The phone vibrated against the metal table. It was a single buzz, sharp and intrusive. Dante was cleaning his weapon. He did not stop until he finished wiping the barrel and set the cloth down. Only then did he look at the screen.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

He picked it up and did not hesitate to open the message. There was no image, no audio, and no attachment. Just text—white letters on a black background: "You are not fighting me. You are fighting the question you have never answered — who made you?"

Dante read it once. He did not move. He read it twice. The letters did not change; they did not shift. They remained exactly what they were. He read it a third time.

(Kairo): "It is not a threat. It is a diagnosis."

(Mūn): "He knows you do not know the answer."

(Dante): "Silence."

Dante locked the screen and placed the phone face down on the table. The crew was in the other room checking gear, loading magazines, and testing comms. They thought they were preparing for a raid; Dante knew they were preparing for a revelation. He stood up and walked out of the room, not telling them where he was going.

He found Moro in the server room. The lights were dim, and the hum of the computers was constant—a low drone that filled the silence. Moro was typing with his back to the door. He did not turn when Dante entered.

"Read this," Dante said. He placed the phone on the console next to the keyboard.

Moro stopped typing and looked at the screen. He picked up the phone and read the message. His hands did not shake, and his breathing did not change, but his eyes did. The pupils dilated just slightly, and the color seemed to drain from his face. He stared at the text for a long time—ten seconds, then twenty. Dante watched him, waiting for a question or an analysis.

Moro said nothing. He placed the phone back on the console and pushed it toward Dante. He stood up and pushed the chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. He walked toward the door.

"Moro," Dante said. Moro stopped but did not turn around. "Do you know?" Dante asked.

Moro was silent while the hum of the servers filled the gap. "I know enough," Moro said, his voice low and rough.

"Enough for what."

"Enough to know I should not say."

Moro opened the door and stepped into the hallway. "Wait," Dante said. Moro did not wait. He closed the door behind him with a soft, final click.

Dante stood alone in the server room looking at the phone. The screen was dark.

(Kairo): "He is hiding data."

(Mūn): "He is hiding pain."

(Dante): "There is a difference."

(Kairo): "Not in this context."

Dante picked up the phone and put it in his pocket. He walked out of the server room. The hallway was empty, and the lights were flickering. He saw Kisuke at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall and watching the corner where Moro had turned. He saw Dante and pushed off the wall to walk toward him. His hands were in his pockets and he did not smile.

"Where is he going?" Dante asked.

"Away," Kisuke said.

"Did you follow him?"

"For a bit."

"And."

Kisuke stopped in front of Dante and looked up. His eyes were sharp, and the usual humor was gone. "He went to the safe," Kisuke said. "The old one. In the basement."

Dante’s eyes narrowed. "There is no safe in the basement."

"There is now."

Kisuke shifted his weight and looked toward the server room door. "Moro knows more than he has said," Kisuke said, his voice flat with no joke and no mask.

"I know," Dante said.

"Do you know how much?"

"No."

Kisuke nodded and looked at Dante’s pocket where the phone was. "Edward knows too," Kisuke said.

"Yes."

"This isn’t about the mission anymore."

"No."

Kisuke pushed off the wall and walked past Dante, then stopped. "If he opens that safe," Kisuke said, "things change."

"They already have."

Kisuke looked back with a tired expression. "Just be ready," he said. "For what comes out."

He walked away with silent footsteps. Dante stood alone in the hallway as the lights flickered above him—shadow, light, shadow. He touched his pocket where the phone was cold. "Who made you?" The question echoed in his mind, bouncing off the walls of his memory. He tried to remember his parents, but saw only blurred faces like photos left in the sun. He tried to remember the lab; he saw white tiles, wires, and Ogata, but he did not see the beginning.

(Mūn): "You were not born. You were built."

(Dante): "I am human."

(Kairo): "Are you. Define human."

(Dante): "I feel. I choose. I remember."

(Kairo): "You forget. We choose. You feel what we allow."

(Dante): "Shut up."

Dante walked back to the briefing room. The crew was ready in their gear, holding their weapons. They looked at him, waiting for the order. Dante looked at Isaac, Lisa, Eikichi, Kisuke, and Sophie. She stood near the window watching him, seeing the change in his face and the weight he carried. She did not ask; she waited.

Dante walked to the head of the table and placed his hands on the surface. "We move," he said. His voice was steady and gave nothing away. "Target is Setsuro Holdings. Sector Five."

Isaac frowned. "Sector Two was the lead."

"Sector Two was a decoy," Dante said. "Sector Five is the truth."

"Source?" Isaac asked.

"Edward."

The room went quiet. "Trusting him is risky," Lisa said.

"It is necessary," Dante said.

He looked at Sophie, and she nodded once. She knew he was hiding something and knew about the message, but she did not call him out in front of the crew.

"Gear up," Dante said. "We leave in five."

The crew moved, checking straps and loading clips. Dante stood still. He felt the phone in his pocket vibrate again but did not check it. He knew what it was—another piece of the puzzle, another layer of the lie. He looked at his hands; they were steady, but they felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else who was made and designed.

Dante turned away from the table and walked to the door. He stepped into the hallway. The night waited outside, and the question waited inside: Who made you? Dante opened the door and stepped into the dark. He would find the answer, even if he had to break himself to do it.

A/N: Special Message to My Amazing Readers,

I want to share something personal with you. My ultimate dream is to take my writing and digital art to a professional level and build a full creative studio. To achieve this, I have a long-term goal of raising $10,000 for professional equipment and stability.

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