The WEO briefing room hummed with a quiet, mechanical buzz. Low conversations lingered in the air, each word clipped, as executive Espers filed in. Their expressions were grim, eyes narrowed like they were bracing against something unseen. Fluorescent lights flickered above, casting harsh, sterile rays that did little to mask the cold metallic sheen of the conference table at the center. The room felt stark, suffocating—a space made for decisions, but not for comfort.


    On the walls, monitors blinked to life, flooding the room with vivid images: the smoldering ruins of the shopping district, the grotesque remains of the Cyclops. The scene was a snapshot of the chaos that had unfolded—too real, too close.


    Ms. Carmen stood at the head of the table, her presence slicing through the tension like a blade. Her uniform was impeccable—every crease sharp, every button in place, a testament to her control. She didn’t move, didn’t shift as the agents settled into their chairs. The shuffle of fabric and scraping chairs filled the air, but the sound was faint against the relentless hum of the lights.


    "Settle in," she said, her voice firm but low, not quite a command but something more—a signal that the calm before the storm was over. "We have a lot to cover. Not much time."


    A brief pause. A collective breath. The low murmur of hushed voices died down, leaving only the faint sound of screens clicking, the hum of the air conditioning, the distant echo of footfalls in the hallway.


    With a flick of her wrist, Carmen signaled the next set of images. The footage was grainy at first, then sharp as the rift opened, spilling destruction across the market district. The sight of the chaos was almost mundane at this point—too familiar. Too dangerous.


    "You’ve all seen the footage," Carmen began, her voice clinical as the images unfolded. "The attack was coordinated. The Swarm Carrier and its Brood Warriors? Distractions. Nothing more."


    Another flick of the remote, and the screen snapped to a new image: the Cyclops, its monstrous form twisted and writhing as it shifted, transformed into something unrecognizable. The air in the room seemed to thicken as the creature’s power radiated off the screen, like a tangible weight pressing down on everyone present.


    "This creature isn’t just a casualty," Carmen continued, her tone darkening, the words now edged with something sharper, something colder. "Its evolution... it’s unlike anything we’ve seen before. Three stages of mutation in a matter of hours. This is no organic process. This is being engineered."


    A murmur rippled through the room, disbelief and tension rippling in the air like static. Vanessa, always alert, leaned forward, brow furrowed as she processed the implications. "The mutation rate... it’s off the charts," she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of a conclusion no one wanted to make. "This isn’t natural. Someone’s tampering with it."


    Carmen’s brief nod was all the confirmation anyone needed. "We’ve detected a strange energy signature around the creature. It’s something we’ve never encountered before. Our hypothesis? Someone—*something*—is manipulating its transformation. Someone’s orchestrating this."


    Before anyone could react, a sharp voice sliced through the air. Dry. Suspicious.


    "So, the bugs are back?"


    All eyes turned to the newcomer—a man whose presence in the room was undeniable. His gaze was hard, his posture stiff, the lines of exhaustion cutting deep beneath his sharp features. His words weren’t a question. They were a statement.


    "Vekar’yn," Carmen said, the words falling from her lips like they had weight. The room seemed to hold its breath. Fear flickered in the eyes of the assembled agents, a flicker of recognition—and something deeper—at the mention of that name.


    Lawton, ever the calm center in the chaos, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. The tension in the room seemed to bend around him, not touching him. "If the Vekar’yn are reemerging," he said slowly, his voice a steady anchor amidst the storm of uncertainty, "everything changes. Nothing is as we thought."A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Silence thickened the air. Carmen’s eyes locked on him, her gaze sharp. She let the words linger, their meaning more than clear. "Exactly. The Cyclops? It was a signal. A message. And we need answers. Now."


    Her voice didn’t raise, but it carried more weight than any shout. It was the kind of statement that made the walls of the room feel closer, more confining, as if the very air had grown dense with the implications. Her eyes swept the room, each face a reflection of the weight of her words.


    "We’ll deploy teams immediately," she continued, her tone shifting to one of business, but the edge remained. "Research into the Vekar’yn’s methods is already underway, but we need Espers prepared for anything. If this is part of something larger..." She let the sentence hang, unfinished, like an unspoken promise of something worse lurking in the shadows.


    The meeting adjourned with the soft murmur of agents filling out assignments, a thin veil of action brushing over the lingering tension. Only a few remained—Carmen, Lawton, and Vanessa.


    "Well, that went well," Vanessa remarked dryly, the humor in her voice doing little to mask the strain beneath.


    "Define ''well,''" Carmen muttered, crossing her arms. Her eyes were distant, her gaze narrowed as she stared ahead, her posture rigid, betraying none of the fatigue creeping into her features. "We’re facing forces beyond our control. One wrong move," she said, her words hanging heavy in the air, "and it’s all over."


    Lawton’s voice broke the silence, his tone calm but carrying the weight of experience. "We’ve handled impossible odds before, Carmen. This isn’t the end yet."


    Vanessa’s gaze flicked between them, a brow arched. "With all due respect," she said, her voice cool, "we weren’t facing the Vekar’yn last time."


    Before the words could escalate, the door creaked open, breaking the tension like a thunderclap. The sound of boots clicking against the floor echoed through the room, sharp and deliberate. Ace entered, his towering frame framed by the imposing set of metal wings folded neatly against his back. A smirk played at the edges of his lips, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the room like a predator.


    "Sorry to interrupt," Ace said, his voice smooth but with an underlying current of urgency. "But we need to talk, sis."


    Carmen didn’t glance up. She waved her hand, signaling the others to leave. Lawton nodded silently and exited, Vanessa trailing behind. When the door clicked shut behind them, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The walls seemed to close in, the air growing thick with unspoken tension. Ace’s expression hardened as he turned his gaze toward Carmen.


    "I ran into Asher," he began, his voice low, the words purposeful. "And he’s not here by accident."


    Carmen’s face remained impassive, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of recognition. "And?" Her voice was quiet, yet heavy with meaning.


    Ace’s jaw tightened. "Asher was behind the Brood Warrior attack. And the syndicate—he’s involved with them."


    The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and unyielding. Carmen’s jaw tightened, her face a mask of calm, but her eyes betrayed the growing concern swirling beneath the surface. "The syndicate," she murmured, voice colder now, sharper. "That’s..." She trailed off, the weight of realization sinking in. "Troubling."


    Ace’s gaze was unrelenting. "You don’t get it, Carmen. The syndicate hasn’t moved in years. But now they’re back—and this? It’s bigger than we’re ready for."


    Carmen inhaled sharply, her grip tightening around a mug she hadn’t realized she was holding. "I’ll handle it," she said, her voice clipped, sharp. But even she couldn’t hide the tremor of uncertainty in the underlying tone.


    "Just..." Ace faltered, his usual bravado slipping for a rare moment. "Just be careful, okay? You don’t have to do this alone."


    For the briefest moment, Carmen’s expression softened. A shadow of vulnerability flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before anyone could catch it. She nodded curtly. "I’ll be fine. Now, go. We’re all running out of time."


    ---


    Later, Carmen’s office door creaked open once more. Aiden, his silver hair ruffled by the weight of another mission, stepped inside with practiced ease. His posture shifted, a familiar precision to his movements as his eyes locked onto Carmen’s.


    "You needed something?" he asked, his voice steady, almost casual.


    Carmen glanced up from the papers scattered across her desk, her gaze cold yet betraying something warmer than usual. "How’s Rei?" she asked, her voice softening for just a moment.


    Aiden hesitated, his sharp eyes flicking with thought before he nodded. "Rei? Haven’t had much of a chance to judge yet. He’s fine. Why do you care?"


    Carmen’s tone remained steady, though the question lingered in the air like a delicate thread between them. "Because your old friends are back," she said, her voice softening again. "The generation of monsters, was it?"


    She slid a file toward him, the label marked boldly in black: "Wildcard."


    Aiden froze. His body tensed, a name—an old ghost from his past—gripped his throat. "All of them?" he whispered, the words heavy with history.


    Carmen met his gaze unwaveringly. "Of course. They’ve got a squad now—just like you did."


    Aiden didn’t respond immediately, instead flipping through the photographs in silence. The tension between them grew, the quiet stretching between them like a tightrope, until Carmen’s words finally broke the stillness.


    "I look forward to seeing how you five save this world again."


    [End of chapter]