The Phoenix of the Slums

Alarms screamed through the vault like wounded animals, bathing the white chamber in pulses of red light. Gas vents hissed open above them. A synthetic voice echoed off the walls: “Containment breach. Activating neutralization protocol.”

“Zhao, get her out!” Tianming barked.

Fang took position at the entryway, raising her weapon as the door began grinding open. From the other side, thudding boots echoed in perfect synchronicity—soldiers coming, not like the last batch. These moved with purpose.

Inside the pod, Dr. Jin Wei's eyelids fluttered.

“Her vitals are spiking,” Zhao said. “I’ve initiated thaw sequence, but it’ll take 90 seconds!”

“We don’t have 90 seconds.” Tianming turned to Fang. “Hold the entrance with me.”

The first soldier burst through—black armor, face masked, rifle raised. Tianming shot forward. He deflected the barrel with his forearm, stepped into the man’s space and delivered a rapid-fire combination: right hook to the jaw, left elbow to the neck, low kick to the knee. The soldier staggered.

Tianming grabbed the rifle mid-fall, flipped it, and fired into the second man’s shoulder before tossing it back to Fang. She caught it mid-air and unloaded two shots, dropping a third guard before they could return fire.

More spilled through the door.

Tianming dodged a baton swing, duck-rolled under it, then delivered a spinning back kick to the attacker’s midsection. He followed with a tiger claw strike to the throat—swift, sharp, and silent. The man dropped.

Fang reloaded with mechanical precision. “Zhao, how long?”

“Thirty seconds!”

One of the soldiers lobbed a flash grenade.

Tianming spotted it, snatched it midair, and threw it back. The white-hot blast went off just as three of them rushed in—blinding them mid-motion. Tianming dashed in, striking pressure points along the chest and spine, paralyzing two before the third recovered.

That one lunged with a blade.

Tianming grabbed his wrist, twisted hard, disarming him. He drove his knee into the man’s gut, flipped him over with a judo-style hip throw, and crushed his sternum with a falling hammerfist.

Zhao yelled, “She’s waking up!”

The pod door hissed open.

Dr. Jin gasped, coughed, and blinked as the world rushed back into her lungs. “You… you found me.”

“We need answers,” Tianming said, kneeling beside her. “Why me? Why was I made?”

Her voice was dry but sharp. “Because you weren’t made. You were born. You’re the First Key.”

Fang glanced back. “What the hell does that mean?”

Dr. Jin sat up slowly, looking Tianming in the eye. “There are seven biological keys scattered across the continent—seven living beings whose DNA holds pieces of an ancient code left behind by the original Orchid Society founders. You’re the first… the one they built everything else around. Without you, the others can’t be activated.”

Tianming froze. “Activated?”

“They’re not people anymore,” she said. “They’re weapons. Slaves. If the Seven reunite, and are activated by the Master Protocol, the one who controls them… controls the most powerful force in the underground world.”

Fang’s voice dropped. “And they’ll stop at nothing to keep you from reaching the others.”

The vault lights flickered. More footsteps echoed—another wave incoming.

Dr. Jin stood shakily. “There’s a train. Emergency escape rail under the cryo-pit. It leads to a safehouse in Wuxi. But you have to go now.”

Tianming nodded. “Fang, Zhao, grab what intel you can. We move.”

As they descended into the lower pit, the next assault team poured in behind them—too late.

The rail cart roared to life, and they vanished into the dark tunnel.

Behind them, the Orchid Society’s enforcers found only empty tanks, broken bodies, and the faint scent of rebellion.