Chapter 137: Manhattan Crisis - Part 4
The demon's roar shattered the last windows around it.
Its massive form surged to its full height, 130 meters of raw infernal hatred. Flames cracked and hissed along its flesh, runes burning deep into its volcanic skin. In one hand, it summoned a colossal demonic sword, ten stories long, formed from solid black steel and writhing hellfire. Its other hand burned with a red, spiraling sigil, the symbol of demon thaumaturgy.
Lina didn't move.
She stood beneath it, a speck in its shadow, the ground around her trembling with each of its footsteps.
She grinned.
Her bones popped. Her skin twisted. With a sickening sound, her arms split open, reforming into long, gleaming blades of marrow wrapped in living sinew. Her spine lengthened slightly, giving her a more feral, hunched stance. Blood coiled like serpents around her legs, hardening into armor that pulsed with her heartbeat.
A whisper escaped her lips.
"Let's see what Hell tastes like."
The demon struck first.
With a roar that cracked the sky, it swung its greatsword downward in a vertical slash that would have cleaved a city block in two.
But Lina was gone.
She moved like a blur, pure muscle and hate, darting across the rooftop, jumping from building to building. With a leap, she sprang from a lamppost and launched herself toward the demon's arm.
Her twin bone-blades sank deep into its flesh, and she began to climb, slashing, stabbing, twisting.
The demon howled, trying to swat her like an insect. One swipe missed. Another grazed her, ripping off part of her shoulder, which immediately regrew in a mess of writhing tendons and muscle.
Lina reached the top of the creature's forearm and plunged both blades into a glowing rune.
"Let's shut that magic up."
With a flex of her core, her ribs split open from her back like wings, launching a spray of hardened bone javelins into the sigil.
The rune shattered, sending a shock of energy that blew her backward through a window, but the demon's hand now sparked and fizzled with interrupted power.
It screamed in pain, then spat a wave of hellfire across the block.
Flames engulfed streets, melting barricades and reducing entire buildings to slag.
Lina burst from the rubble, her left leg completely gone.
She landed on one arm, flipped upright, and her leg regrew in seconds, coated in armored blood plating. Her right eye glowed crimson, her jaw slightly distended with rows of shark-like teeth.
"My turn."
She raised both hands. Veins in her arms twisted outward, forming tendrils tipped with barbs, and she launched herself onto the demon's chest.
They crashed through an apartment building. Refugees screamed as glass and debris exploded around them. Lina struck again and again, aiming for joints, eyes, burning runes.
The demon grunted and lifted its knee, smashing her midair and sending her into the wall of a school.
Dust and rubble rained down.
But Lina was already pushing up.
She took a deep breath. Her chest split open, revealing a mass of rotating bone spikes. They launched like a rotary cannon, carving through the demon's left thigh, exposing muscle and dark ichor.
The demon screamed and drove its sword into the ground, a massive burst of flame exploded outward, consuming six square blocks.
Lina retracted her armor, focused, and absorbed the flames into her blood furnace, a core of hardened heart tissue she'd grown just for this. She roared, her body briefly igniting in red light, and lunged again.
This time, she went for the throat.
With a leap, she drove both bone-blades into the demon's neck and climbed, spinning and twisting like a Sarkic beast. Every step left trails of cut flesh and splattered gore.
The demon flailed, stumbled, knocked over an entire skyscraper.
But finally, its hand found her.
A clawed fist the size of a house slammed into her side.
CRACK.
Everything broke.
She was sent flying, over blocks, over buildings, over the city, a blur of red and black.
Then—
SPLASH.
She vanished into the Hudson River, her impact throwing up a geyser of water that drenched the burning skyline.
The demon stood, neck scorched, face bloodied, breathing hard.
The block was quiet now, terrified soldiers, refugees, and survivors staring in stunned silence.
No one moved.
And the Hudson bubbled.
Lina sank deeper into the black waters of the Hudson.
The surface light dimmed. Her limbs floated without resistance, blood leaking from dozens of wounds, her breath escaping in small, shimmering bubbles. The pain in her body had dulled into numbness. Her eyes began to close. Cold.
So cold.
Then—
A figure appeared.
Wearing a tattered crimson hood, the man stood before her in the water as if it were air, completely unaffected, like if he were a mère illusion. His voice rang like a thunderclap inside her skull:
"GET UP!"
Lina's eyes twitched open.
"Your fight's not over. You wanna die like this? Huh? Crushed by some overgrown hellspawn? Not on my watch. I'm not losing my entertainment to this piece of shit. Now MOVE. FIGHT!"
And then it happened.
A blood-red sigil erupted on Lina's forehead, a Sarkic glyph, carved in red. It was blood.
Light exploded from her body, a blinding, furious light that lit up the entire river like a second sun.
On the banks of the Hudson, Colonel Mendoza skidded to a halt.
Omega-7, Iris, Cain, Kovacs and the rest were right behind him, running hard.
Then they saw it.
The light.
The glyph.
"SHIT!" Mendoza barked. "SCP-8888-1 is manifesting! BACK UP!"
The team dove behind barriers, weapons raised, instinctively bracing for the worst.
Below the surface, Lina's body ignited from within. Blood surged through her veins like molten iron. Her skin shimmered, then peeled away in strips, reforming, reshaping, becoming something beautiful and monstrous at once.
But this time… she felt it.
Control.
She could feel the power pulsing through her muscles, but it wasn't wild, wasn't feral. It obeyed her now.
The light retracted, streaming into her chest and limbs, and her back tore open as two enormous wings, crafted from woven sinew, flesh, and jagged bone burst forth. Thousands of tentacles of raw meat uncoiled from her arms, her spine, her legs, flailing and writhing like a sea of serpents.
Her eyes opened, glowing pure crimson.
She crouched slightly at the river's bottom.
And then, with an explosive burst, she launched upward.
The water erupted into a geyser as Lina shot into the sky, her flesh-wings spreading wide, red light cascading from her body like a divine plague.
She hovered high above the Hudson River.
Her eyes locked on the demon.
It turned, snarling, its sword still in hand.
Lina pointed toward it, and her right hand morphed, bones lengthening, stretching, twisting, until a massive greatsword formed in her grasp. It glowed a sickly white and red, as if made from sun-bleached skeletons and still-warm marrow.
The crowd below gasped.
Lina dove.
She and the demon clashed midair, titanic weapons striking in a shockwave that shattered windows all the way to the Meatpacking District. Her bone-blade held strong against the steel of the demon's sword.
They struck again, steel against marrow.
Again, flames versus blood.
Again, rage versus fury.
Each clash sent shockwaves rippling outward. Helicopters lost control. Debris rained from rooftops.
Then—
Lina growled. "Let's turn up the heat."
Her bone-sword melted and reshaped, fusing with muscle, tendon, cartilage. It twisted and expanded until she held a towering flesh and bone hammer, ten meters long, its head lined with chattering teeth and pulsating sacs of explosive blood.
With a scream, she swung.
The hammer smashed into the demon's torso.
CRACK.
Ribs the size of trucks snapped.
The demon howled, stumbling backward, flattening two buildings as it crashed through a parking garage.
Lina flapped her wings, hovering above it.
The ground shook.
Her eyes glowed.
She grinned.
"Round two."
The area below burned.
Ash, smoke, and broken glass whirled in the air like a snowstorm made of war. The giant demon staggered, half its body caved in by Lina's hammer. Flames gushed from its open wounds, but Lina didn't let up.
With one beat of her wings, she rocketed toward the beast again, faster than before.
It tried to lift its blade.
Too slow.
Lina's weapon shifted in mid-air, melting back into her arm before stretching forward, becoming a long, curved scythe made of blackened bone and serrated cartilage.
She spun once in the air, then swung down.
The blade cleaved the demon clean in two, from its horned skull to its groin, splitting it like rotten fruit.
A shockwave of screams erupted.
From the wound spilled not blood, but demons.
Thousands.
Winged imps, ash-skinned crawlers, ghouls, flame-mouthed horrors, all birthed from the dying titan's hollow corpse. They poured out like a swarm, spreading through the city, clawing at walls, diving toward crowds, screeching for blood.
Lina hovered above the battlefield, her tentacles rising like a forest of spears.
"No." she whispered.
The air howled.
Thousands of tentacles exploded from her back, from her ribs, from her thighs and calves, twisting like divine blades.
They chased down the escaping demons.
Every strike was a death sentence.
Every lash split them apart mid-air, tearing wings from spines, claws from wrists, heads from necks. The demons had no chance. The swarm was reduced to a massacre.
Down below, civilians and soldiers watched in stunned horror as the red sky was painted black with the blood of hell.
Then—
Silence.
Lina descended slowly, the light around her pulsing dimmer now.
She landed on the street below, right at the edge of the chaos. Her bare feet touched the concrete.
She walked.
Alone.
Behind her, several dozen meters away, her tentacles were still active, hunting and killing any surviving demon that tried to rise. The sounds of bones cracking, screams, and wet tearing echoed faintly in the distance, but Lina didn't look back.
She just walked.
Until—
FLASH.
Multiple portals opened around her.
Six. No, eight.
From each, masked soldiers emerged. Tactical armor, sleek rifles, unfamiliar insignias.
They didn't speak.
They just raised their weapons at her.
Lina didn't stop walking.
She didn't even glance at them.
Her tentacles did.
Eight spikes.
Eight deaths.
Before the soldiers could even fire, they were all impaled in perfect unison. Their bodies dropped like puppets cut from string.
Except one.
Lina caught him.
The leader. His mask was different. Marked in red.
She held him by the collar, dragging the corpse behind her like a piece of trash. Then, she walked again, no one else dared stop her.
Eventually, up ahead, she spotted movement.
A group of NYPD officers stood at an intersection, visibly shaking, weapons up.
Next to them, MTF Xi-13, in full tactical gear.
Sequeres-41 stood at the front, weapon raised, visor scanning her silhouette.
He shouted:
"SCP-8888? Stop right there!"
Lina finally stopped walking.
Her wings twitched, her tentacles poised but still.
Then she lifted her one free arm. Her voice was calm.
"Relax. I have full control of the anomaly. I completed the mission. The giant demon is dead."
She dropped the corpse at her feet.
"I was attacked by a group of armed men. They opened portals around me. They're gone. This one… looked like their leader."
A beat.
Lina's eyes fluttered.
Her pupils shimmered red for a moment then dimmed.
She clutched her forehead, stumbling slightly. A wave of dizziness hit her like a truck.
Then—
All the tentacles retracted.
The wings folded and dissolved into her back.
Her body shrank, returning to its human form.
She fell sideways.
Unconscious.
"GO! Secure her!" Sequeres-41 barked.
Xi-13 rushed forward. Two operatives grabbed Lina's body, checking vitals. Another operator bagged the corpse. Others kept their weapons up, scanning for threats.
Within seconds, they were moving, tactical retreat southward toward SoHo.
No one spoke.
Their battle was over.
For now.
---
The sky above the Bronx rumbled as two Foundation Black Hawks and a Chinook swept low over the rooftops, veering sharply toward Macombs Dam Park. Their arrival caught the attention of U.S. Army personnel and GOC operators stationed nearby, several of whom raised their heads as the rotor blades cut through the air like thunderclaps.
The Chinook landed last, its heavy cargo bay opening with a hydraulic hiss. Inside, a large military truck sat secured between locking braces. As the ramps lowered, the vehicle roared to life and rolled out, flanked by engineers and technicians in dark Foundation gear. The Black Hawks touched down moments later. Four individuals stepped out of the first one, each wearing a matte-black exoskeleton reinforced with kinetic dampeners and layered armor plating. Their faces were concealed behind expressionless visors. Foundation insignia gleamed on their shoulders, but no names, no callsigns exposed.
A U.S. Army colonel approached, followed closely by a GOC captain.
"You're from the Foundation, I take it?" the colonel said, eyeing the arriving personnel. "You're late."
One of the armored figures, taller than the rest, stepped forward. His voice filtered through a heavy helmet modulator.
"Communications and flight paths were compromised. This is the soonest we could make it."
The GOC captain looked toward the truck being unloaded. "What's in there?"
"Our link to Manhattan," the Foundation operator replied. "We'll be reactivating a relay through a spatial anomaly, codenamed SCP-3216, which are three buildings across the city who share the same internal space. We're deploying from the Bronx site."
The colonel and the captain exchanged a look, tension clear.
The operator continued, "Once stabilized, it will allow us to bypass the physical isolation of Manhattan and re-establish communication infrastructure inside the affected zone. We need your men to secure the exterior of the building. We handle the inside."
The GOC captain muttered something under his breath, then turned to issue orders to his squad.
The colonel nodded. "You'll have a full platoon covering you, armored support included. We've seen things moving in the shadows out here, I don't like the thought of you walking into a trap."
"We'll take care of the inside," the operator repeated coldly. "Just keep the perimeter clean."
Without another word, the four enhanced soldiers fell into position, escorting the truck and the engineers as they rolled out toward the SCP-3216 Bronx building, an old, commercial structure with faded signage, blending seamlessly into the block. Ordinary to anyone else. An anomaly to those who knew better.
The operation to breach Manhattan's isolation and reconnect the Foundation's grid had begun.
The convoy rolled to a stop in front of a twelve-story building. Its windows, rusted fire escapes, and red brick exterior gave no hint of the spatial anomaly inside. The moment the wheels ground to a halt, armed personnel disembarked, fanning out with trained precision to establish a perimeter.
T-31 stepped down last, scanning the area with sharp, deliberate motions. His visor flickered faintly as built-in sensors mapped the immediate environment. His three squadmates, T-32, T-33, and T-34, moved in silently behind him, their exoskeletons whirring softly with every motion.
T-32 broke the silence. "TL, it's too quiet."
T-34 grunted, adjusting the prototype energy rifle strapped to his chest. "Hey, at least we got the Bronx. This zone's under the Big Three coverage. Better than getting stuck in Manhattan with the four Power Rangers."
T-33 chuckled under his breath. "Facts."
T-31 turned his head just slightly. "Stay focused."
The team fell silent, their weapons raised and scanning.
T-31 walked over to the lead engineer, a man in his fifties with graying hair and Foundation insignia sewn into his heavy vest. "How long to install the external cables?"
The engineer checked a tablet and replied without hesitation. "Roughly ten minutes. Once that's done, we'll begin interior deployment. The moment we cross into the building's internal space, we should rendezvous with the Manhattan and Queens teams already working from the inside."
T-31 nodded once. "Double-check your supplies and gear. Once we're in, we're locked for six days and thirteen hours. No turning back."
The engineer saluted crisply. "Understood, sir."
Operators fanned out, sweeping alleys and rooftops while GOC and Army personnel reinforced the outer perimeter. Nearby, the large truck hissed as its cargo bay opened, revealing coils of reinforced fiber-optic cables, Foundation-grade power nodes, and field deployment anchors, equipment designed specifically for anomalous environments.
The Bronx entry point to SCP-3216 loomed ahead. Deceptively normal.
A few minutes later, T-31 stood with arms crossed, watching the installation progress unfold under the pale afternoon sky. A tall antenna had been erected near the rear of the building, and thick, armored cables were now fed into the underground conduits with precision. Technicians worked fast, coordinated, and silent, their every motion rehearsed.
Boots stomped over gravel and concrete as the lead engineer came running back. He saluted sharply, catching his breath.
"Sir, the external cables are secured. We're ready to enter SCP-3216."
T-31 nodded once. "Copy that."
Then he turned to his team. "Squad, move in."
T-32, T-33, and T-34 fell in behind him instantly. They moved along the side alley of the building, stepping over coils of cable and empty cases. At the back, several engineers already waited by the emergency exit, a rusted steel door now partially wired with the anomaly-linked network.
The four Tau-5 operators took positions, weapons raised. T-31 held up a clenched fist, his voice low and sharp.
"Three… two… one… breach!"
They filed in swiftly. One by one.
What awaited them on the other side was a vast, dimly lit hall, far bigger than the building's outside shell should've allowed. The space reeked of dust and metal. Strange green lights flickered along the high ceiling like artificial fireflies. Every window was coated in absolute black, showing no outside view. Behind them, the exit door had vanished, replaced by a pulsating, white rectangular field of light.
Weapons still up, the four spread out and secured the space in formation.
T-31 tapped the side of his helmet. "T-31 to WT-2. Interior is clear. You're green to enter."
Seconds later, several engineers emerged from the white light, blinking and adjusting to the spatial shift. Confused murmurs echoed, but when they saw the four armed Tau-5 operatives already positioned, relief washed over their expressions. They nodded, carrying their gear toward the walls and floor panels.
The entry point pulsed again, more engineers came through, this time with bulky cable reels and anomalous signal transceivers.
As they began anchoring the gear into place, the light flared.
Four more figures burst through the glow, rifles raised and visors scanning. Startled engineers flinched, but quickly relaxed when they spotted identical Foundation armor and insignia.
T-31's stance eased. He recognized the operators instantly.
The Weapon Squad of Tau-5.
The squad leader stepped forward, a large man with broad shoulders and a scar over his brow. T-31 lowered his weapon and cracked a small grin.
"Good to see you still breathing, Campos."
The man smirked. "Likewise, Ghazi."
T-31 answered with a quick fist bump.
Campos removed his helmet and tapped his comms. "T-21 to WT-3. Area is secure. Begin deployment."
Not long after, the light shimmered once more and more Foundation engineers stepped into the interior space, carrying duplicate equipment.
Within minutes, the chamber filled with controlled motion, tools grinding, generators humming, cables unspooling across the anomalous architecture.
Two squads of Tau-5, stationed in the entry point of SCP-3216. Two teams of Foundation technicians inside an anomalous shared space.
Before anyone had the chance to breathe or relax, a commotion broke out near the light gate.
Several engineers burst through the glowing rectangle, sprinting into the anomalous hall, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Their equipment bags clattered against their backs as they stumbled forward in panic.
Ghazi took one glance and muttered, "Let me guess. That's the Manhattan team."
The exhausted engineers looked around in visible relief, their panic softening the moment they saw the secured perimeter and both Rifle and Weapon Squads already in place.
They ran toward the installation point, dropping gear with shaky hands. Some collapsed to their knees. Their colleagues from Queens and Bronx teams rushed in to help, pulling equipment off their shoulders and offering water.
Campos stepped forward and grabbed one of the engineers who looked seconds from passing out. He shoved a bottle of water into the man's hand.
The engineer chugged it in one go, not wasting a single drop. He let out a ragged exhale before speaking.
"It's chaos out there!" he said, still panting. "The second we landed, we were swarmed by these… these freakish birds, right out of a nightmare. We barely shook them off, and the moment we reached the site… we walked straight into hell."
Campos narrowed his eyes. "Demons?"
"Yeah! Big ones. Dozens, maybe hundreds. We barely had time to touch down before they came at us. If it weren't for the Samsara Squad, we'd be dead. I swear, those four, they're holding off thousands of demons by themselves."
The entire room went still for half a second.
"They were still holding when I left," the engineer added, his voice low, "but they won't last long if no one backs them up."
Campos clenched his jaw. "Understood."
He turned and shouted across the chamber:
"MOVE YOUR ASSES! We're out of time!"
The engineers doubled their pace, slamming components together, locking down consoles, and yanking cables into place. Sparks flew. Status lights blinked green one by one.
Then, a voice cut through the tension.
"WE'RE READY TO TRANSMIT THE SIGNAL!"
Every head turned toward the technician standing at the main relay panel, hand hovering over the activation switch.
---
A wall of fire rose behind the antenna array as a wave of winged demons screamed down from the sky.
The earth trembled with every footstep of the hellspawn surging through the city. Black smoke choked the ruins of Manhattan's streets, and the screeching cacophony of unholy creatures filled the air. But at the center of it all, between the chaos and the engineers struggling to finish the antenna stood four figures.
The Samsara Squad.
Irantu stood at the head of the formation, visor glowing cold green under the cracked sunlight. The Argus-III system streamed a flood of data into his vision: positions, trajectories, thermal readings, thaumaturgical pulses. He lifted his Energy Rifle, locked a target, and pulled the trigger.
A demon's skull exploded in a flash of blue plasma.
"Munru, right flank. Nanku, left. Onru, overwatch," he ordered, voice steady through the comms. "Protect the array."
"Confirmed," replied Onru, already moving. Her cybernetics distorted her presence for anything anomalously aware, demons twitched, lost track of her, and paid the price. She planted herself on a rusted car chassis and opened fire with smooth precision. Spelleater Rounds from her rifle cut through flesh and bones like paper.
Munru roared, his arm-mounted incendiary cannon spinning up. With a sharp hiss, a plume of napalm fire burst forward, igniting half a dozen creatures mid-charge. Winged beasts spiraled down, trailing flames, screaming as they crashed into buildings and exploded into black ash.
"Left side collapsing," Munru warned. "Sending banishment."
He pulled a Banishment Grenade from his belt, bit the pin, and threw it into a charging mob. The moment it landed, a runic sphere pulsed outward, demons caught within twisted, screamed, and vanished from reality, yanked back to whatever dimension had spawned them.
"Clean hit," Irantu confirmed. "Nanku, close quarters. Two seconds."
Nanku activated her Shock-absorbing Leg Extensions and launched forward like a missile. The ground cracked under her weight as she slammed into the horde. She didn't need blades, just speed, mass, and brutality. Her fists crushed skulls. Her elbows shattered ribs. Her knee went through a creature's chest and pinned another to a wall.
One demon reached for her face, only to melt away as Onru's energy round passed through its temple.
The Hellgate Point Defense Systems on each of them flared, detecting and neutralizing incoming thaumic surges. Beams of cursed flame veered away. Spells fizzled out mid-air. The Counter-Thaumaturgical Warding Implants in their spines vibrated with warning pulses, but none of the anomalous attacks landed.
"Fifty percent complete!" screamed a technician from behind the antenna scaffold. "Hold them off!"
"Copy." Irantu took a step forward, Potential Energy Converter humming beneath his armor. The kinetic energy from his movement charged his next shot, he raised his rifle and unleashed it. The bolt ripped through six enemies in a line, detonating the last into a burst of bones and entrails.
Another demon, a massive, armored brute charged toward the antenna with a stone axe the size of a truck.
"Onru."
"Handled."
Onru aimed. One shot. Straight through its head. It didn't even make it halfway before collapsing face-first into a pile of rubble.
But more kept coming.
Hundreds. Then thousands. From rooftops, subways, alleys, every direction. The Samsara Squad stood firm.
Irantu switched to incendiary rounds. "Suppress center lane."
Munru stepped up, fire blazing from his cannon, turning a demon swarm into charred meat.
Nanku tore through anything that slipped past her, fists dripping with black blood.
Onru covered all angles, her bodyarmor blurring her shape, her aim never missing.
They did not retreat.
They did not speak.
They simply fought, methodically, efficiently, like a divine mechanism of war carved from flesh and steel.
Behind them, the antenna began to glow.
The signal was almost ready.
An engineer dashed toward the newly erected antenna, wires trailing from his arms like lifelines. He slammed his palm onto the activation panel.
"SIGNAL ACTIVATED!" he shouted.
In an instant, a surge of electromagnetic energy pulsed out from the antenna's core, expanding like an invisible shockwave. Radios across Manhattan screeched to life as the ultra-high frequency signal pierced through the anomalous interference blanketing the city.
The engineer gripped his handheld radio with shaking hands.
"Sky Command, this is WT-1 in Manhattan. Do you copy?"
No response. Just static.
He repeated, more urgently, voice cracking. "Sky Command, do you copy?!"
A pause.
Then—
"This is Sky Command. We read you loud and clear, Workers Team."
A moment of silence and then the workers erupted in cheers. Some dropped to their knees, laughing or sobbing in relief. One clapped another on the back while others slumped to the ground, exhausted but smiling.
The engineer exhaled like he hadn't breathed in ten minutes. Still gripping the radio, he pressed the button again.
"We need reinforcements! It's chaos out here. We can't hold much longer!"
"Understood," Sky Command responded. "Reinforcements are en route. Hold your position. Help is coming."
---
Governors Island, Foundation Command Center
A wall of screens lit up like fireworks. Radios screamed to life. Technicians scrambled across the control floor like blood cells in a freshly unclogged artery.
At the center of the command room stood O5-6, a calm smile on his face.
"Sir!" a technician called out. "We're detecting several thousand radio signatures, most from Emergency Services and civilians. GOC and Foundation channels are clustered around northern Manhattan, southern districts, and the UN headquarters in the east."
O5-6 didn't hesitate. "Open me a channel to all Foundation signals. Now."
Several technicians typed furiously. A panel lit green. One handed O5-6 a secure radio.
He took it, pressed the comm button, and spoke clearly into the mic:
"This is Overwatch Command to all Foundation units in Manhattan. Do you copy?"
There was silence. Then—
"This is Site Command, Site-28. Reading you five-by-five."
"This is Pi-1, 'City Slickers'. You're coming through perfectly."
"This is Detachment 9 of Alpha-1, 'Red Right Hand'. Standing by for orders."
One after another, voices filled the channel.
MTF units. Field agents. Security officers.
Names. Call signs. Status reports.
They all came flooding back.
A technician turned, eyes wide. "Sir. We've reestablished contact with all Foundation assets in New York."
O5-6 smiled once more. This time, sharper. Colder.
"Excellent."
He raised the radio again.
"Then let the counteroffensive begin."