ACT 1: A World Where Dead Is Living
Performance Review:
Protocol 1-C initiated.
I could've just not taken the contract. But here I am, breathing in Lavender City's special blend of industrial smog and corporate perfume, about to die for a paycheck that probably won't even clear my medical debt.
Triple pay. That's what they dangle in front of us Agents. Only if we manage to hurt the monster.
Which was a very weird encouragement, since the main mission is to stall.
And to even try do the challenge, has you to walk into a building that's already swallowed two full teams. You see that skyscraper? Looks normal from here, right? Just another glass and steel monument to corporate ambition.
Now look closer.
See the webbing glistening between floors? The dark streaks running down the windows? That's not shadow play, my friend. That's blood. Lots of it.
My team leader waves us forward. "Remember the mission! Stall it until the Colour Agents arrive!"
Stall a Higher Being. Right. Because that worked so well for the twenty other agents currently decorating the lobby as human popsicles.
I look at the team I was assigned it. All of us look like we bought the same cooperate black suit in the same store. The thing about this team is... majority of us are Unbound agents (including me.) You can tell us apart because the Bound Agents from the Thorn wear brown armband.
Oh and also, maybe just take a look at our gear. The Thorn agents has a lot more chance of survivality than us.
Seemed like this is the team that was put together last second by our employer, the Thorn.
I adjust the grip on my rusty katana. In this week, this is my, uh, 12th mission. And it might be the worst yet.
The team leader briefed once again about the mission.
And one of our Unbound Agents, had enough of it, charge first. Of course he would. Since the triple pay is promised for the first one to hurt it. It'd be bad if someone else took it.
That monster has to be weak already, right? Since we are the last team sent.
Before long, something crawl out back to us.
His head rolls to a stop at my feet. Still wearing that determined expression
The team leader look at us without an armband, "Shitty, Unbounds! If you want to disobey order and die, gladly do so!"
He just made it clear that he don't want to be involved with us anymore. Well, looks like he's going to stick with only his own people now.
So the Unbound are free to do what they want
As per usual in any grouped mission.
We push through the revolving doors into what used to be a corporate lobby. Now it's a slaughterhouse gallery. People in black business wear smeared in red, wrapped in shimmering silk cocoons that hang from the ceiling like morbid decorations. Some of them are still twitching.
The air smells like copper and something sweet. Rotten sweet. Like fruit left in the sun too long. You ever smell death? This is worse. This is death with presentation.
"Formation!" the team leader barks.
Formation? Against what? The spider's probably watching you guys right now, laughing its multiple eyes off. Higher Beings do that, you know. They find our organized little resistance adorable.
Then I see it.
Not the whole thing—just a glimpse between the forest of cocoons. A leg, thick as my torso and covered in chitinous plates that gleam under the emergency lights. Then another. And another.
The team leader's breathing gets ragged. "Remember the job—"
The sentence ends abruptly when something drops from the ceiling.
It's not the spider. Just one of its... appendages. A silk-shooting thing that looks disturbingly human. The man attached to it—or what's left of him—has his mouth stretched wide, webbing pouring out like he's vomiting the building's new decor.
Charming, right?
Then the spider, a Higher Being, finally made its entrance. Exposing itself to us.
The Unbound Agents charged with their steel weapons. Upon approaching, some got caught in the silk shooting at them. Those who managed, hit the spider Altogether. Again and again and again and oops! There goes another one, wrapped up neat and added to the collection.
Now this is a mess. For one, all of my Unbound fellows should be dead any second now. None of them remembered the mission. All of them only here for the triple pay.
All of us is that desperate.
And the Bound Agents... I don't suppose they wanted me to join in their formation.
So...
I duck behind a reception desk. Smartest move I've made all day. The marble countertop probably won't stop a Higher Being, but it makes me feel better.
The team leader gapes at me. "You Unbound, what are you doing, fight!"
Really now?
"But that's not the job, is it not?" I call back.
His face does this interesting purple color. "You Unbounds disgust me! No honor at all."
All the Thorn Agents look at me with their halberd hold tightly.
I just sigh and promise them, "if anything happen to you guys, I promise I'd stay. At least it'd take the spider a while to eat us before getting out, right?"
They look away.
Another strand of silk whips past, taking out the wall behind me. Chunks of drywall and corporate art rain down.
I peer over the desk. The spider's fully visible now. Bigger than the company transport that brought us here. Multiple eyes, all fixed on our remaining forces. And it's smiling. No, really. The damn thing has a human-like smile stretched across its face.
The Smiling Spider. They named it right.
"Flank it!" the team leader screams. "Left and right!"
Two bound agents try. They don't even make it three steps before webbing pins them to the floor. They're still struggling when more silk wraps around their faces, silencing their screams.
'Help..." One of them manages to choke out before the wrapping completes.
Formation or just mindlessly charging, doesn't seemed to make a lot of difference.
Now, in the formation, only the team leader is still alive and fight.
He turn, looking at me. That desperate, you're-my-last-hope look. You know the one. Like I'm supposed to be the hero in this corporate-sponsored suicide.
He opens his mouth to say something inspiring, probably. But then the ceiling above him rips open.
And the spider drops right on top of him.
There's a wet crunch. Then silence.
Well, now I'd never know what he was trying to say.
The spider turns its many eyes toward me. Still smiling. Always smiling.
It takes a step forward. Then another. Its legs tap against the marble floor in a rhythm that's almost musical. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I tighten my grip on the katana. This is it, then. The famous last stand. Except there won't be anyone to remember it, and Compass will probably bill my estate for the cleanup.
I spring out from my hiding spot, facing the spider.
A rusty blade against a monster.
The spider pauses, tilting its head. Studying me. Why isn't it attacking? Higher Beings don't usually hesitate.
Then I notice it. The spider's not looking at my face. It's looking at my chest. Where my heart should be pounding right through my suit.
But it's not. My heart's beating calm as anything. Like this is just another Tuesday.
The spider takes a step back. Actually retreats.
What the hell?
It makes a sound then. Not a roar or a screech. A whisper that seems to come from everywhere at once. "You..."
Uh... is it talking to me?
But it keeps staring. And that smile... it's not a predator's grin anymore. It looks almost... confused.
Then the building shudders. Not from the spider. From something else. Something coming.
The air grows hot. The sweet-rotten smell gets overwhelmed by something else. Smoke. And not ordinary smoke.
The spider's attention snaps away from me. Its many eyes fix on the hole it made in the ceiling. The smile vanishes.
I know what's coming before I see her. Everyone knows that smell when a Colour Agent manifests.
The spider hisses, crouching low. Backing off. Preparing to fight something actually worth fighting.
And me? I stay behind my desk. Because sometimes, the smartest move is knowing when to let the professionals handle things.
Even if they are about to burn the building down around me.
The heat hits me first. Not the gentle warmth of a sunny day, but a wall of pure, aggressive energy that makes the air shimmer and my skin prickle. You know that feeling when you open an oven door? Multiply that by a thousand and add a side of existential dread.
The spider recoils, hissing, its many eyes narrowing at the new threat. The smile? Gone. Replaced by something I've never seen on a Higher Being before: genuine fear.
I risk a peek over the desk. And there she is.
Red hair that seems to be made of living flame, amber-red eyes glowing like embers, wrapped in fire that doesn't consume her, just obeys. Agent Flare. You've probably seen the posters. They never quite capture the sheer presence. It's like staring at a natural disaster that decided to take human form.
"Hey," I whisper to no one in particular. "I think the professionals are here."
Protocol 2-A, I'm saved.
The spider launches a strand of silk at her, faster than I can blink.
Flare doesn't even move. The silk incinerates mid-air, turning to ash that smells oddly of burnt sugar. She tilts her head, calm as anything. "VEE: smiling spider. Since you can understand me, let me confirm something."
The spider shrieks, a sound that shreds the air and makes my teeth vibrate.
"Are you fulfilled?"
"Noo..." the monster reply.
"What makes you will?"
"Every. Human. Become my children."
Flare nods her head. "Thank you. I will now eliminate you."
The conversation has no soul in it. It is like both machine talking to each other.
The spider charges, legs tapping frantically against the marble.
Flare raises a hand. A whip of pure fire snaps out, wrapping around one of its legs. The chitinous plates blacken and crack. The smell of cooked meat joins the burnt sugar.
It's not even a fight. It's a demolition. She moves with an efficiency that's almost boring. No wasted motion, no dramatic speeches. Just fire and results.
See? This is why they're Colour Agents and I'm the guy hiding behind furniture.
Another leg gets severed. Then another. The spider is stumbling, its once-confident stride reduced to a desperate, lurching crawl. It's trying to regenerate, but the fire cauterizes the wounds instantly. No blood, just blackened stumps.
It makes one last, pathetic lunge toward me. Why me? I'm not even the main character here!
A wall of fire erupts between us, so hot I have to throw myself back behind the desk. The varnish on the wood starts to bubble.
When I look again, the spider is fully engulfed. It's not screaming anymore. It's just... burning. Silently. The smile has melted right off its face.
Flare turns her glowing eyes toward me. They're not warm. They're assessing. Calculating.
She walks over, her steps making no sound on the scorched marble. The fire around her subsides to a gentle corona. Up close, she's younger than I expected. And tired. There's a weight in her eyes that has nothing to do with the fire.
She looks down at me, still crouched behind my pathetic desk shield. "You are alive."
It's not a question. What do I say? 'Yes, ma'am, that's me, the one who didn't die gloriously'?
I just nod. My throat is too dry for words.
"Moving to Phase Three. Initiate protocol Three-A." She says it like she's reading from a manual. "I will handle it from here."
Handle it. Right. The smoldering corpse of a Higher Being is pretty handled.
And that's when my body decides it's had enough.
All the aches and pains I've been ignoring from my past missions come screaming back.
I never went to check at the hospital since I'd rather have broken ribs than starving for months.
I try to stand. My legs buckle like wet noodles. I end up slumped against the desk, staring up at the ceiling with its forest of silk-wrapped agents.
That's when I notice it. The silence.
You'd think a battlefield would be loud. Screams, cries for help, the wet sounds of dying. But there's nothing. Just the crackle of dying flames and the hum of broken electronics.
None of the other agents are making a sound. The ones in the cocoons, the ones on the floor... they've all gone quiet. No last words, no whimpers. They just... stopped.
My thoughts are getting sluggish, swimming through syrup. The perfumed air of Lavender City seems like a dream from another lifetime. This sterile, blood-soaked lobby is the real world.
Flare is saying something else, but her voice is fading, like a radio station losing signal. Something about a debrief? Medical? The words blur together.
The last thing I see is her turning away from me, her attention already on the next problem. The professional moving on to the next task.
The last thing I think is how quiet it all is.
You'd think someone would have screamed.