a smoldering wasteland, a helicopter descended. Its spinning blades kicked up thick black dust, briefly exposing scorched bones scattered across the ground.
As soon as the helicopter landed, a hulking man, towering over three meters, stepped out impatiently. His heavy boots crunched against the charred remains, making a sickening sound. "Finally, some fresh air! Lane, couldn't we have used a bigger aircraft?" he grumbled in his deep voice.
"Maybe you should consider losing some weight, Willis," retorted Lillian, stepping off the chopper with a sharp, icy tone.
Behind them, a silent figure dressed in sleek, futuristic combat gear emerged. The figure's neon highlights glowed faintly, their mask obscuring any expression. Willis scanned the desolate surroundings, taking in the barren, scorched earth and faintly glowing patches of irradiated soil.
"How the hell are we supposed to find anything here?" he muttered, sounding frustrated. The land stretched endlessly, devoid of life—no trees, no plants, nothing. He shifted uncomfortably. "And we don't even have radiation suits."
The masked figure finally broke their silence, their voice cold and even. "The mission is over. We should leave."
Willis nodded in reluctant agreement, brushing at the fine layer of radioactive dust collecting on his gear. "Yeah, Lane, I think it's time to call it. There's nothing left."
Just then, the soldier piloting the helicopter jogged over and handed a black communicator to Lillian. "It's Blackhand," he said briskly before retreating back to his post.
Lillian's face darkened as she accepted the device. "What is it, Blackhand?" she snapped.
Even Willis's attitude shifted at the mention of the name, though Lillian's tone carried only thinly veiled disdain. A cold, synthetic voice crackled through the communicator. "Return to base. The mission is over."
"I can keep searching," Lillian insisted, her voice firm. "I might still find the leader's body."
"You're not searching for the leader," Blackhand cut her off sharply. "And don't forget—your daughter is gone."
Lillian's stoic expression faltered for a fraction of a second. "But… I can't shake the feeling she's still alive. Just let me search one more time."
"You saw her body, Lillian. The DNA test confirmed it," Blackhand's voice remained unyielding, each word hitting like a hammer.
For a moment, Lillian seemed to age years. Her shoulders sagged, and her steely demeanor softened. "What's the next objective?" she asked quietly, her gaze drifting back toward the wasteland as if clinging to a shred of hope.
"Head to Texas. There's a biological sample waiting for retrieval," Blackhand ordered.
"And New York?" she pressed, her voice barely hiding her desperation. "Who's handling the man who killed the leader?"
"That's not your concern. Others will deal with him," Blackhand replied, his tone icy and final.
With no further argument, Lillian lowered the communicator and turned back toward the helicopter. Willis and the neon warrior exchanged brief glances but said nothing as they climbed aboard. The helicopter rose into the ash-filled skies, leaving behind the ruins of the once-great city.