Project Necro is an official initiative by Re:Library.

Paula hurried to the window and whispered,

“Hank! Are you okay? I thought they locked you up?”
*“They do. They took everything off me during the search. But they didn’t do an X-ray scan. See, I’ve got a microchip embedded in my finger. It’s a body-heat-powered conductive polymer from MIT, paired with Japanese-made carbon nanotube circuitry, and—”*
“What? What did you just say?”
*“…Basically, I hid a drone controller in my body that doesn’t set off metal detectors. The battery’s tiny, so it took forever to fly this thing all the way from my house.”*
“That’s incredible!”

Paula was amazed.

No, “incredible” didn’t even begin to cover it. This was some next-level stuff—borderline spy-thriller tech. Hank, are you secretly a genius super-engineer or something?

I elbowed Shiori, who was sitting beside me, grinning as she intercepted the drone’s comms feed.

“This kid’s gotta have, what, like a 300 IQ?”
“I can hardly believe it. You can buy all the parts online. Hook them up right, write some simple code, and even a high schooler could make a gadget like this.”
“High schoolers these days are insane!”

Ah, youth. The way they mesh with cutting-edge tech is on another level.
In comparison, I’m a brain-dead old man who can only brute force things with psychokinesis. I’d never be able to do that.

“Honestly, I was surprised too. I only had to give him a brief lecture.”

Ohhh, so she did coach him. Makes sense now. For a second there, I thought every American high school tech geek could do this.

“And the key? How’d you get that?”
*“That’s the weird part. I woke up this morning holding it, with a note that said, Use this to open Paula Port’s cell. There was also a mic, wireless earpiece, and mini display hidden in my pillow. I think we have a helper out there.”*
“R-Really? But who…?”

Shiori was already gleefully editing the comms audio into a highlight clip.
Man, playing the mysterious benefactor must be fun.

*“No clue. I’ve got my suspicions, but… never mind that. Paula, grab the key dangling from this drone. It should open your cell. Hurry up—the battery’s about dead.”*
“But even if I get out…”

Paula hesitated, even with freedom dangling in front of her.
Escape would make her a fugitive. Running would be proof of guilt, adding escape charges to her record. The cops would chase her. Civilians would be alerted to watch for her.

Forget helping people—she’d be living like a shadow, avoiding the eyes of the police and the public.
Well, that’s not exactly the Hero vibe that Paula is aiming for. More like a Villain, if anything.

Hank tried to convince her.

*“Hey, you realize how abolishing slavery was considered a crime back then, right? Screw the cops. Screw public opinion. Keep shouting, keep fighting. Say ‘This is wrong!’ and resist! I don’t wanna see you curled up here, beaten down and giving up. Come on, Paula. Stand up. Fight. Like you did when you saved me. Please.”*
“…”

Paula clenched her pudgy fists.

*“You’re New York’s friendly neighborhood Paula, right? Go knock down those so-called good guys. I’ll help you.”*

Paula stretched up, grabbed the dangling key, and took it. What a touching scene…

But let’s be real—if Shiori hadn’t been secretly tipping the scales, Paula and Hank would’ve been completely screwed. Reality isn’t so kind.
“Justice always wins”? Please. Evil’s winning right now. Not that I’d ever let this story end in a bad ending; I’d fight God for it myself.

Now then.
The keyhole was designed to be out of reach from inside the cell, but she’s not an esper for nothing. Paula manifested her doppelgänger outside, tossed the key over, and unlocked the door. Easy.
Now, let’s see how she planned to handle the escape.

First obstacle: the guard. He froze when the pink-haired magical girl appeared in the hallway, freeing Paula from her cell.
Can’t blame him. A rescuer materializing out of thin air makes no sense.

When Paula approached, he instinctively reached for his radio.

“Let me through, or I’ll force my way through.”
“…Just doing my job.”

Paula and her doppelgänger both drew back their fists—but then paused, eyebrows raised, as the guard slowly raised his hands and stepped aside.

“But, that job was my job too. I remember you, girl. I gave a crime-prevention lecture at your school, Darres High. You were the only kid who actually listened. While everyone else grabbed candy and left, you bought me a canned coffee. I remember that well.”
“…Mr. Smith? The one who came last fall?”

The guard smiled.
Sure looked like a lucky coincidence, even though it wasn’t.
Paula had been helping people all over New York. After that many acts of kindness, the odds of someone she’d shown compassion to returning the favor were naturally higher.
Even taking that into account though, this was rare all the same. The guy’s supposed to be on St. Guardian’s roll call, who would have thought that he’d be touched by such a small gesture.

On paper, turning on your boss over a can of coffee was completely irrational.
I guess that just shows that Paula’s genuine kindness resonates with a lot of people.
Damn, I’m getting teary-eyed.

“Can I ask your name?
“I’m Paula Port. This is Bouncer.”
“Pleasure.”

Bouncer said smoothly with beautiful ventriloquism—nothing like Paula’s nasal voice—and bowed gracefully.

“I don’t know much about what’s going on, but I trust you, kid. Right now, I’m not Roger Smith the Prison Guard. I’m just Roger, the guy you were kind to. You’ve got something to do, don’t you? Go see that through.”
“Yeah. Tonight, it ends. All of it.”.
“Sounds like something a hero would say.”

Roger laughed, Paula grinned, and they bumped fists.

With her head high, Paula walked out of the prison, vanishing into the night.
Roger watched her go, smiling. Then he turned serious, picked up his radio, and said:

“Grandmaster. Paula Port has just escaped her cell with Bouncer.”

Ah.
There it is—the lightning-fast heel turn.
Dirty, dirty adults. Letting her pass because she’d break through anyway, so might as well save his own skin from a beating, please the dangerous kid, and then curry favor with his superior St. Germain once she’s out of sight. I get your kind. Gah! Coward!

“She’s fleeing New York. Seems she’s heading to relatives in California.”

……
Oops. My bad.
My mental whiplash from all these heel-turns is breaking my neck.
A prison guard who abandoned his duty, betrayed his superior, and helped the hero to achieve their goal is, also, a hero in his own right.
Roger, you absolute legend. Be proud of yourself.

That night, John St. Germain—former biotech professor, Raincoat Inc. executive, and Grandmaster of the Lunar Wisdom Society—was relaxing on the top floor of the Raincoat HQ skyscraper, overlooking New York’s glittering skyline. Beside him, Hank Snart stood pale-faced, his hands wrapped in blood-stained bandages hidden behind his back.
Upon receiving word that Maisie Port had been “abducted” by a pink-haired magical girl, St. Germain calmly discarded the scenario he considered most likely would happen and shifted to contingency plan B. He also told his subordinates that he believed Roger Smith had betrayed them (through no means of mind manipulation, he said, as brainwashing is not part of Paula’s abilities, and suppose she does have a comrade with such abilities, they wouldn’t use it given Paula’s own personality), and so he “expected” his men to “appropriately deal with” Roger Smith.

St. Germain’s plans weren’t fragile enough to collapse from a single false report. Even with Maisie taken and some staff redirected, nothing had truly changed. His scenario still guaranteed Paula’s eventual submission.
Assuming the Time Lady and the Invisible Titan didn’t intervene, that is.

The two mysterious beings with godlike powers had been showing their subtle support from time to time. Not only did they personally meet Paula, they armed Hank with machinery that helped him get contact with the outside world.
While their ultimate goal was still beyond St. Germain, it was easy to assume that, in the short term, they were pushing Paula Port to grow. They seemed to be guiding her to overcome various challenges, gaining strength physically and mentally. The whole thing might have been a game to them, but there was no doubt about it.
John St. Germain was fully aware of his own role in all of this. He was nothing more than a stepping stone in Paula’s Hero’s Journey.

Still, he would fight. As he danced in the palm of these gods, he would observe them, study them, and find a way to seize their power for himself.
Even with all the godly powers they wield, they were h̲o̲m̲o̲ sapiens—and as long as they’re humans, they are bound to have flaws.

In framing Paula Port, St. Germain was walking a very thin line. He had taken every possible measure to minimize the risk, but it was a dangerous gamble all the same.
It was unclear how far Time Lady and Invincible Titan would tolerate his little secret operations. Asking them the clear limitations would be nothing short of foolish. The more he asked them questions, the more he’d reveal his ultimate plan to them. Therefore he would estimate those limits himself and launch his attacks to the extent that may displease the gods, but not enough for them to intervene and judge him for them.

And what he was about to do, though pushing it, was still within those limits.
Just as Paula arrived at the intersection in front of the Raincoat HQ, St. Germain made a phone call.
Moments later, a large truck ran a red light and crashed into the intersection. Another semi-trailer from the opposite direction couldn’t swerve in time and collided with the first. Other cars ended up crashing into them, and the accident quickly escalated into a major pile-up. One vehicle was thrown off and skidded, crashing into the lobby of the headquarters building, setting off a loud alarm.

St. Germain raised his binoculars. Paula was already out there, sending Bouncer to pull victims from the wreckage.
Time Lady and Invincible Titan had prohibited permanent damage to their person of interest, but they never said anything about anyone other than said person of interest. All those who were involved in the accident were beloved members of the Lunar Wisdom. They would gladly become the foundation for the development of the USA.

“Look, your friend is quite the woman.”

St. Germain tried to hand Hank his binoculars, but Hank, having just undergone a finger incision and removal surgery, drops them, groaning in pain with tears welling in his eyes.
At that, St. Germain sincerely apologized

“Ah, forgive me. Are you sure you don’t want painkillers?”
“…heck no!”

The young man was so stubborn, it invited a smile to St. Germain’s face. He seemed wary of poison. There were countless ways to administer poison even without disguising it as painkillers, but it seemed the boy hadn’t thought that far just yet.

Paula Port’s escape had been reported to the NYPD. They were hot on her trail. She’d be stuck rescuing others while they catch up to her. She’s on borrowed time. They’d throw her into a more secure jail next, she wouldn’t have any means to escape. The more she tried to get away from St. Germain’s claws, the more serious her crimes become.
St. Germain had absolute faith that Paul would never turn a blind eye to a citizen in danger.
And that’s precisely why she would never reach him.
Police would arrive and capture her while she is delayed saving others—and that’s how Paula would always be defeated without ever facing St. Germain in person.
Eventually she will break, and her sacrifice will become key to unlocking the secret of psychic powers.

If he could learn the secrets of the gods and forge a god-killing weapon, it would be a power that would make the proud Stars and Stripes of the United States even greater and eternal.
Spreading psychic powers to the world might put St. Germain in a serious sanction—like Prometheus, tormented by the gods for giving the gift of fire to humanity.
St. Germain wouldn’t ask for less.

The pile-up escalated into vehicle fire, with police vehicles, fire trucks, and ambulances rushed to the scene, and the area seemed to have been sealed off to keep out onlookers.
Peering through his binoculars once more, he saw Bouncer, engulfed in flames, managed to lift a vehicle and rescue a child trapped underneath. With a forced smile on her face, she called out something to him
What a remarkable deed. An act worthy of the title Hero—
But then, a question rose in St. Germain’s mind

Where’s Paula?
She isn’t on the scene.

The answer came bursting from behind him.
As the sound of the automatic doors at the entrance of the observation deck being banged hard repeated, eventually the plastic door was smashed open with a fire axe, and a scorched, wheezing Paula stormed in.

“Hank! I’m here!”
“Paula!”
“…Well. Color me amazed.”

St. Germain muttered, genuinely surprised.
The flexibility to save civilians, defeat the mastermind, and save her friend at the same time—
To achieve that, she left Bouncer at the scene of the traffic accident, while she herself climbed the building to find St. Germain.

That was a simple plan in theory, but putting it in practice was a different matter altogether.
St. Germain had determined that any damage Bouncer suffered would be reflected back to Paula. In fact, the burns Bouncer received while working in the fire and the damage from the heated smoke were visibly seen on the burns and the difficulty in breathing Paula showed.
And she still climbed to the top floor of this building—all to save everyone.
No stubbornness nor strength of will could achieve that level of forbearance.

She must have weighed the soul of her dear friend and the souls of dozens of strangers and chose to save both, quickly came up with a plan, and accomplished said plan despite enduring pain that would make even the most masculine men writhe in agony.
In St. Germain’s eyes, this was an act worthy of the highest praise.
What is she if not a Superhero straight out of the pages of comic books?

St. Germain was a man who had met countless people. Many were good people, numerous still were hypocrites. And yet he had never met one as heroic as Paula Port.

“Alas, I carry my gun for self-protection.”

With an uncharacteristically good mood, St. Germain aimed his gun at Paula, her burns worsening still. He had wanted to sound more collected, and yet the joy that spilled out of his words betrayed him.
A wounded hero facing off a smiling villain at the top of a skyscraper in the dead of night—come to think of it, wasn’t this quite the cinematic scene?

“Bouncer is operating separately, and there’s nothing you can do by yourself. Even if you summon Bouncer here and beat me up, nothing will change. It will just be another assault charge in your ever growing files. Besides, look at the state of your friend.”

As Hank tried to distance himself and run away, St. Germain knocked him out cold without sparing him a glance.

“…somebody needs to teach you how pain feels.”
“And you think I’ve never experienced pain before? Only barbarian savages think they can get their way through inflicting pain on others. See, I’m a civilized man. I can negotiate with you and offer benefits.”

St. Germain fiddled with his tablet and tossed it at Paula, his gun still pointing at her. Paula didn’t take it, but she did see the video that appeared on the device on the floor—a security footage from a lab somewhere, showing Uncle Benjamin inside a capsule, covered in frost.

“ …you!”
“Amongst the many psychic powers, Healing is one of them. Work with me, and I promise I will secure the ability to resuscitate Benjamin, bringing him back to life. What do you say?”
“…”

Paula fell silent.
St. Germain cracked a smile, waiting for her answer.
And the first to spring into action was Hank, freshly awoken, and clung to St. Germain’s leg.

“Paula!!!”

Paula charged forward. St. Germain shot his gun, but due to the awkward stance, the bullet missed.
Her 100 kg mass, added with the momentum of her running start, carried her weight into St. Germain’s face with a heavy riposte.

That single move decided the battle instantly. St. Germain laid face-down, pinned and unable to move beneath Paula. He was by no means young, nor was he particularly well-trained.
Immobilized by her, and yet St. Germain showed no signs of worry.

“Hah, so justice always prevails, huh? But don’t forget—evil wins before and after. What’s your next plan? Good job, you must feel real proud tackling me down. Now what? None of Raincorp Inc.’s lawsuits against you are going anywhere. Scour this building all you want for evidence—without a warrant, it’s all inadmissible. Nothing you do will make a sliver of difference. Just because the villain’s down doesn’t mean you get your happy ending. That’s reality, youngsters—”
“Geez, man, you talk longer than our principal.”

Hank secured the pistol St. Germain dropped, then nudged the man with his toe.
Paula shrugged. Now that the rescue operation down there was concluding, she summoned Bouncer back to her side.

Then, as Bouncer took the form of St. Germain, in St. Germain’s own voice, it answered for Paula.

“Being in jail gave me a lot of time for visual training. Thanks for showing me the ropes, I learned a lot. Now I know exactly what I can do with this, I’m sure you do too.”

Seeing his own face smirking at him, St. Germain was taken aback for a moment, before he realized he had started bursting into laughter.
His face was badly hurt where he had been smacked, but he couldn’t stop laughing so hard that even the pain felt exhilarating.
John St. Germain laughed so hard he was out of breath, before finally going limp.

“You got me, Paula Port. Without a doubt, you’re the winner of this round.”

The next day, Raincoat Inc. senior executive John St. Germain held a press conference.
Reporters expected him to address the pile-up that had occurred in front of the company headquarters the previous night. Instead, he spent three hours blowing the whistle on Raincoat Inc. and the Lunar Wisdom Society, exposing their monstrous crimes in meticulous detail.
He read off a full report book with clinical precision. As soon as he left the conference, a warrant was issued, and he was promptly arrested. In stark contrast to his verbosity at the podium, St. Germain was completely silent after his arrest, showing only an enigmatic smile as he let his lawyers speak for him.
During trial preparations, however, he broke that silence with a single line directed at the gathered reporters.
It wasn’t quite a declaration, they said, but a message—one clearly meant for someone unknown.
And those words were:

“I’ll be back.”