The eastern wing of Rhine Lab lay in ruins, a jagged wound against Columbia's skyline, its noble districts still ensnared in a relentless lockdown.
The command team had shifted to a fortified conference hall in the city's administrative core—a blunt, concrete stronghold with reinforced windows and a stark table now ringed by exhausted figures.
The air crackled with urgency as Kristen Wright stood at its head, her silvery-gold hair streaked with dust, her piercing gaze locked on the holographic maps pulsing with red zones.
Saria rested a hand on the table, her crystalline aura muted, her voice steady but grim.
"We've got the perimeter locked down—crows are contained for now, but we're still sweeping the districts. The next step is securing the roosts; we can't let them regroup. The strike team's ready to move."
Ferdinand Clooney snorted, his arms crossed tightly.
"Secure the roosts? We're still picking up the pieces from that breach—fifty-seven dead, and the nobles are screaming louder than ever. What's left is finding Hamelin—end this at the source before he hits us again."
Muelsyse tapped her pen against her notes, her tone calm but taut.
"We're working on that, but the pathogen's our bottleneck. Bioengineering's decoding it—slowly. It's selective, Originium-driven, and we've got a theory on reversing it: neutralise the trigger binding it to the nobles' systems."
"We're testing serums, but progress is crawling—samples are degrading too fast post-exposure."
Kristen's voice cut through, firm and resolute.
"Priorities haven't changed—contain, decode, hunt. Saria, how long until the roosts are cleared?"
"Forty-eight hours, tops," Saria replied, her jaw set.
"Ptilopsis and Silence are prepping now—drones and Arts synced. We'll burn out what's left, but we need DoD backup to cover the gaps."
Colonel Harwood, the Department of Defence officer, leaned forward, his voice clipped.
"We're stretched—artillery's active, drones are mapping crow patterns, but ammo's running low."
"Healing the nobles isn't our lane; we're focused on keeping this from spilling out. Next move's reinforcing the cordon—double the hazmat units."
Dr Evelyn Marr gripped her tablet, her words rushed.
"The medical board's got the nobles isolated—seventy-one critical, forty-two staff infected."
"We're trialling Muelsyse's serums—early results slow the lesions, but reversal's nowhere in sight. What's left is scaling production; we're burning through resources just to keep them breathing."
The Maylander envoy adjusted his glasses, his tone brisk.
"Association's holding the line—media's calling it an 'outbreak anomaly', no leaks on Hamelin yet. Public's antsy, though; we're doubling agents to stifle rumours. The next step's a curfew if panic spikes."
Kristen nodded, her gaze unwavering.
"Then it's set: clear the roosts, push the serum research, tighten the lockdown. We reconvene here tomorrow—same time, no delays. Out."
The room cleared, voices trailing into the corridor, leaving Kristen alone in the concrete hush, the strain of their words throbbing in her skull.
She sank into a chair, a dull ache swelling behind her eyes—a headache carved from fatigue and pressure.
She closed them, seeking a moment's calm, her breath easing as the world blurred.
When she opened them, the bunker was gone, replaced by a boundless void—darkness unfurling endlessly, a silent chasm that devoured all sense.
Her pulse quickened, but her body stayed rooted, bound by an unseen grip.
A faint light flickered ahead, growing into a soft glow.
There, seated on a plain stool some distance off, was a figure—cloaked in a long, blue overcoat, its edges swaying in an absent breeze.
It held a cigar, a thin wisp of smoke curling upward, vanishing into the gloom.
Most striking was its headless form; where a head should have rested, black smoke billowed from the neck, swirling in restless tendrils.
Kristen's breath hitched, her mind honing despite her stillness.
The figure spoke, its voice deep and resonant, edged with odd warmth.
"Pardon the dramatic venue," it said, gesturing with the cigar.
"Not the cosiest spot for a chat, I'll concede."
"Where am I?" Kristen demanded, her tone sharp against the quiet.
"Your mind realm", it replied, the smoke shifting as if in a nod.
"A borrowed nook of your thoughts, just for us."
Her eyes narrowed, suspicion hardening her words.
"Are you the one behind Hamelin?"
A low chuckle rumbled forth, like distant thunder.
"Indeed. He's my hand, my voice in your world. I guide his crows, his judgement—his every move."
Kristen's jaw clenched, her voice slicing through.
"Then you're the root of this—nobles rotting, my people dead. Why now? What's your vendetta with Columbia?"
The figure leaned forward, its smoke swirling faster, its tone turning accusatory.
"I know you, Kristen Wright—every vision, every triumph, every buried doubt. Control of Rhine Lab, master of reckless ambition."
"Your experiments with diabolic cells—endless sacrifices for the sake of government weapons—provided the nobles with tools to tighten their grip, and you allowed them to corrupt Rhine Lab to their liking.
"They've bled this land dry while giving false dreams of equality , made lives wretched, and you stood by, dreaming of the distant sky while Columbia crumbled from the inside."
"What was long overdue—a reckoning for those who hastened its end—has been delivered by Hamelin."
She groped for a response, her mind wrestling with the charge, but silence seized her—a hollow where certainty should have stood.
Why hadn't she stopped them? The question gnawed, unanswered.
"Perhaps", the figure mused, rising from its stool,
"You lack the spark to find the true path."
It approached, its overcoat trailing shadows, the cigar's ember glowing faintly.
Kristen strained against her bonds, her body locked as the figure drew near.
"The nobles will fall, no matter how Rhine Lab claws at Hamelin's work. Their doom is sealed."
It loomed before her, the smoke from its neck curling around her, its voice a piercing whisper.
"I'll strip you of your dreams, Kristen—who dwells only in the future—and bind you to the present."
"With the nobles shattered, the mantle's yours. Take it; steer Columbia to the course it should have followed—a land purged of rot, not drowning in it."
Her eyes flared, defiance surging as she fought.
"And if I defy you?"
The smoke pulsed, its tone darkening.
"Fail, and the sky will be lost to you forever—trapped here, a dreamer without flight."
It turned, the cigar's light fading as it strode into the void.
"Lead, or fade—I'll always be a reminder."
Kristen battled harder, her will clashing against the restraints, her breath ragged as the darkness pressed in.
The figure vanished, the light snuffed out, and with a gasp, she awoke—back in the bunker, her hands gripping the table, sweat slick on her brow.
Her headache pulsed, but her mind burnt with the figure's words, a challenge she couldn't shake.
Beyond the concrete walls, the crows' faint cries lingered, a persistent echo of the burden now hers alone.
***
Kristen Wright rose from the chair in the concrete conference hall, her movements slow as the echo of the headless figure's words reverberated in her mind.
She stepped toward the corridor, intent on finding the others, her thoughts drifting briefly to her dreams—towering ambitions born in the shadow of her parents' legacy, a sky she'd chased since childhood.
What did they see in me? she wondered, a flicker of doubt brushing against her resolve.
Before she could dwell further, a sharp jolt of pain lanced through her body—electric, searing, as if her nerves had ignited.
Her legs buckled, and she tumbled to the floor, the cold concrete rushing up as consciousness slipped away.
When her eyes fluttered open, she lay in a hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic stinging her nose.
White walls and beeping monitors surrounded her, a stark contrast to the void of her mind realm.
Her limbs ached, heavy with a lingering tremor, and as she shifted, the figure's warning crashed back:
"Fail, and the sky will be lost to you forever."
The horror sank in—her body, her will, teetering on the edge of collapse under Hamelin's curse.
She clenched her fist, nails biting into her palm, her eyes dimming, the vibrant clarity of sanity fraying at the edges.
The door creaked open, and Saria stepped in, her towering frame softened by concern.
"You're awake," she said, her voice steady but laced with worry.
"We found you out cold—the medics said it was exhaustion, maybe worse. Glad you're still with us."
Kristen forced a faint smile, her tone measured despite the storm within.
"It's fine, Saria—just stress catching up. I'll manage."
She waved a hand, dismissing the weight of her collapse.
Saria nodded, her crystalline aura flickering faintly. "Alright, but rest up. Don't stress yourself too much."
She lingered a moment, then turned, leaving Kristen to the quiet hum of the room.
Moments later, the door opened again, and Muelsyse slipped in, her delicate features taut with unease.
Kristen's gaze sharpened, pinning her colleague as she sat up.
"Muelsyse," she said, her voice low, insistent.
"The truth—where are we with the treatment?"
Muelsyse hesitated, her hands twisting together, her eyes darting away before settling on Kristen with a scared, reluctant glint.
"I… we've hit a wall," she began, her voice trembling slightly.
"The serums slow the infection—lesions stall, vitals stabilise—but it's temporary. The Originium trigger Hamelin used… It's fused too deep, rewriting their cells. Long-term healing—it's not possible, not with what we have. They'll linger, suffering, until we find something beyond our current science."
Kristen's fist tightened further, her knuckles whitening as Muelsyse's words sank in.
The nobles—doomed to rot, just as the figure had promised. Her dreams of fixing this, of reclaiming control, flickered like a dying flame.
"Keep pushing," she said, her tone flat, masking the turmoil beneath.
"There has to be a way."
Muelsyse nodded, her expression a mix of pity and fear, then slipped out, leaving Kristen alone with the truth.
Her eyes stared at the ceiling, the hospital's sterile white a mockery of the sky she'd lost, the figure's challenge now a noose tightening around her resolve.
As tears began to stream down her cheeks, she slammed her hand against her thigh.
She shielded her face from the world sight.
She was merely a puppet now.