Twice

The Ninth Special Service Division, Aircraft Carrier.

On the vast deck of the aircraft carrier, nestled in the heart of the ocean, the felon prison was arguably the most heavily fortified section of the entire ship. Aside from a few restricted areas where volatile substances were stored, no other place was more secure. Thick titanium walls, security cameras in every corner, multiple checkpoints, and armed guards patrolling day and night ensured that escape was virtually impossible.

However, this high-security prison wasn't often used. The Ninth Special Service Division, a clandestine unit specializing in the containment of supernatural and otherworldly threats, rarely had prisoners who needed long-term incarceration. Most of the infected, those touched by some form of dark magic or cursed by malevolent entities, were dealt with immediately. The procedure was simple: those with minor infections were quarantined and cleansed, their afflictions wiped away in a matter of hours by sophisticated medical technologies. Those too far gone—whose minds and bodies had been consumed by the infection—were typically executed on the spot. The division's motto was clear: "If a problem can be solved with a single bullet, it should never be postponed."

So, this particular prison wing, despite its elaborate defenses, rarely saw action. It wasn't built to accommodate many inmates, and it didn't need to. Its cells were designed for a very particular type of guest, and on this day, it housed someone most dangerous—someone so valuable and yet so unpredictable that even the agents of the Ninth Division felt a chill run down their spines when they spoke his name.

Link.

He was an anomaly, an enigma. Not only had he led his subordinates to invade sacred grounds and desecrate ancient graves, but he had also stolen one of the most mysterious and dangerous pieces of evidence ever cataloged: Exhibit A-086. Its current whereabouts were unknown, and this haunted the minds of every officer in the division. The consequences of leaving such an artifact unaccounted for were unimaginable. 

The usual methods of interrogation—physical, psychological, or chemical—were useless against someone like Link. His mind was a fortress, one that could not be breached by standard means. So, the division's top scientists and technologists had opted for a more unconventional approach: memory retrieval. 

But even this was fraught with complications. There was still some debate among the division's experts as to whether Link was an infected individual or something far worse—a phantom. If he was infected, attempting to extract memories could trigger a self-defense mechanism, similar to a data wipe on a hard drive, causing his mind to self-destruct and obliterate any hope of retrieving the vital information.

And if he was a phantom, the situation would be even more precarious. Phantoms were entities that existed between worlds, creatures whose very presence defied the laws of nature. No one had ever attempted to extract a phantom's memories, and no one knew what the consequences might be. 

So, for the time being, Link was being held in what could only be described as a "luxury suite" within the prison—at least, in terms of its security measures. His limbs were bound in reinforced shackles, each one heavy enough to weigh down a small vehicle. His back bore an additional weight, a ton of pressure designed to keep him from even attempting to rise from the floor. 

But it wasn't just physical restraints keeping him in check. The cell was equipped with a state-of-the-art damping device, personally overseen by Dr. Miyazaki. The device was said to be infallible, capable of suppressing any supernatural or metaphysical abilities within its range. Whether Link was infected or a phantom, as long as the power supply was active, the damping device would prevent him from using his abilities. 

At least, that's how it was supposed to work.

Unbeknownst to the guards and engineers, the damping device had been deactivated approximately one minute ago.

As the system powered down, Link's restraints began to loosen. The shackles fell from his wrists and ankles with a metallic clatter. The oppressive weight on his back was lifted, and he slowly rose to his feet, stretching his arms and legs, a cold, predatory smile spreading across his face. 

Everything was going according to plan.

A few moments later, the thick alloy door of his cell began to creak open. The intricate mechanical locks disengaged, and the heavy door slid aside with an almost ceremonial grace, as if welcoming a king. Link stepped through the opening with the confidence of someone who knew they were untouchable. This place, with all its guards, alarms, and high-tech defenses, might as well have been his personal playground.

As he moved through the narrow, sterile corridors of the prison block, Link considered his situation. The exposure of his stronghold had been unexpected, and the destruction of his forces—The Dead—was a setback, but it wouldn't stop him. His plan was too far advanced for such a minor inconvenience to derail it. 

However, there was one element he hadn't accounted for.

Batman.

The masked vigilante had been more of a problem than anticipated. Link had initially dismissed him and his fellow heroes as a nuisance, but after the stronghold was compromised, he realized they posed a genuine threat. Batman, in particular, had a cunning that made him a formidable opponent. Link suspected that the exposure of his base and the subsequent siege by the Ninth Division had been orchestrated by the Dark Knight himself.

But it didn't matter. 

Next time, he would be ready.

As Link turned a corner, his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp pain. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head as a piercing ultrasonic wave tore through his mind. The sensation was brutal, like having his brain scrambled by a thousand needles. 

Through blurry vision, he saw a figure emerge from the shadows. Batman.

With a crackling surge of electricity, the caped crusader's fist connected with Link's face, sending a shockwave through his body. The electric current pulsed through his skin, causing his muscles to spasm uncontrollably.

Link stumbled backward, disoriented, as another punch landed squarely on his jaw. The double assault of sound and electricity left him dazed, barely able to comprehend what was happening. 

Wasn't this the Ninth Division's aircraft carrier? How had Batman gotten here? And more importantly, why was he standing right outside the cell, waiting to deliver another beating?

Before Link could regain his composure, another electric punch sent him sprawling across the floor, his vision swimming in and out of focus.

Meanwhile, in another part of the ship...

The electronic lock on another cell beeped softly, and the door slid open with a hiss. Melanie Chase, who had been securely locked away, stepped out into the long metal corridor. The dim, flickering lights above cast long shadows as the door sealed shut behind her.

She had only taken a few steps when the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of her head.

"Going somewhere in a hurry, Melanie?" a voice growled from behind.

Melanie's lips curved into a sly smile as she slowly turned to face her assailant. Ivan Petrov, standing tall and grim, had his weapon trained on her, eyes sharp with suspicion.

"I thought you'd be busy digging graves," she said in a mocking tone, her voice light and teasing. "Seems I didn't leave you with enough homework after all. Maybe next time, I'll have to make things a bit more complicated."

"You should've," Ivan replied, his voice devoid of humor. "Let me guess, you were planning to release Link. You knew I've been hanging around here because of my mental issues, but you thought you could outmaneuver me. You didn't count on me finishing your little puzzle and catching up in time, did you?"

Melanie raised an eyebrow. "Impressive, but unfortunate for you. You're right about some of it, but since you're here now, I'll have to kill you."

Ivan's eyes narrowed, but before he could react, a powerful kick from behind knocked him to the ground. He quickly rolled to his feet, gun raised, ready to fire.

Standing in the shadows was another Melanie.

"Fool me once, shame on you," the second Melanie said with a wicked grin. "But look at that—I got you twice in a few hours."

Ivan's mind reeled as he tried to process what he was seeing. Two Melanies, identical in every way, stood before him, one in front, one behind.

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