From his precarious vantage point in the ventilation duct, Lâm Minh observed the vast chamber below with a chilling intensity.
The active geothermal core pulsed with a deep, rhythmic hum, its intricate machinery glowing with contained power.
The air itself seemed to thrum with energy.
But it was the figures moving around the core that held his horrified attention.
There were at least a dozen of them, clad in those bulky, grey HEV suits.
Their movements were indeed jerky, yet precise, lacking the natural fluidity of humans or even the predatory grace of Madakaros warriors.
As one turned, its faceplate caught the light, and Lâm Minh's multi-spectrum goggles zoomed in.
Behind the thick, reinforced visor, there was no human face.
Instead, he saw a complex array of optical sensors, glowing with a faint, internal light, set into a metallic, vaguely humanoid head.
Wires and small conduits snaked from the back of their heads into the suits.
Bio-mechanical constructs, Lâm Minh realized with a jolt.
Or heavily augmented, cybernetic thralls.
Their auras were a bizarre fusion of weak, artificial Qi and complex electronic signatures.
They were tools, puppets, carrying out tasks with tireless, programmed efficiency.
But who had created them?
And for what ultimate purpose?
They weren't manufacturing Crimson Dream, not here, not visibly.
They seemed to be performing maintenance on the geothermal core, or perhaps modifying it, rerouting power conduits, and installing strange, unfamiliar devices onto its surface – devices that hummed with a dissonant energy that made his Qi Sense tingle unpleasantly.
His gaze kept returning to the cloaked figure on the raised platform.
The figure remained largely motionless, observing the servitors' work with an unnerving stillness.
The oppressive, void-like aura it exuded was a constant pressure, even at this distance, making Lâm Minh feel small and vulnerable despite his Foundation Establishment strength.
He couldn't discern any features beneath the heavy cloak and hood, only a profound sense of alien intelligence and immense, restrained power.
This was undoubtedly his target, the entity Commander Trinh wanted found, the suspected Maka Legion agent.
Lâm Minh knew he couldn't stay in the vent indefinitely.
He needed more information, a closer look.
But descending into that chamber with the cloaked figure present was tantamount to suicide.
He scanned the periphery of the vast room, looking for any other access points, any offices or control rooms that might offer clues.
His Qi Sense picked up a faint trail of the cloaked figure's unique, void-like aura leading away from the platform, towards a heavily reinforced doorway on the far side of the chamber.
It seemed the figure didn't spend all its time here.
This was a potential opportunity.
He needed to find another way down, away from the main chamber.
He carefully retreated back through the ventilation duct, his mind racing.
The presence of these advanced servitors and the active geothermal core painted a terrifying picture.
This wasn't just a drug operation; it was a sophisticated, clandestine alien base hidden deep beneath Hanoi.
After what felt like an eternity of crawling, he found a smaller, secondary duct that branched off, descending at a steeper angle.
His Qi Sense indicated it led towards a series of smaller rooms adjacent to the main geothermal chamber, possibly old research labs or offices, according to the fragmented Sumitomo schematics.
He emerged from this new duct into a small, dust-filled office. Computer consoles, their screens dark and cracked, lined one wall.
Pre-invasion research notes, now yellowed and brittle, were scattered across a desk.
But there was something else here, something new.
A faint, lingering trace of the cloaked figure's aura, and a subtle, sweet-sickly scent that he instantly recognized – Crimson Dream.
Not the raw, chaotic energy of the drug itself, but the refined, almost perfumed scent of its recent presence, or perhaps, its components.
He was on the right track.
He moved cautiously through a series of interconnected labs and storage rooms.
Many were ransacked, looted long ago by scavengers from the upper levels.
But some deeper, more secure areas showed signs of recent activity.
He found discarded containers bearing the XR-7734 identifier, some still holding traces of viscous, unidentifiable chemicals.
He found strange, alien-looking tools, their purpose unclear.
Then, he found the "altar."
It was in a circular, domed chamber that the schematics had labeled "Bio-Organic Containment Lab – Level Gamma." The original equipment had been ripped out.
In its place, a new, horrifying structure had been erected.
At the center of the room was a large, obsidian-black platform, roughly waist-high.
Its surface was covered in intricate, glowing red glyphs that pulsed with a malevolent Qi – glyphs that looked disturbingly similar to some of the more esoteric Madakaros script he'd encountered in Trinh's intelligence briefings.
Channels were carved into the platform, all leading to a central, bowl-shaped depression.
And staining those channels, still fresh, was a dark, viscous liquid that reeked powerfully of Crimson Dream and something else… something metallic and sickeningly organic.
Blood.
Human blood.
Lâm Minh felt a wave of nausea and cold fury wash over him.
This wasn't just a manufacturing site.
This was a place of ritual, of sacrifice.
The Crimson Dream, the blood… were they being used in some horrific alchemical process?
Or as offerings?
His Qi Sense detected faint, residual traces of human life-force clinging to the altar, twisted and corrupted by the potent energy of the drug.
He could almost hear their dying screams, feel their terror.
This was where Crimson Dream was being perfected, or perhaps, consecrated.
Around the altar, he saw several large, sealed vats, also bearing the XR-7734 mark.
They hummed with the contained, chaotic energy of the finished drug, ready for distribution.
And stacked nearby were… human bodies.
At least a dozen, pale and lifeless, their expressions frozen in rictus of unimaginable horror.
They looked like the desperate addicts and outcasts who frequented the Rust Market.
Had they been lured here?
Sacrificed?
Their life force, their very blood, used to create or empower this poison?
The sheer, calculated evil of it all struck Lâm Minh with the force of a physical blow.
This wasn't just about destabilizing Hanoi.
This was about something far more depraved, something tied to the darkest aspects of Madakaros sorcery or alien ritualism.
Suddenly, his Qi Sense flared with a warning.
A powerful aura was approaching the chamber, moving quickly.
The cloaked figure.
It was returning.
Lâm Minh had lingered too long.
He had no time to retreat the way he came.
He scanned the chamber desperately.
There was a heavy blast door on the opposite side, presumably leading deeper into the complex, or perhaps to an escape route.
It was his only chance.
He raced towards it, just as the main entrance to the domed chamber began to hiss open.
He reached the blast door.
It had a complex electronic lock, one that would take minutes to bypass even with his tools.
He didn't have minutes.
He had seconds.
He made a split-second decision.
His breaching charge.
It was loud, it would announce his presence to the entire sub-level, but it was his only option.
He slapped the compact charge onto the door's locking mechanism, set the timer for three seconds, and then dived for cover behind one of the large Crimson Dream vats, activating his Shadow Step to its fullest extent, hoping to blend into the deep shadows.
The cloaked figure swept into the chamber just as the timer on the breaching charge hit zero.
BOOM!
The explosion was deafening, ripping the blast door from its hinges and sending a shockwave through the chamber.
Alarms blared from all directions, a cacophony of sirens and synthesized warnings.
Dust and debris rained down.
Through the ringing in his ears, Lâm Minh saw the cloaked figure momentarily recoil from the blast, its shadowy form rippling.
Then, its head snapped towards the ruined doorway, and then, with terrifying speed, towards the very vat Lâm Minh was hiding behind.
Its aura, previously a restrained void, now blazed with an intensity that felt like a physical hammer blow, even against his Foundation Establishment resilience.
It was an overwhelming wave of cold, alien fury and immense, terrifying power.
Lâm Minh knew, with chilling certainty, that he had been sensed.
The hunt was over.
The confrontation had begun.
And he was trapped, deep in the belly of the beast, facing an enemy whose power dwarfed his own by an unimaginable margin.