Behind the Door

Camp headquarters, underground facility.

"Please rest assured," the commander said, trying to convey confidence. "This is a safe house designed according to the highest standards. It is absolutely hidden, and it is almost impossible for the enemy to find it.

And even if it is discovered, the facility itself is impenetrable. After all, this place was originally designed to withstand nuclear strikes, and it is absolutely impossible to be breached..."

The commander wasn't just trying to reassure Ross and the others, but also himself. Even though he knew it was pointless, he tried to calm himself down, attempting to let go of unnecessary fear.

The opponent they faced this time was truly terrifying—completely unreasonable in all aspects. Long before the base was attacked, the key personnel had been evacuated to this underground room, isolated from the outside world. The room itself was constructed with multiple layers of reinforced steel and high-grade concrete, designed to withstand even the most advanced penetration attacks. Air filtration systems ensured clean oxygen, while the entire space was shielded against EMPs and other technological disruptions.

If they were lucky, perhaps after the enemy had wiped out the entire camp, they might conclude that Ross wasn't in the base and leave. Even if they realized there was a hidden safe room, it seemed impossible for them to break in from the outside. At the very least, it might give them enough time to come up with an escape plan.

Bang.

A heavy thud reverberated through the room, the impact echoing in everyone's hearts. Everyone in the safe room held their breath, their hearts skipping a beat. Dust fell from the ceiling as the sound seemed to grow louder with each repetition.

Someone—or something—had slammed the fortified door from the outside with incredible force. The metallic impact reverberated through the entire structure, causing the lights to flicker briefly.

The room instantly fell silent. No one dared make a sound; even their breathing seemed cautious. They all realized that the enemy—the same horrific entity that had annihilated their two ace fighter jets like a ghost and then swept through the entire camp—was now right outside the door.

The last vestiges of hope dissipated. Many of them had initially believed that this place was truly impenetrable. The only entrance to the safe room was a concealed door, and various shielding measures, including eliminating heat signals, had been employed. Even if someone knew in advance that there was a hidden room in the base, it would be exceedingly difficult to locate.

But now, the monstrous entity was right outside, knocking on their door. The specially reinforced, ultra-thick door was now the only line of defense protecting their lives. The door was composed of multiple layers—titanium, tungsten, and other composite materials—each capable of withstanding significant force, but the continuous thuds made them question if even this was enough.

It reminded many of them of classic horror films. They were like victims in a movie, locked in a room on the verge of being swallowed by fear, with the ghost just outside the door. With nowhere to run, they were forced to huddle in the corner, watching their final barrier crumble with each impact, inching them closer to the abyss of despair. The entire room seemed to shrink with each loud bang, the fear pressing down on them like a physical weight.

Yet, the enemy outside the door seemed unwilling to even give them the luxury of despair.

"Don't worry," the commander whispered, trying to steady his trembling voice. His knuckles were white from gripping the armrest of his chair.

Another heavy impact shook the facility, and for a moment, it felt as if the entire structure might collapse. The lights flickered again, and dust fell from the ceiling in larger amounts. But the door held firm, resisting the external bombardment. The commander's heartbeat slowed slightly, and he turned to Ross again, trying to muster confidence.

"Like I said, the door will hold. No matter what's on the outside, it can't get in."

Ross was silent for a moment before shaking his head calmly, his eyes never leaving the door.

"Not always."

The commander looked confused. "What do you mean..."

Before he could finish, a red light shot out from the thick steel door. A red laser beam pierced through the metal like a sharp sword, effortlessly cutting along the thick alloy surface, leaving behind a scorched, red-hot path. It was as easy as slicing a cake with a knife. The beam traced a perfect rectangle in the door, glowing ominously as it moved.

Fear instantly overwhelmed everyone in the room. The commander's heart pounded wildly, his eyes wide open as three words flashed through his mind—

Impossible!

He had seen the design drawings of this room with his own eyes and knew the specifications of the fortifications. As the last line of defense for the top leadership, the room had been built to the highest standards, with an astronomical investment. The door was supposed to withstand extreme temperatures, direct hits from explosives, and any kind of mechanical assault, and the commander had been confident in its durability.

But now, the door he had believed to be indestructible was being breached.

What kind of energy output could possibly accomplish this?

Could it be powered by a nuclear reactor?

Within seconds, their last line of defense collapsed. After the laser finished cutting, another loud impact sounded from the outside, and some kind of strange force struck the alloy door again. The severed part of the door collapsed, crashing heavily to the ground with a deafening clang, sending reverberations throughout the small space.

A figure of steel stood behind the door. In the dim lighting, its form was indistinct, but it was clear that its primary colors were red and gold. Blue fluorescent lights glowed from its eyes and chest, casting an eerie, almost otherworldly light that seemed to symbolize death. The red and gold armor shimmered, reflecting the flickering lights of the underground room, giving it an almost mythic appearance.

For a few seconds, the room was completely silent. No one dared to move, no one dared to speak. It was as if time had stopped, and they were frozen in that moment of pure terror. The figure, the machine—or whatever it was—seemed to exude an aura of invincibility, a silent proclamation that it was unstoppable.

...

Grove Group, Special Operations Command Room.

The Ninth Special Service Division was under investigation, with most operations suspended, but apprehending Ross remained a top priority.

However, given the current lack of trust in the Ninth Division, the operation was now mainly in charge of the CIA. The command room was bustling with activity—operators at their stations, typing furiously on keyboards, analyzing incoming data, and monitoring every channel for updates.

Siegel, who had led the team at the ruins, was in charge of the command and dispatch for this operation. Minister Dr. Richard and Dr. Hines, who had passed the review of the Ninth Division, were invited to participate as special consultants. They stood near Siegel, both watching the screens with expressions of grave concern.

After all, frontline operations were often best handled by the Ninth Division. The CIA might be effective in intelligence operations and apprehending insiders, but in full-scale combat, the expertise of the Ninth Division was invaluable. The tension in the room was palpable—everyone knew that this operation was high-stakes, and there was no room for error.

It didn't take long for them to track down the location of the missing Ross. However, upon learning the level of combat strength at the illegal militant base, the special operations team was taken aback. Detailed satellite images showed anti-aircraft turrets, fortified bunkers, and even armored vehicles. It was clear this was no ordinary terrorist operation.

Despite Ross's influence, the base's level of armament was beyond anything they had expected. It was clearly not an ordinary terrorist cell. The strength of the equipment exceeded all initial expectations, and it was clear that it would take significant effort to bring it down.

It took some time to mobilize personnel and organize the team, but overall, they moved quickly. The tactical team had now assembled and was en route to the base, moving through rugged terrain, making sure to remain undetected.

A reconnaissance team found an outpost more than a hundred miles away from the target base. When they got a closer look, they discovered that the outpost was in shambles—collapsed turrets, smoldering wreckage, the remnants of what looked like a fierce bombardment. The charred remains of vehicles and equipment lay scattered across the area, still smoking.

When the footage was relayed to the command room, confusion spread among the officials.

The tactical team was still en route—no one had attacked yet. So why was the outpost destroyed?

Was there someone else out there, faster than them?

Just then, two Bluebird fighter jets from the terrorist headquarters were detected on radar. The operator's voice cracked as he reported the sighting, knowing that this escalation was unexpected.

The aircraft were relatively advanced models with first-class performance in all aspects. Sleek, agile, and deadly, they were armed to the teeth, and although it wasn't clear what kind of ammunition they carried, they were clearly not to be underestimated. Everyone in the command room felt a chill at the sight—no one had expected these militants to have such advanced hardware. It was a daunting reminder of the enemy they faced.

As Siegel began to consider recalling the tactical team to reassess their strategy, another message came through.

The two jets had been shot down.

It was an outcome that left Siegel at a complete loss.

Shot down? Already?

How much time had passed since they took off and entered radar detection range? And yet they had already been destroyed?

These were top-tier fighter jets—how could they be taken out so quickly?

"There was no third-party image on the radar," the radar operator reported, sweat dripping down his forehead.

"No third-party image?" Siegel was stunned. "How is that possible?"

Could ghosts have taken down those jets?

"The reconnaissance drone has reached the enemy headquarters."

Siegel's attention snapped back to the present.

"Bring up the drone footage," he commanded.

The video feed was patched through, and the image appeared on the screen before everyone in the command room. The room was dim, the only illumination coming from the glow of the monitors, their light reflecting off the faces of the operators and consultants.

Within moments, the entire room fell into stunned silence, mouths agape, eyes wide.

What is this... what is this!?

Through the drone footage, they saw a figure—humanoid in form, with a mechanical structure of steel and iron. The figure descended from the sky and plunged into the armed base, moving with lethal precision. It fought off anything in its path—obliterating all resistance as if the entire base's weapons and defenses were nothing. Gun emplacements were destroyed, armored vehicles were overturned, and armed militants were rendered defenseless in mere moments.

Siegel's eyes were wide in disbelief.

A robot? An exoskeleton armor suit?

No matter what it was, it was unlike anything they had ever encountered. The figure—a small, humanoid piece of equipment—was equally capable in the air and on the ground. It possessed monstrous firepower that surpassed the entire military base and performed feats of aerial agility that left their Bluebird jets in the dust, maneuvering close to the ground as if toying with the enemy. It moved like a specter, disappearing and reappearing with blinding speed, and every time it did, destruction followed.

It was utterly unscientific—defying all understanding of modern military technology. The precision of its attacks, the sheer force it displayed, and the seamless transitions between aerial and ground combat were beyond anything they'd ever studied.

Siegel stared at the footage, his eyes unfocused, his mind reeling. He turned to the two consultants from the Ninth Special Service Division, seeking some form of explanation.

His gaze seemed to ask, Is this kind of thing common in your operations?

Although Minister Dr. Richard was seeing Iron Man for the first time, he was visibly shocked. Yet, having been through many astonishing encounters during his career, he was quick to recover. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep breath, as though accustomed to the unexpected.

With a wave of his hand, Dr. Richard signaled Siegel to stay calm.

You'll have to get used to it, his expression seemed to say. There will be more of this sort of thing in the future...

(end of chapter)

[TL Note - At this rate, I give up on understanding the organizations. My rating for this fic has dropped from 3.4 -> 2.9

CIA was Dubbed the ICU. I changed it to CIA, but I'm honestly not even sure if that's the right organization, so ya, I give up.]