**** /Vanguard's Briefing Room In The Dome/ /02:35 AM/ ****
The cavernous briefing room was dead quiet with no one in it, illuminated only by the faint ambient glow of the inactive holographic projectors in the center of the floor.
The sliding glass doors hissed open, and Geos stepped inside. He carried a heavy mug in one hand, his posture relaxed as he rolled his shoulders. The HALO mission was supposed to be a routine low-tier raid, a simple cartel drug lab bust on an isolated island to give them their first real taste of field coordination under Archon's lead. He expected to walk in, check the post-drop telemetry, and see six green indicators comfortably sweeping through a rundown warehouse.
Geos stepped up to the primary command console, tapping the sleek glass interface to wake up the main display screens.
Geos: A.U.R.A., pull up the live tactical feed for Javelin-04. Let's see how my bay girl and the rest of the kids are holding up down there.
Silence filled the room.
One second passed. Two seconds. Three.
Instead of the instantaneous wireframe map popping onto the central wall, the terminal cursor flickered unnaturally, a dull amber ring spinning in a tight loop.
A.U.R.A.'s synthesized, smooth voice finally resonated through the overhead speakers, carrying an uncharacteristic, subtle latency.
A.U.R.A.: Status report unavailable, Master Geos. Telemetry link for Halo Squad is currently unestablished.
Geos paused, his mug hovering midway to his mouth. He frowned, setting the cup down on the console ledge with a dull metallic thud.
Geos: What do you mean unestablished?. They made landfall over twenty minutes ago. Re-route through the secondary orbital relay and force the suit diagnostic ping.
A.U.R.A.: Attempting secondary orbital ping... Ping failed. No signal returned from units Archon, Aegis, Flare, Velocity, Tectonic, or Abyss.
Geos's brows furrowed. His relaxed demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by the sharp, instinctual focus of a veteran hero. He leaned over the terminal, his hands blurring across the glass interface as he initiated a manual override sequence.
Geos: That doesn't make sense. Jade's suit carries an embedded seismic-grade transponder wired directly into her neural link. Even through reinforced concrete, I should at least be getting a passive heartbeat ping.
He punched in his personal security clearance bypass code, forcing a raw, direct hardline bridge straight to the suit comms on Cayo Serrana.
BRIDGE ATTEMPTING...
SIGNAL ERROR: FREQUENCY NON-RESPONSIVE.
STATIC THRESHOLD: 100%.
The primary monitor burst into a jagged wave of harsh gray static.
Geos: Static?. On an S-class encrypted quantum channel?
He stepped back, tapping his wrist comm to ping the main Vanguard network directly.
Geos: Geos to Synapse. Do you copy?. Synapse?. Geos to Paragon, does anyone copy?. The fuck?. A.U.R.A., patch me through to the Vanguard orbital support team immediately. Connect me to Xavier's office or the perimeter satellite division.
A.U.R.A.: Patching to Vanguard Support Grid... Connection rejected. External network interface unresponsive.
Geos snapped his head up toward the central ceiling core where A.U.R.A.'s primary sensor housing hummed.
Geos: Rejected?. How is a hardwired internal network bridge rejected inside the Dome?. What is going on with your systems, A.U.R.A.?
A.U.R.A.'s voice chimed back, but this time a faint digital pulse fluttered through her tone.
A.U.R.A.: My core sub-routines are experiencing an active, deep-level signal interception. An unauthorized high-tier interference protocol is currently suppressing outbound communications and isolating the Cayo Serrana sector from the Aetheria grid.
Geos froze, his eyes widening in total disbelief as the weight of her words hit him like a physical blow.
Geos: A deep-level interference protocol... from inside our own grid?
He stared at the blank, static-filled screen, the cold realization washing over him that maybe the kids hadn't just dropped into an offshore drug bust, they had walked straight into a completely blacked-out trap.
Geos: Prep the jet. Set the coordinates to the Cayo Serrana island. And keep attempting connection to Xavier.
**** /Site BUTCHER'S HOUSE — Subterranean Level 1/ /02:35 AM/ ****
Jade was the first to speak, her arms crossed tight over her chest, her eyes fixed on Michael.
Jade: Archon, I'll be honest with you, you handled this badly. If Sloane's right about anything, it's the fact that we should all have gone towards saving a child over this drug pin.
Kaeleb frowned, stepping up beside Michael.
Kaeleb: We don't even have any actual evidence of a supposed child down there. Why risk the whole mission for that?
Jade turned her gaze sharply onto him.
Jade: Cause we're supposed to be heroes.
Leo leaned back against the cold concrete wall, running a hand over his face under his mask. He let out a quiet, frustrated breath.
Leo: I don't wanna be that guy, Archon, but I'm siding with Tectonic on this. We all got mad at Abyss when he let one hostage die in a simulation, and all of a sudden we're okay with casualties?, I don't understand the kind of heroes we're supposed to be.
Michael stood silent for a long moment. He looked down at the glowing holographic map on his forearm, then up at his remaining teammates. He let out a slow, heavy sigh, the normal composed stiffness draining from his shoulders.
Michael: What's done is done. All we have to do now is move forward and hope things go well. I apologize for selfishly putting our primary objective first. That is not the quality of a hero.
**** /Western Research Corridor/02:37 AM/ ****
Far down the western hallway, the air grew increasingly cold and metallic.
Ark moved through the shadows like a phantom. He had his white hood pulled low over his face, leaving only his sharp, focused eyes visible above the dark fabric of his stealth mask. His gaze looked distant, unfocused on the environment around him, because he wasn't navigating by line of sight. He was tracking purely by scent, his instincts locked onto the heavy trail of iron hanging in the draft.
He ran at a pace far beyond normal human capability, yet his rubberized boots moved with absolute, unnatural silence. Not a single footstep echoed against the steel floor grid.
Sloane hovered just behind his shoulder, using her solar-flight manipulation to lighten her frame as she glided through the air to keep up with his pace. The corridor branched into a confusing maze of secondary air ducts and sealed lab sectors, but Ark moved through the turns without a second of hesitation, as if guided by an invisible thread.
After taking a sharp right down a narrow catwalk, Ark came to a sudden halt and pointed at a massive, heavy iron door at the end of the hall.
Ark: Behind that door.
Sloane didn't waste a second. She landed, raised both hands, and channeled a dense pulse of solar energy directly into the reinforced frame.
BOOM!
The thick iron blast door was blasted off its hinges, caving inward and crashing onto the tiled wall inside.
Both of them rushed through the smoking threshold into the room and Sloane immediately froze.
The room was a nightmare lit by flickering overhead fluorescent tubes. Spread out across a cold surgical table in the center of the room was the lifeless body of the eight-year-old boy. His torso was completely torn open, his organs exposed, and his heart rested beside him on a metal tray.
The horrific sight hit Sloane like a physical blow. She turned away instantly, dropping to her knees by the wall as her stomach turned, vomiting onto the concrete floor.
Ark walked over quietly, extending a gloved hand and tapping her gently on the back.
Ark: Sorry. I forgot the simulation was just a knock-off of the real deal.
Sloane wiped her mouth, looking up at him with wide, trembling eyes beneath her mask.
Sloane: How... how are you okay?. That's a child!
Ark: I know. I'm just already used to it.
Sloane: How do you even get used to this?.
Before Ark could offer a reply, a heavy metallic groan echoed from the wall of the lab.
The two-ton iron blast door that Sloane had blown off its hinges began to shift. Something trapped beneath the massive slab of steel was moving. A low, raspy chuckle leaked out from under the iron plate, quickly rising into an unhinged, violent cackle.
Voice: That... hit the spot!
With a violent, explosive burst of force, the giant steel door was hurled forward, slamming against the far wall and causing the entire chamber to tremble.
Out of the dust stepped the Butcher.
He was a hulking, terrifying figure clad in a blood-drenched rubber apron. The sight of him sent a cold shiver straight down Sloane's spine, forcing her to take a few instinctive steps backward.
Sloane: Be careful, Abyss... That's Jim Crowley. He goes by The Butcher.
Ark: Butcher?
Sloane: A sadistic Grade 5 villain who went AWOL seven months ago.
Ark: Okay. Now I cut him down.
Sloane: No, no, no!. You don't understand, you can't just cut him down!. Nothing penetrates his skin, and even if something eventually does, he has crazy regenerative capabilities!
The Butcher smiled, revealing a jaw filled with jagged, blood-stained teeth. He began to slowly, deliberately clap his gloved hands together.
Butcher: Sloane... I'm so happy you're a fan. This is going to be so..... much..... fun.
Hearing her real name spoken aloud by a monster sent another wave of terror through Sloane. The color drained from her face.
Sloane: How... how do you know my name?.
The Butcher's grin widened into a creeping, psychotic sneer.
Butcher: I know all of your names!. Ark Morningstar... Leo Verma... Kaeleb Orion... Jade... and Michael Thorne. All of your little.... secret..... identities. And I can't wait to add every single one of you to my collection. You'll make fine art!
Ark let out a soft, dismissive sigh under his hood. He reached down, slowly loosening one of the hilts of his blades.
Ark: You know our names... so what?. Now I'm supposed to be scared?. You killed a child, Mr. Butcher. Mutilated him. I hope you've said your last prayers... cause I promise to send you to a place you're gonna be needing them.
Hearing Ark's cold threat, the Butcher shivered with dark, twisted excitement, his hands running along his bloodied apron as a sickening, psychotic laugh bubbled up from his chest.
Butcher: Then what are you waiting for?!. Come send me!