"1, it seems 13 is really here..." 36 murmured, ears catching the blaring sirens echoing through the streets of Taipei.
"Still the same old troublemaker..." 1 replied with a wry smile.
"Quit complaining. Isn't that exactly why we exist—to clean up after him?" 24 tightened their gear, whispering inwardly, Wait for me, 13!
"Pigeon, can't you move any faster?" A blue mech suit hovered slowly toward the rooftop of 101, carrying both Satan and Angel.
"Missy, you and the big guy aren't exactly feathers on a scale! Be grateful we're even airborne!" Pigeon snapped back.
"Pigeon..." Satan called out.
"What?"
"Still sixty-seven floors to go..."
The blue mech almost plummeted from the sky.
Down on the 1st floor, ambulances shuttled back and forth, ferrying away wounded police officers and soldiers scarred by the blast. No one mentioned the "New Black Suits" anymore—none of them had even a flicker of hope left. One glance at the mangled remains of the first floor told the entire story.
"Report the casualties," the police commissioner trembled.
"The explosion radius was limited. Fifty-four frontline officers and soldiers dead. Over two hundred injured, mostly from flying glass shards..." The once-eager detective now wore a mask of dread.
"Goddamn it! Mobilize the counter-terror squad—floor by floor! I want that bastard riddled with no fewer than a hundred bullet holes. One short, and I'll carve the rest out of your hide!" The commissioner slammed his fist against the roof of a patrol car.
"Yes, sir!"
"What's the point of showing up after the explosion…" 13 muttered, stepping into a kitchenware section.
Meanwhile, the counter-terror squad stormed the building. Maybe the earlier explosion had shaken them to their core—because now, they searched with painstaking precision. One hundred and fifty men spent thirty whole minutes combing the fragmented ruins of the first floor. Safety first, they thought. But outside, the commissioner looked like he was about to vaporize in rage.
Grabbing his radio, he bellowed, "What, were you all raised on garbage?! You study every damn brick like it's an ancient artifact! There are still a hundred floors left! Should I pitch a tent out here and grow old waiting for you idiots? Thorough doesn't mean cowardly! One more delay and I'll have you strip naked and crawl out!"
"Easy for you to say! Why don't you come in and search, you fat pig!" a voice cracked back through the radio.
Everyone around bit their lips—but the laughter still slipped out.
"Who said that?! Who just spoke?! Let me find out, and I'll have you cleaning latrines in the countryside!" the commissioner screamed, red-faced.
Despite the chaos, the search accelerated. Partly because two floors had yielded nothing. Partly because reinforcements were flooding in.
By 9:30 a.m., the search unit reached the 7th floor.
"Commissioner, we found an empty bread wrapper in the hallway—likely left behind by the target. Should we bring in forensic experts?"
"I want him dead! Why the hell would I need saliva analysis?! Once he's dead, I'll hand you his whole damn tongue for examination!" The commissioner had never been this furious in his life.
The team leader felt his blood boil—not at 13, but at the commissioner. He was simply following standard procedure. But then again… this target was far from normal. His anger softened slightly.
"Captain, we've found something!" a squad member called.
They gathered at the stairwell to the 8th floor.
"We discovered three gas canisters blocking the passage. Dragged from the nearby kitchen store. Initially assumed it was another bomb, but after thorough checks—no detonation mechanism. We believe the purpose was merely to slow us down. It's likely the target is very close."
"Yes… very close indeed." The radio suddenly crackled to life with 13's voice, sending a shiver down the captain's spine.
"Who—who are you? How did you breach our secure frequency?"
"Not difficult. 'White Tiger' can intercept any signal within a 2,000-meter radius." 13 spoke while munching on a stolen apple.
"Where are you?" The captain immediately regretted asking. What fugitive would reveal their location?
"Right above you. Two floors up," 13 replied nonchalantly.
The captain instinctively looked toward the ceiling.
"Oh, by the way—you said there were no detonation devices? I wonder... do bullets count?" With that, 13 fired three armor-piercing rounds into the floor beneath him. They sliced through two layers of concrete and one thick steel divider. Though poorly aimed, the bullets scraped the gas canisters and lodged in the sixth floor.
The captain screamed into his radio, "You son of a—! If you're that good, then come kill me! I don't believe you can shoot through two floors and still hit your mark!"
"Who said I was aiming at the canisters? Those were just trailblazing shots. Now, to fulfill your wish…" 13 fired three incendiary rounds through the same bullet holes.
In that instant, the captain knew just how wrong he'd been—not for underestimating 13's strength, but for trying to measure it at all.
The police commissioner, radio still in hand, had also heard the explosion…
"Commissioner, report just in—Search Squad One encountered a localized gas explosion on the 7th floor. 27 involved. 20 dead. 6 critically injured. One minor injury. Squad leader… KIA." The detective's voice trembled.
"No matter who you are—I will end you!" The commissioner clenched his radio.
"If only it were that simple…" 13 sat beneath a floor-to-ceiling window on the 9th floor, staring down at the mayhem below.
"I don't have the courage to end myself," he murmured, rising with his COOL-FIRE rifle in hand, aiming downwards. "So please… kill me." He pulled the trigger again.
"Is that so…" The commissioner never finished his sentence. The bullet had already sliced away half his skull.
"Lady Annie…" Chen Bian hung up the on-site call, face pale. "The commissioner has just been killed in action. Since entering Tower 101, we've lost over 400 personnel."
"I don't know what to say…" Chen hesitated. "I fear I no longer have the strength to carry out your vision. As you said, the power he wields is unlike anything we've seen. Even if I sacrifice every man to drive him to the rooftop, by then, the mainland's army will have encircled Taipei. I'm not delusional. I can no longer halt their advance. Your words helped me decide—if needed, I'll sacrifice 101 just to kill him! Please, Lady Annie, have your mech units retreat. I will call in an airstrike to end this."
In that moment, Chen Bian seemed to transform. His eyes no longer held confusion or arrogance—only calm, resolute maturity.
"Mr. President, though your words were clearly theatrical, I must admire your resolve," Annie replied. "Take this as your reward. Pull your people out. Seal only the perimeter. From this point on, the U.S. assumes full control of the operation."
Chen sighed in relief. His impassioned speech had been for Annie's ears. Destroying a $1.7 billion building for one man? No sane person would agree. But Chen had seen through her true intentions—she wanted to use him, not kill him. So he gambled. If he didn't, his troops might not even survive the climb. You can't make the horse run without feeding it.
March 6, 2011 – 10:00 a.m.
The Taipei 101 search squads had fully withdrawn. With the commissioner dead, command fell to a mere 40-year-old brigade commander. Though anxious at first, he soon received orders—stop searching. Just hold the perimeter and await reinforcements.
Sitting in an armored vehicle, the commander was midway through breakfast when he was stunned by what he saw.
Hundreds of U.S. soldiers surged into 101.
"When did America get this many troops in Taiwan?" a hollow-eyed officer mumbled.
"Are you in charge? You're no longer needed. This is a direct order from your president." A Black soldier, fluent in Mandarin, addressed the commander with a crisp salute.
"What unit are you?" The commander's pride demanded answers.
"We're mercenaries. Soldiers without a nation." The man's uniform said U.S. Marine Corps, a gleaming dog tag swaying at his chest as he led identically clad troops inside.
"Mercenaries, huh…" The commander said aloud but cursed silently, You think I'm an idiot?
"Is the U.S. taking matters into its own hands now?" 13 tightened his helmet. "Still no sign of their mech?"
The legendary mercenaries—one thousand strong—swept into the 8th floor in perfect formation. The Black soldier stood before them.
"Gentlemen, this mission carries no official recognition. If you die, there'll be no flag, no burial in your homeland. But what we do today will shape the future of our nation. Even in death, you'll have made the ultimate sacrifice."
"They're not charging? What's going on?" 13 aimed his rifle at the corridor exits, each booby-trapped with a high-explosive charge.
"Guns up!" From below, he heard the telltale whir of a Gatling gun spooling up.
"Indiscriminate fire," 13 muttered, swapping to his sniper rifle and leaping onto his skateboard. Steel-core bullets ripped through the floor toward the 9th floor. Even his TITAN-grade board nearly took flight. If it weren't for the reinforced sub-structure, the floor might've collapsed.
Pfft. One soldier took a round to the head.
Pfft. A second fell.
"Cease fire!" the Black soldier roared.
Seizing the opening, 13 darted for the corridor.
"Now, move to the 9th floor. He must've escaped to the 10th. Repeat the same attack. If anyone dies—halt the assault. Understood?"
"Understood!"
"Trying to herd me to the rooftop?" Silence fell. The Black soldier spun around—13 stood right before him.
"Where's your mech?" he asked coldly.
The soldier froze. Annie's plan raced through his mind. Nowhere did it predict the target would confront American forces directly.
"I asked you a question…" 13 raised his COOL-FIRE to the man's temple. The others snapped out of their daze, Gatling guns locking on him. One volley would turn everything but his armored parts into pulp.
"Yes. Our invincible warrior is waiting—just to scare you, coward, into going up."
"All of them?"
"Yes. You'll soon know what it means to live in agony." The soldier lunged for his sidearm—but 13's bullet was faster.
"I already do."
The soldiers opened fire—but the Gatling's fatal flaw revealed itself: a two-second spin-up. And in those seconds, they watched him vanish into the emergency stairwell.
Just as they gave chase—explosions rocked the exits. 13 had triggered the high-explosives and cut power to all 33 elevators.
Riding the last one, he sped to the rooftop at 60 km/h.
"It's almost over."
Inside the elevator, 13 instinctively reached for the SEED hidden beneath his right gauntlet.