Snow began to fall.
At first, it was light, barely noticeable. A single flake landed against Shirley's cheek and melted instantly. His brows furrowed as he looked up, confused. "…Snow?" he muttered to himself.
Then the world shifted.
The plane outside the window warped, its metal bending and twisting like it was made of liquid. Colors bled into each other, the structure folding unnaturally before breaking apart, not into debris, but into snow that scattered upward into the sky. The car around him followed, dissolving piece by piece until the seat beneath him vanished entirely. Shirley stumbled forward as his feet hit something solid, cold ground that hadn't existed a moment ago.
The wind hit him immediately.
It howled through the air, thick with white, swallowing everything in front of him. He could barely see. The cold should have been biting, but instead the air felt tight, suffocating, almost warm in a way that made his chest ache.
"…Hello?" he called out, his voice swallowed instantly by the storm.
No response.
Only the wind.
Shirley forced himself forward, raising an arm to shield his eyes, but the harder he pushed, the more the storm resisted. It was like something was holding him in place. His steps slowed, then stopped entirely.
"…What is this…?"
He turned quickly, trying to find anything, any direction, any shape, but there was nothing behind him except endless white. When he faced forward again, everything changed.
The storm vanished.
The wind died.
And he was no longer in the snow.
CORE's castle stood around him.
Shirley's breath caught in his throat. "…No…"
Ahead of him, the scene was already playing out.
Tucker and Doug stood frozen in place, shock written across their faces. And in front of them,
Micheal.
Shirley's chest tightened painfully. "…Not again…"
He tried to move, to run forward, but his body wouldn't respond. It felt like the air itself had locked around him, holding him back no matter how hard he pushed. Panic surged through him as the moment unfolded again, slower this time, clearer.
CORE moved.
He was too slow.
Shirley's voice broke as he tried to shout. "Stop—!"
Nothing reached them.
It was like he wasn't even there.
His eyes darted, and then he saw himself.
Standing there.
Frozen.
Watching.
Shirley's breathing became uneven. "…Move…" he whispered, his body trembling. "…Move!"
But he couldn't.
Micheal's head hit the ground with a dull, final sound. It rolled slightly before stopping, blood spreading across the floor.
Shirley felt sick.
"…No…"
Then, suddenly, Micheal's lips moved.
His eyes stayed lifeless, but his mouth, moved.
"You just watched."
The voice was wrong, too calm it was empty.
Shirley shook his head immediately. "No, I tried—"
"You didn't move."
"I couldn't—!"
"You left me."
The words hit harder than anything else.
Shirley's chest tightened as panic set in. "I didn't leave you! I couldn't move, I swear—!"
"I took you in."
Micheal's head shifted slightly, turning just enough to avoid looking at him.
"And you ran."
Shirley's voice cracked. "I didn't run!"
"…Coward."
The word sank deep.
Behind him, Tucker and Doug slowly turned. Their expressions had changed. No shock. No fear.
Just disappointment.
"…Pathetic," Doug muttered, looking away.
Tucker clicked his tongue, refusing to meet his eyes.
Shirley's hands shook violently. "No… please… I can do better… I will—"
"YOU CAN'T."
The voice rang out from everywhere at once.
The world shattered.
Everything collapsed back into white as the storm returned all at once, violent and suffocating. The wind tore past him as he reached forward desperately.
"WAIT—!"
But they were already gone.
"I'M SORRY—!"
Only the storm remained.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
"NO!"
Shirley jolted upright in the back seat, his chest heaving as the world snapped back into place around him.
The car, the night, the road.
Tucker turned immediately, eyes wide. "Yo—what happened? You good?"
Shirley didn't answer right away. He just sat there, breathing hard, trying to steady himself as the remnants of the dream clung to him.
"…Yeah," he said finally, quieter than usual.
"…I'm good."
"You sure?" Tucker asked, eyeing him carefully. "You woke up kinda fast."
Shirley gave a small nod, forcing a faint smile as he leaned back into the seat.
"Yeah… I'm good," he said. Then, after a second, he added, "Can't really afford to be tired anyway, right? We've got a party to get to."
Tucker studied him for a moment longer, like he wasn't fully convinced.
Then he grinned.
"That's the spirit."
The car slowed to a stop.
A moment later, the door beside them opened smoothly from the outside. A man in a black suit stood there, posture straight, one gloved hand holding the door open without a word.
Cool night air slipped into the car.
Shirley stepped out first.
Tucker followed right after, sliding out quickly and adjusting the brim of his hat as his shoes hit the ground.
Both of them had changed.
Shirley's look was sharp and clean, a fitted black suit, paired with a crisp white shirt and a silk bow tie. The fabric sat perfectly against him, neat but not flashy. Black slacks and polished leather shoes completed it, but what stood out most were the twin black sheathes resting at his sides, secured neatly at his waist.
He hadn't come unarmed.
Tucker, on the other hand, leaned more into style.
A black suit to match, but topped off with a tall black hat wrapped in a deep blue ribbon. His white shirt sat slightly looser under the blazer, giving him a more relaxed look. The black slacks and shoes followed the same clean theme, but the cane in his hand added something extra, half fashion, half attitude.
He spun it once lightly as he stepped forward.
"…Okay," Tucker muttered, glancing around. "This already feels expensive."
"I still can't believe you're wearing all that," Shirley said, glancing sideways at Tucker.
Tucker scoffed immediately, adjusting his hat with a bit too much pride. "Shut up. You showed up looking like a butcher."
He waved a hand in front of Shirley like he was placing an order.
"Yeah, I'd like a pound of pork, please."
Shirley let out a short laugh and nudged him with his shoulder. "You're an idiot."
Before Tucker could fire back, the low hum of an engine cut through the air.
A limousine swerved into the lot and came to a sharp stop right in front of them.
The sudden rush of air kicked up around them, tugging at their clothes—Tucker's top hat nearly flying off his head before he caught it quickly and shoved it back into place.
"…Okay," Tucker muttered, squinting. "That was aggressive."
The door opened.
A man stepped out.
He was tall, uncomfortably tall, and built heavier than expected, his presence immediately filling the space around him. He wore a deep blue suit tailored to perfection, a polished monocle resting over one eye. His head was completely bald, smooth under the dim light, but his eyebrows were… excessive.
Thick, long.
Unnaturally so.
They curved outward and drooped slightly at the ends, almost swaying as he moved.
Shirley and Tucker both looked up at him.
The man looked down at them.
And for a moment,
Nothing moved.
His stare was heavy. Crushing. Like he was measuring them without saying a word.
Then, without a single expression change, he stepped forward and walked past them.
Thirty more followed.
All dressed in the same shade of blue.
Their movements were sharp, synchronized, silent but purposeful as they trailed behind him toward the hangar like a procession.
Tucker leaned slightly toward Shirley once they passed.
"…Yeah, I don't like that guy."
Shirley didn't respond right away.
His eyes stayed on the group as they disappeared ahead.
"…Me neither."
For a brief moment, the air felt heavier.
Then,
Another engine.
Both of them turned.
A second limousine pulled in, slower this time.
It came to a quiet stop a short distance away.
The door opened.
A woman stepped out first.
She didn't look around.
Didn't hesitate, didn't acknowledge anyone.
She was already on her phone, fingers moving calmly across the screen as if none of this mattered.
Her dress caught the light immediately, a black, shimmering fabric that clung to her figure and reflected faint sparkles with every step she took.
Everything about her was precise.
Her posture was perfect. Her expression unreadable.
And yet,
There was something about her presence that made the air feel… sharp.
Like stepping too close might cut you.
Tucker blinked.
"…Okay."
Shirley didn't speak.
His eyes followed her as she walked straight toward the hangar without stopping, without even glancing in their direction.
Then,
Another figure stepped out behind her.
A man.
He adjusted his sleeve slightly as he stepped onto the pavement, a phone still in his hand. A white suit draped cleanly over him, tailored and crisp, standing out starkly against the night.
A dark beret rested neatly on his head.
His beard was short, prickly, and uneven in a way that somehow looked intentional. Sharp eyes flicked down at his phone for a second longer before he sighed softly and slipped it away.
"Ah… toujours pressée…" he muttered under his breath.
He glanced ahead.
The woman was already halfway to the hangar.
"…Of course."
With a small shake of his head, he followed after her at a steady pace, hands sliding into his pockets as if this was all routine.
Tucker watched them go.
"…Yeah, we're definitely underdressed."
Shirley exhaled quietly.
"…No."
Tucker glanced at him.
Shirley's eyes stayed forward.
"We're just early."
A brief pause.
Then he started walking.
Tucker grinned slightly and followed right behind him.
Together, they headed toward the hangar.
The hangar doors finished opening.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Light poured out from inside, golden, blinding, alive.
And then they saw it.
"…No way," Tucker breathed.
The plane didn't look like a plane.
It looked like a city.
Massive didn't even begin to describe it. The body stretched across the entire hangar, its polished exterior reflecting waves of gold and violet light that pulsed from within. Multiple levels were visible through enormous glass paneling along the sides, three full floors stacked on top of each other, each one alive with movement.
Music thumped faintly from inside.
Not muffled.
Contained.
Like the entire structure was holding something enormous back.
A staircase extended from the side of the aircraft, unfolding slowly with mechanical precision until it touched the ground. But even that looked absurd, wide, carpeted, lined with glowing rails that shimmered like liquid light.
People were already boarding.
Dozens of them.
No, hundreds.
Figures in suits, dresses, masks, uniforms. Some laughing. Some quiet. Some surrounded by others like they were important. Conversations overlapped into a constant hum of voices that spilled out of the open entrance.
From where they stood, they could see into the first level.
It was an entertainment floor.
Massive chandeliers hung from a ceiling far too high for any normal aircraft, casting golden light over polished floors that reflected everything like glass. Bars stretched along the sides, glowing with bottles that looked more like displays than drinks. Performers moved through the space, dancers, musicians, people laughing too loudly.
Further in, a stage.
Live music.
Real instruments.
The second level hovered above it, visible through an open center—lined with balconies where guests leaned over the rails, watching everything below. Lounges, private sections, velvet seating. People talking in smaller groups, more controlled, more dangerous.
And even higher,
The third level.
Darker.
Quieter.
Almost hidden.
Glass panels tinted just enough to obscure what was happening inside.
But something about it felt… different.
Tucker didn't realize he had stopped walking.
"…That's not a plane," he said slowly.
Shirley didn't respond.
His eyes tracked every level, every movement, every person.
"…No," he said quietly.
"It's not."
Another group passed them, laughing as they stepped onto the staircase like this was normal.
Like this happened every day.
Tucker let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"…We're actually going in there."
Shirley adjusted his sleeve slightly.
"…Yeah."
The lights from the aircraft flickered across his eyes.
Not fear.
Not excitement.
Something sharper.
"…We are."
Up ahead, the woman in the black dress had already reached the top of the stairs, disappearing inside without hesitation.
The man in the white suit followed a few steps behind her, slower, hands in his pockets, like he had all the time in the world.
Tucker exhaled.
"…Last chance to turn around."
Shirley stepped forward.
"Nope."
He started toward the staircase.
Tucker stared at him for half a second.
Then grinned.
"…Yeah, that checks out."
And followed.
Step by step, they climbed.
The noise grew louder.
The lights brighter.
The air heavier.
Until finally, they entered the party.
The moment they stepped inside—
It hit them.
Everything.
The air itself felt different, warmer, thicker. Charged with something alive.
Music surged through the floor beneath their feet, deep and rhythmic, vibrating up through their legs like a second heartbeat. Gold light spilled from every direction, reflecting off polished surfaces, glass, metal, skin, everything shimmered.
Tucker stopped walking.
Shirley didn't get much further.
"…What the hell…" Tucker whispered.
The first floor stretched endlessly before them.
It wasn't a room.
It was a district.
People filled every inch of it, crowds moving in waves, voices overlapping into a constant hum of laughter, deals, arguments, and celebration. Dancers moved across raised platforms, their silhouettes cutting through beams of shifting light. Performers twisted through the air on suspended rigs, flipping and spinning above the crowd like gravity didn't apply to them.
Lines of models walked through the center paths like it was a runway, their outfits glittering under spotlights that tracked their every step. Some wore elegant suits. Others wore things that barely counted as clothing. Every single one of them looked like they belonged somewhere far above normal people.
Massive golden pillars stretched toward the ceiling, engraved with patterns that seemed to move if you stared too long. Screens layered into the walls displayed flashes of unknown symbols, faces, and shifting numbers, some of it looking more like coded information than decoration.
Bars lined the sides, glowing with impossible colors. Drinks shimmered like liquid light inside crystal glasses, handed off without hesitation to anyone who reached for them.
And at the center, a stage.
Huge.
Music roared from it as live performers played beneath cascading lights that shifted from gold to violet to deep crimson in seconds. The crowd pulsed with it, bodies moving, hands raised, voices shouting over the sound.
Above them, the second level curved around the entire floor, lined with bars packed with more people watching from above, their figures silhouetted against softer, richer lighting.
And even higher,
The third level loomed quietly.
Dark glass.
Closed off.
Watching.
Tucker slowly turned in place, trying to take it all in and failing completely.
"…This is insane."
Shirley didn't answer.
His eyes moved constantly, tracking exits, people, patterns, anything that mattered.
But even he couldn't ignore it.
This place was… overwhelming.
Then, a sound cut through everything.
Sharp, mechanical.
The music didn't stop, but it lowered, just slightly, like the entire room was being forced to listen.
A voice echoed through the plane.
Smooth.
Perfect.
Not human.
"Dear criminals… fugitives… archaeologists… geniuses…"
There was a pause.
The lights shifted subtly, dimming just enough to make the gold glow deeper.
"…ladies… and gentlemen…"
Another pause.
Then, softer—
"Welcome… to the Ascension Gala."
A ripple moved through the crowd.
Some cheered.
Some laughed.
Some didn't react at all.
The music surged back louder than before.
Stronger.
Like the announcement had only fed it.
Tucker let out a slow breath.
"…Yeah."
He glanced at Shirley.
"…We're definitely not leaving this place the same."
Shirley's gaze stayed forward.
Locked on the chaos ahead.
"…Good."
And without another word, they stepped deeper into the crowd.
10:47 PM – Ascension Gala, First Floor: Etertainment District.