Not Your Typical Live-In Son-In-Law のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

The transmission cut out at 02:03.No flare of static. No distorted scream. Just a clean silence. One second they were live, the next… gone.Team Sigma, Lancaster reconnaissance unit, had been dispatched to a suspected Unwritten relay buried beneath the ruins of Old Lisbon — a fractured sprawl of collapsed stone, rusted steel, and sunken metro veins. What used to be a city was now a graveyard of half-recovered history and digital ghosts.They were meant to scout, scan, and report.They had encrypted channels. Physical redundancies. Patterned fallback protocols.None were activated.Charlotte stood at the operations deck in the main compound. The interface’s gray glow made her skin look pale and unfinished. Sophie was typing furiously, fingers fluttering over half-coded trace commands.“They didn't trip a panic beacon,” she muttered. “Which means either they never had the chance…”“…or they were disarmed before it mattered,” Charlotte finished.Elias, across the room, was stone still.

The compound’s med bay was quiet at 03:17, save for the soft hiss of the oxygen regulator and the rhythmic click of biometric monitors. Jonas Vey hadn’t moved in hours. His vitals were stable. His hands were still. His eyes closed, breath shallow and even.At least until the camera feed blinked.A second of static.A flicker on Monitor 3.Then Jonas sat up — not slowly, not groggily, but with purpose. His eyes opened wide. Focused.His right hand reached for the floor.No alarm triggered.But in the control room, Shade noticed the change.“Eyes on Med-A,” she said, voice low.Sophie leaned in beside her. “What’s he doing?”The camera feed zoomed in.Jonas, crouched now, was dragging something sharp across the smooth metal flooring.A piece of glass — small, curved, possibly from a shattered data casing near the intake unit.He was carving.Letters.A name.Charlotte’s name.But not the name anyone used.Not the one she gave the world.Not the military designation on her record, or the

The security footage began with a man standing at the compound’s eastern gate.Alone.No weapons. No armor. Just a long wool coat, hands tucked into the pockets, head bowed slightly as if he were waiting for a bus.The timestamp read 06:47.By 06:49, every alert system had tripped.At 06:51, Charlotte was awake, armed, and standing in the security hub staring at the screen with her pulse hammering in her throat.Because the man on the screen wasn’t a stranger.It was Lieutenant Caleb Rowe.Dead for three years.Julian walked into the room like a thundercloud in human form.“That’s not possible,” he said immediately.Sophie pulled up biometric overlays. “It’s not just possible. It’s perfect. Voice print, retina, bone density—it’s all him.”Robert stared silently at the image on the screen, then muttered, “He died in the Redfall breach. There was a funeral. I was there.”“Apparently,” Elias said, stepping into the room, “someone else was too.”Charlotte didn’t speak.Her fingers tapped

Charlotte did not sleep.She sat in the observation alcove above the mirror vault while the compound cycled through its artificial night, lights dimming in measured phases, systems whispering to themselves beneath the floor. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It felt monitored, as if even the absence of sound had been approved by something older than her.On the lower level, the vault waited.The mirror interface was dormant now, its surface dark and opaque, but Charlotte could still feel it — not as a pull, not as temptation, but as recognition. Like a locked room that already knew her footsteps.Elias stood a few meters behind her, leaning against the rail. He hadn’t said a word in nearly an hour. Neither had she.Below them, Sophie’s analysis scrolled silently across a secondary screen. Lines of neural resonance data cascaded in pale blue columns, each one terminating in the same result.MATCH CONFIRMED.Again.And again.And again.Finally, Charlotte broke the silence.“Say it.”Elias d

The Jakarta site didn’t appear on any official registry.Not under Tessellate, not under Malcolm’s aliases, not under any international contractor Charlotte’s team had tagged in the last six years.That was the first red flag.The second was the satellite footage: four square kilometers of industrial concrete, rooftop solar banks, and vertical ventilation columns that didn’t match the interior schematic layouts. The space within the facility was too large compared to its outer design — like someone had printed a real building over a false shell.And the third red flag?None of the internal AI responded to external pings.None.Which meant someone inside had told them not to.Julian stood over the table in the command suite, arms folded, jaw clenched.“They’re not hiding this place,” he said. “They’re daring us to come.”Elias nodded. “And they know we will.”Sophie scrolled through Lena Marsh’s recovered helmet feed. Every frame was a grainy nightmare. The reflections moved like real