Errikos couldn’t hear a thing. He was vaguely aware of distant whispers coming from his headset but it was all a distant hum drowned out by the ring from the shelling that almost killed him. Even the noise dampening was overwhelmed by it so he staggered through the tilled Earth, softened and turned by explosion after explosion making it mudlike and alien. He was aware of the waymarker given off by the others at LZ Alpha and was steadily walking towards them as if in a dream.

Then they were moving towards the research facility. He didn’t even hear the order but saw the markers moving that way, did he walk right past them? Wasn’t LZ Bravo near the research facility? Errikos knelt down besides a puddle and splashed water on his face trying to shake off the steady vibration inside his skull. And, as if on cue, it began to rain, and it made the walk even more difficult as the fresh soil happily absorbed the water, spongelike, now muddy and miserable. Finding his footing towards the facility was impossible and he found himself slipping repeatedly but the rain did serve one wonderful purpose. It silenced the world. He couldn’t hear the eldritch cries of xeno-monstrosities; he couldn’t hear the fires raging in the city or the crumbling buildings as internal structures gave way to force or heat. Even the shelling seemed further away now.

The Research facility was before him now and he saw a pair of Guardians at the door that nodded towards him out of habit with no interaction, his body nodded in return, almost separate from himself. Once inside the double doored access vestibule he quietly found a place just inside and sat down with his back propped against the corner formed by a wall and a cabinet and slipped away.

Inside the research facility his head no longer droned, his ears no longer ached. He left his shell behind for the moment so he could have a moment of peace. The system was aching too, he noted multiple warnings as proximity sensors pinged with Stigma activity in the area, no shit. The dome itself had taken damage, perhaps not direct hits but certainly debris and shrapnel. He looked through the cameras now, noted where his body was and someone standing over him… what was his name… he remembered the guard standing besides Isolde during the briefing. Really he was just challenging his memory as it was easy to simply use the CCTV’s built in PID.

Marcus, the guard stood, a mixture of confusion and concern over his body and nudged his boot with his own, prodding as if checking to see if Errikos was awake/alive. In his headset, Errikos chimed in, a smarmy bit of a dark humor.

“The doctor isn’t in, please leave a message.”
“W…what?”
Errikos responded, chuckling, “Sorry sorry… Rigas here, I’m not in my shell, I’m not dead though. Thanks for checking.”
“Oh…” the bizarre response and reality of the moment seemed to pause Marcus before he simply accepted it and moved forward. “Doctor Featherswallow wants to see you tonight.”
“Oh??? I wasn’t aware she was interested in me like that!” Again, detached from the discomfort of his own physical shell and current situation, it was much easier for him to find humor.
“Wh-… I don’t understand, she isn”
“No no I’m joking, I’ll be there.”

With that Marcus, awkwardly nodded, still lost with the situation and moved away. Thinking on the topic, Errikos wondered why a member of ResDiv would care to meet him, then he thought of her and her reputation and it made him feel a bit like a rodent who found themselves the focus of a cat’s attention. He didn’t enjoy that feeling.

‘Now then, where would I find Isolde…’

Errikos flipped through the facility tracing her signal until he found the CCTV in the research wing but, even though he could trace her signal into the room, he couldn’t see her, only a black mist in the corner of the room and… a pool of blood around a woman that appeared to be screaming with several early stage stigma infections surrounding her. He couldn’t pick up audio on the CCTVs but her face said everything. With a quick thought the PA systems chimed out in his voice.

“Stigma infected inside, Research Wing treatment room.”

With a final gesture he attempted to close the doors, not necessarily sealing the room but it would require a human interaction to open the door.

A tiny, sinister although playful smirk came onto Emilia's lips after the 'no ammo' comment. And, that Clarke name was probably not going to go away anytime soon. Luckily, the rest of the team did not hear it, otherwise, Emilia would probably have to endure plenty of teasing until the end of time. The rest of Christina's words were half expected, yet difficult to realize. It was an almost inevitable truth to face. The moment that General McMahon had said Benjamin's name at the SWARG meeting this morning, Emilia could piece everything together herself, although reluctantly. She certainly did not want it to be this way, but how could she possibly correct it? This Archon that Christina mentioned was Ben, or perhaps they had to say Bahamut now. From what Emilia had heard, being in an Aeon/Spirit-induced Archon form was extremely intoxicating and addictive. Those who were able to assume that form did everything they could to maintain it for as long as possible.

"What happened to Ben? I don't know. I got a message from him some time ago that said that he had to do something, something he couldn't do while..." Emilia paused and let out a modest sigh. "...he was in the UDF, or something—memory is a bit hazy." She did not lie just then, but neither did she speak the entire truth. His real words in the text message had been '...while you and mom were around'. Although, it heavily implied that doing whatever it was that he had to do would not be possible while serving the UDF. While you and mom were around... hmpff, what does that even mean? I'd rather go with him than do this. Or, maybe that's just wishful thinking. No, it isn't, you are just afraid. Who am I talking to? Emilia's thoughts wandered, trying to hide wrinkling eyebrows and marginally frowning nose bridge. "So, you saw his Archon form? Does it look like the actual thing, Bahamut? It's, like, a mythological dragon or something where he is from." She asked with a hint of exhaustion on her face. The thought of having to go up against Ben, or any of his old team for that matter, had started to nag at Emilia's mental state.

After chatting for a few moments, things inside the PRS took an unexpected turn. The ordinary fluorescent lights switched mode in an instant to a deep red that consumed all other colors visible to the eye—clothes, equipment, and things appeared as if drenched in blood. Rotating emergency lights of yellow hue began to slowly spin within tiny blubs in the ceiling. And, a muffled commotion could somewhat be heard coming from the level below. Something was clearly wrong. As if on cue, Errikos' voice rang out in the PA system to warn about the outbreak in the Research Wing, and Oerba showed her pretty face riddled with despair and urgency. The young gal did not have to say two words. Emilia was quick on her feet and gestured to Christina to tag along. "Robert, Scylla, Aaron! Down below!" Emilia shouted as they descended deeper into the PRS towards the Research Wing. She had little to no idea where the others were, but Emilia assumed that all the warning lights and Erriko's voice were perceivable throughout the whole PRS.

The sight within the Research Wing was bizarre. It was almost as if there was another room in there connected by sliding doors and what Emilia thought to be reinforced glass of some kind. Inside, she could see some manner of pitch black smoke slowly swirling about in a corner, and then those people or whatever they were. They looked like corpses but mindlessly walked around and were somewhat aggressive in their twitching and motions. "What the... are those Stiggies?" Emilia asked with bewildered tones. She waved her arm at the door to see if it was motion activated—alas, nothing happened. There was a contraption next to the door that said 'IntCom' with a button labeled 'PTT' (Push To Talk). Emilia did not hesitate. "Isolde, are you in there? How do we open this door? It doesn't seem to respond. Is there a button or something?" Emilia spoke with a hurried voice while waving her other arm at the door, even putting her hand at it to see if something would happen.

Adrenaline finally slowed in production before coming to a screeching halt. It never felt like that though, it was always a creeping sensation, akin to bleeding out from hemorrhaging. Cold, but a bit more forgiving than the comparison. Her first firefight was enough to sway her opinion of writing papers to wearing combat boots on the ground. In her daze and glory, she had failed to take merit of any wounds or grazes she might have had with the small fry. Yes, she was a femme fatale, and yes, she was practiced and honed. Yet the declaration of battle and being in a live firefight was something she could not completely account for with being so green behind the ears. Being an Aeon granted her durability enough to be reckless just not wanton.

She wasn’t maimed nor to the point of medical attention, the thought of being Isolde’s patient made her shiver and the hairs stand on end. Eunji did have some shallow cuts and bruises. As if she was searching for the source, her fingers splayed out one by one. She…she was counting? Some bizarre ritual she concocted like her scrapes were a badge of honor. Next thing you know she would be making welts on her skin to record how many people she’s killed in combat. After her grand total of a few dozen, she looked around the hellscape for some plants. To the surprise of no one, barely anything grew here, at least anymore with the exception to one enduring species. That was the funny thing about nature, it never agreed to the rules set by humans. What species more persistent than the household family of ‘weeds’.

No one really understood weeds outside of manufactured assumptions, so it was easy for Eunji to see why it could be overlooked so easily. She plucked a few dandelions that looked unaffected by the way of the world around it, jealousy was the only emotion Eunji could feel towards this enigmatic plant. Chewed them in her mouth and spit the paste onto her hands. Gently, she scooped some in her fingers and applied it to the source of her woes. A natural salve for healing for wounds so simple and discrete as hers.

Fast forward to the afternoon, she sat at the base of the shower, clutching her knees into her chest, letting the glass fog up so only the intensity of her red hair could be seen. A bit tame, since the water made the brilliant red become a muted burgundy. Still, she sat quiet, processing, imagining what more she could do in the future. It wasn’t an odd 57 minutes into it she realized she was wasting more water than she needed. A towel wrapped itself in a dry embrace as did another around her skull. She changed into something more familiar in the form of a lab coat with a stylish pant suit underneath. Like a bird with nest fidelity, she flew her way back to what was considered home, a lab.

ResDiv was gigantic and there was no lack for wear when it came to stocking every type of scientific machine or device needed. It was practically like being a kid in a candy store. She downloaded her research on to the computers and cross referenced it with all the files up until now that SWARG had on the virus. Adding in what samples she got from the mutants outside. It was all starting to find it’s way back to her research on Ophiocordyceps unilateralis, something she absolutely knew would be too good for Isolde to pass up on. If she tested it live on humans…well, she wouldn’t let it get to that point. She offloaded everything onto her tablet and made her fashionable exit in a huff to meet with Isolde. It was time to dance with the devil. The announcement on the PA system from another Aeon she had barely any time to meet only hastened her actions. The clanging of high heels meeting tiled floor was iconic and oppressive.

“씨발 (Sshi-bal)” she spat in confirmation of her fears.

She should have known Fungi were smart enough to grow and adapt, hell they could probably map out this maze of a base in under a minute flat. She was slow and ignorant. The door to the research division promptly opened showcasing her team from just before, only with a few unfamiliar faces. Must be the rescue and Isolde’s crew.

“Move” she commanded in a low, dull tone. Her hands began to vibrate with dust spirits dispersing in clouds of brown smoke. If fungi could get out they most certainly could get in, she just needed to keep pumping.

𝙱𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚗.

𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝'𝚜 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑, 𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚌 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝. 𝙸𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝, 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 - 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝. 𝚂𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍, 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝚃𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝙳𝙵 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝚌𝚢𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏. 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚞𝚔𝚎𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝, 𝚊 𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛.

"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚠𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚊 𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚛 - 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚊. 𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚔𝚎, 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚔𝚎. 𝚆𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚝." 𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝, 𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 '𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚑 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛' 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎. 𝚃𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚢, 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚔 𝚒𝚗 - 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚝. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚂𝚌𝚢𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚜. 𝙷𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕 - 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚎.

"𝚂𝚘, 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛? 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚡𝚜 - 𝙵𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔, 𝚑𝚞𝚑 𝚂𝚌𝚢𝚕𝚕𝚊?"𝙷𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚜. 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝙰𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝚈𝚎𝚝, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛.

𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛.

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝙰, 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝙴𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝚁𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙴𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗? 𝙷𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕, 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍? 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍.

𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚞𝚜, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖.

"I told you, it's fine." Scylla drawls, blouse pooled on her wrists, sporting nothing but unassuming negligee that offset the pallor of skin blemished and bruised. Eyes linger upon her back, she knows, feeling tacking stares that ping down her inked and scaled back and set her spine rigid in posture. The bruises circling her torso are observed and prodded, photographed even despite her protests in the language of frigid stares and thinned lips. Someone mutters an apology: your highness. It slips out on a uttered reflex because they know who she is and what: an assistant beckons and Scylla laughs. Leviathan.

"I'm not royalty. Just ask my father." It's a whisper, one whistled through pursed lips as the explanations from Emilia bubble and fall on her ears. Scylla cuts her a glance over her shoulder, idle movements lifting her blouse back over head, making note to ask that one Aeon - the fashionable one - to perhaps sew the miniscule gaps now along her sleeves. It bothers her, only slightly really, to have those certain appellations pinned to her presence and fixating her reputation beyond the reaches of her own name. She should be used to it by now, of course, but --

As mother would say, own that shit.

Scylla's attention mills around as the Research Division unfolds around them, it's not unfamiliar really, Dragoon forces often took shelter in battle grounds much like this - not as chaotic - but none the less serving as an infirmary. Her gaze though quickly peels away from the bustling activity and curiously pins onto Robert, completed with an inquisitive head tilt. He speaks her name, and she likes the way it sounds, a little charming, a little intentional much like the way she leans forward. "Oh, I imagine we could get pretty creative." Hair now fallen over her shoulder, voice lowered to a whisper and says: "Catch a break, eat and --"

The universe would not wait for the suggestion planted there, a seed of wanton expectation, and Scylla labeled the encounter for another time as the world became awash in reds and blacks.

The clouds of brown smoke was an unnerving sight, her spirits of water and air vibrating in their area of influence as Robert fled down the hall, fired. First in, last out. The embellishments of a man with a death wish. Her spear and rifle were left upstairs, no good down here in gloom and doom of the undead it would seem. There's something about them that summons a peculiar sense of having seen their like before, the twitching limbs, the deadened stare and ravenous appetite to maim and destroy - to feed. Scylla has one pistol drawn immediately, her movements fluid as she kneels just for a moment to pull the shiv free from her boot and sprints down the hall after Robert.

"Down," she snaps, using her momentum to strike from the flank, bullets chambered and then fired, that little razor lancing out with a wicked gleam on the blade. She doesn't allow herself to think about that maybe just a few moments ago that they had been people. Delicately mortal and mundane.

Through the head and neck she strikes, one down, still more to go.

Christina moved behind Emilia without so much as an ounce of hesitation, pulling a glock and a blade from her hip and following after her bloodstained shadow. Once the doors had been opened and the first few Stiggies had been dropped, Christina stepped through as well, ignoring the drifting cloud of pitch black smoke billowing from the corner and stepping up to the next infected corpse.

Its head twitched in her direction and as she closed the distance between it and herself, it lunged. Both arms swung in wide arcs with fingers out as if it meant to dig through her ribs and pull out her lungs. However, before that arc could close, she'd stepped inside it screaming something feral and drove the knife in her hand into its chest and down to the hilt. With her weight behind the strike, she too managed to shove the infected into the nearby wall. But that wasn't enough to stop it. For her effort, she was awarded an annoyed, hollow grunt in response. A coughing up of the essence of the life it had already lost. The shell of the man it once was ignored the sliver of metal cutting into its flesh and continued to flail against her. Its maw opened wide and its teeth bared down toward her neck. Christina pivoted, shuffling half a step back and pushing her elbow into the fiend in an attempt at keeping its jaw at bay while also keeping it pinned where it was.

"What the fuck are you?" She whispered through clenched teeth as she stared into its hollow eyes. However, there was nothing in there to answer her back. There was no light or life. No emotions. Just a void that... felt hungry. Angry. Sick. Teeth continued to snap at the air inches from her face, biting at her breath. Christina replied by shoving the barrel of her gun into its mouth and painting the wall behind it black.

...What in the fuck is happening here?...

There was dead silence on the intercom. Barely two seconds passed before Eunji showed her stylish self to solve the door issue. Whatever she did with those fine particles, some manner of dust, clearly by way of spirits, forced the doors to loosen up from their mechanical locks. By now, the rest of the team was already coming in hot as a runaway freight train, ready to derail and burn the whole town. Robert spearheaded the hostilities with fire from his weapon. Scylla was close on his tail—her movements and dance of death more elegant than a lass performing ballet on the grand stage. With more viciousness, Christina made it known that an Aeon was just that regardless of military or political affiliation. There were no mistakes to be witnessed in that regard.

Emilia had a round with the Undead Stigma, as well. She employed a move that was particularly useful when dealing with ordinary humans. Instead of applying force to jump upwards, Emilia directed herself forwards. In that momentum through the air, close to the floor, one of her knees took point and crashed into the chest of one of the remaining zombies. The thing was violently flung backward into the closest wall. A huge dent in its chest could be seen, a blackened liquid having burst through its ears, mouth, and nose. Most people tended to forget that Aeon did not require conventional weapons to do serious damage. Much of their firepower was a formality, perhaps ceremonial. They could punch through quite hard material with their bare fists, which meant that a human body—let alone a rotting corpse—was no match for them. However, bullets were still faster than any given limb.

The confrontation was concluded with haste. There was about one of the walking corpses for each member of the modest rescue team, thus an insignificant encounter. As things settled in, the stench became awfully apparent. It seemed as though it came from the dark liquid of the zombies, not the rotten bodies themselves. It was clearly infected with Stigma, but it had never expressed itself like this before—the coloring, the composition being unusually thick, and then the smell of it. Emilia had to cover her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her, by now, dirty UDF shirt. "Damn, what is that?" She complained while leaning forward to take a closer look at the thing she had just dispatched from existence. "Isolde? Eunji? What is this?" Emilia inquired, as her attention returned to those that were still alive and not corpses.

Emilia's imagination had a will of its own. Whatever happened in her life, it somehow traced back to Ben for whatever reason. That man had really created an impression on her that was not healthy. Emilia had the wildest idea that these things were somehow connected to him, just as she had suspected at the meeting earlier this morning when the General mentioned the new strain of Stigma. It was not as far-fetched as she would want it to be. A lot of strange, bizarre, and unlikely things happened in the presence of Archons, especially the ones originating from Aeon transformation. The comet had not passed Steelwater yet, so it was not feasible to suggest that as a cause. Incidentally, if they would go outside, the giant celestial body would be covering a great portion of the sky at this very moment. Although, it would still be quite a distance away from the city itself.

The camera in the room panned and zoomed as needed watching the situation develop as these things, somewhere between human and Stigma, gathered around the medic named Amy and tore into her. It was an animalistic scratching, beating, biting; like any way to cause damage to her as screams rang out. Virus focused the camera on her as best as he could, taking care to record the material as well as angles of the infected humans. Someone up above would want to see this… and they’d want to study the Medic is she somehow survived this. Virus watched the scene play out like a movie, it was detached. He knew it was real from a logical sense but the difference in viewing something through digital lenses seemed to alter the reality, it was a filter that let him separate from whatever was happening and dehumanize whoever was being affected. It was better for the job but it felt like there were two of him, one that could empathize with in person tragedies and one that could just watch, emotionless.

Virus watched members of SWARG enter and focused on how the infected humans perceived and responded to new threats and how they responded to lethal force. They weren’t as resilient as an Aeon but… they didn’t seem as frail as a baseline human either… reminded him of some blacktag things the UDF did trying to force spirits to bond to humans that resulted in something less than desirable. Virus wondered at what the cause might be. Would there be more of them between SWARG and Bahamut? Could they also further mutate into more vicious variants the same way Stigma do? There were so many potential questions now.

Virus continued recording as the last of the infected fell and focused on Amy now with half-a-mind about her, Errikos hoped she simply died so she could be free and Virus hoped she survived for research… He thought of his own body now laying by the entrance to the facility. What might happen to it if more were there. He sent a flicker of consciousness through the maze of logic and wires until he found Errikos, laying still, unmolested. He flashed back the treatment room and pierced into the local speaker. “The medic, stabilize the medic!” There was urgency in the otherwise calm tone he used. Virus tasked the camera to continue tracking Amy directly, and finally jumped into the exterior security system and took note of its stance making sure it was both active and tracking with a corresponding alarm attached to movement. With that he was back in his own body.

Errikos’ eyes opened slowly, as usual it felt like waking up from a nap, light disorientation as his fleshy body reacclimated. The room was red with flashing yellow lights, like the rest of the facility, yet it was empty as the SWARG members had charged off towards the treatment room. Errikos stood up slowly hearing the faint thud of his own boots against the hard plastile floor in isolation from outside noise and the jingling noise of his own gear as he stood up; the faint sound of artillery strikes like thunder now, especially when coupled with the rain falling on the dome itself. His head wasn’t ringing as much now, courtesy of the natural resilience an Aeon possessed. Errikos took stock of his body now and realized any wounds he might have had were now superficial at worst and that mostly it was dirt and charring that marred his appearance and made his way towards the treatment room.

The world around him seemed to settle in a familiar hum. Peter was healing someone, a soldier, black patch laced over a damaged eye. Nurses moved around him going about there own work and in some way, it seemed as though he fit in more here than on the battlefield. Whether healing the wounded or commanding seaside burials for the afterlife, there was a certain rhythm that came easily to Peter; perhaps it was the dichotomy of his existence in balancing life and death with his very words and fingers.

The soldier moaned when Peter removed his eye patch, leaning in closer to inspect the nasty wound. He stared at the man for a moment, heartbroken at the devastation that the world outside the station laid upon him. With the gentle temper of a lagoon, Peter moved his hands to the man's eye, laying them just above the flesh. That holy glittering golden light filtered from his hands and seeped into the wound like angelic honey. It was something celestial, cosmic—an otherworldly light unlike anything one might find in the industrial bubble around them.

His heart lurched—the pain returned. He retrieved one hand from the light and clutched it to his chest, breathing heavily. Peter knew it, frustrated at himself and his condition. He had definitely overexerted himself and the spiritual essence that fueled his being. Krishna, the nurse from before, came up behind him, equal parts worried and surprised. He cooed under his breath, first enthralled by the golden witchlight emanating from Peter's hand, "You're an Aeon?" he asked.

Peter nodded feebly, the pained stutter of his movement visible to the nurse's trained eye. Shaking his head of the fact that he was in the presence of an Aeon, Krishna circled around to the other side of the table and looked at Peter clutching his chest. "Bro, are you okay?"

"Yeah..." Peter whispered, "It's just a heart thing. I'm okay." Peter took a deep breath, feigning that his pain receded. But in truth, he wanted to rip out his heart right then and there—shatter it into a million pieces, and fling them into the stars. Unrealistic, but anything to remove this detriment to his well-being seemed like a viable alternative to the disturbance it brought to his life. Krishna raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by Peter's nonchalance, "Doesn't seem like nothing. I can perform a CT scan—maybe see what's up."

Peter shook his head, knowingly, "No. You'd only be wasting your time."

Eventually, he pulled his hands from the wounded soldier's eye and the golden light faded soon after. He rubbed them on his knees as though wiping off dirt. His hands always got really hot when he healed someone with his magic, perhaps a side effect of the light. Peter didn't really know how his magic worked other than the fact that there was always an uncomfortable heat-like sensation, as though healing someone caused his hands to burn on the inside. Before Krishna could protest further, the lights in the facility blared and an unfamiliar voice rang out on the intercom (Errikos), announcing the situation that erupted in the Research wing.

An inner breach, but how? And then Peter's thoughts went immediately back to the little girl he 'rescued' from the forest and he felt a pang of dread constrict his chest—it was worse than his heart pains. At first, he wasn't sure what to do as he caught a glimpse of Emilia, the BlackRock soldier, and a few others following behind and descending to the Research wing. Were they Aeons too?

The medical staff and nurses within the Trauma unit moved about frantically as the lights and alarm continued their ear-blistering wail. Unease and fear crept upon many of their countenances, but the present commanding officers told them to remain calm and continue working. Surely, the Aeons who went down stares could handle whatever was going on...still, Peter couldn't shake the disquiet that settled within his bones and when the voice came back on the intercom to stabilize a nurse, his fear became realized. Someone was hurt after all, which meant, the little girl could be hurt too. He couldn't sit around anymore.

Once Peter's immediate objective was clear, he made his way towards the Research Wing, "Can you watch him please?" Peter asked Krishna as he moved further and further away from the trauma unit. Krishna called out behind him, "Where are you going?"

"I have to make sure she's okay!"

Peter didn't hear Krishan's response. His mind was singularly focused now as he descended the facility, practically fumbling between people on the second floor who were either sheltering in place or arming themselves for the potential threat that might ascend from the Research wing. Armed guards, informed that Aeons were handling the situation below, stood guard just before the entrance to the Research wing, just in case as per facility protocol. On his way there, rushing frantically, Peter accidentally bumped into a man. Older, salt and pepper facial hair abundant—an unfamiliar figure to the Funerailles, but he seemed to the heading toward the Research Wing as well. Was he an Aeon too? Peter didn't have time to exchange formalities with the man, "Sorry!" he said simply, continuing past the man without giving it further thought.

What would later cause him great distress, Peter didn't realize that in the collision, his ornate European-esque Freidalian golden locket with a small photo of himself and his boyfriend Milo fell off his neck and landed right in front of the man (Errikos). The surface of the locket on one side was cracked now, but Peter, naturally, didn't notice that either.

Once Peter entered the research wing, he froze. It was a horrible sight indeed. Surrounding the Aeons were the busted remains and bio-slurry of a now terminated disturbance. Bodies of humans, but, they were twisted somehow, their corpses and innards smattered about—the walls and floors painted in a stinky black ink that oozed from their orifices and body wounds. God, the smell was so putrid. If Peter hadn't had years of experience working with dead bodies as a Funerailles, he might have puked. But this was just...incomparable to anything he'd dealt with before.

Peter looked around, scanning the scene for the little girl or the nurse mentioned on the intercom. When he saw neither, he entered the treatment room, first catching sight of a swirling black fog in the corner and then he saw the nurse (Amy), wounded with bites and scratches. Her sanguine fluid licked the floor around her silhouette as he came over and knelt beside her. She was unconscious, but after checking her pulse, Peter could see that she still drew breath, feebly. She was teetering on the cusps of the afterlife, her wounds near fatal. But another thought surfaced—it was true then, the reports about the new strain of the stigma infection. Peter shook his head from such a thought that would serve him no good in the present.

He rubbed his hands together, the shimmering golden light returning, as did his heart pain. How long before he passed out from overusing his magic, he wondered. It didn't matter for now, it couldn't matter. He laid his hands on the largest wound he could see and then began the healing process. Her wounds were so terminal that he felt them ardently, as if they were his own. Healing them would take a while, and she was too badly wounded to be moved without causing serious damage to her health and physical constitution. Peter would heal her right here, on this very floor, at least until it was safe enough to move her body on an empty table.

His trousers became bloodstained by Amy's blood, but still, Peter didn't care. If he could heal her enough, then her bleeding would seize at least. Nothing to say about the new infection strain that roamed through her body now—like with the little girl. The little girl. She came back to his mind in that moment. He still hadn't seen her. Where was she? But for now, he had to focus on the most pressing concern, Amy bleeding out.

As his light filled her wounds, he repeated the thought.

Stay calm, Peter. One problem at a time.

NPCs [+]

Little girl


Nurse, Krishna Patel


Medic, Amy


Milo Zabini

Within the caressing protection of her darkness, Isolde watched the entire situation unfold. While Dr. Poole, and Dr. Khan both seemed to be succumbing to the effects of Isolde's magic, she remained ever analytical. She watched how the new stigma strain took hold of the undead corpses and animated them back to life. She studied their movements, and how they focused on Amy ravenously. Their behavior reminded her of a plant mentioned in one of Eunji's scientific fungal reports, and when she began to recall those critical details in that report, it started to make more sense. Combined with what she, Dr. Khan, and Dr. Poole had uncovered within the blood of the infected patients, Isolde would have assumed her present supposition all but impossible.

And yet...

She watched the SWARG members enter the research wing, guns blaring as they dispatched the monstrosities for what they were. And in a way, Isolde found herself disappointed that she couldn't capture some of them "alive" for additional testing. Still, their downed corpses would be useful for examination in some capacity.

Isolde shifted her gaze to the young slight-bodied man who entered the treatment room and begin healing a mortally wounded Amy. Isolde knew who this was immediately. The Funerailles. The Angel of Bellfort. Interesting seeing the UDF's little doll here in such a dangerous environment, she thought. Surely then, this mission was much more grave than she could have anticipated if they sent a Funerailles into a warzone. But for what exact purpose he had to play, she did not yet know.

When Isolde's darkness finally dissipated, Dr. Khan seemed like she'd seen a ghost. She moved slowly, as though she'd lost her soul somewhere back deep within the shadows. When Dr. Khan finally found a chair to sit on, she just stared into nothingness. She was still alive at least, just left a bit traumatized. Dr. Poole was worse off. He hadn't left the corner and was huddled there on the floor, looking around like he had paranoia or schizophrenia. This was the magic of Belladonna, at least part of it. People who stayed in her darkness for too long, especially non-Aeons, would begin seeing and hearing things, as though they had been transported into another dimension where there was always something sinister and malign lurking just beyond the darkness. It seemed to distort a person's sense of reality and cause unimaginable fear. Perhaps, even being eaten alive by a stiggie was less of a frightful thought than lingering within the empty shadows of Isolde's magic. They'd recover, soon enough.

For now, they were the least of her concerns. She picked up a fever agent from off the counter, stepping in Amy's blood as though she'd danced in the blood of others on more than one occasion. Peter was so enraptured by his healing, that he'd hadn't even noticed Isolde behind him. He stirred when she knelt beside him, looking at Amy with feigned care—Pecksniffian and duplicitous as she seemed to be more often than not. Amy may eventually be of use to her, as would Peter, who she turned her gaze to and softened her eyes with that motherly downward crest you might show an anxious child.

"The Angel of Bellfort. A pleasure to meet you in person at last, though it is unfortunate that we should meet under such dire circumstances. The UDF like to keep you nice and tucked away don't they? And for good reason. You are valuable to so many people."

Peter, still healing Amy, looked at her, confusion etching upon his countenance, "Sorry?"

"Dr. Featherswallow, but, just call me Isolde. I'm the one who should be sorry. For the UDF to put you into this predicament—and of all people, a Funerailles." She shook her head, disapprovingly, "Truly unforgivable." Isolde took a moment to watch him work his magic, it was pretty, she would admit; anthesis to the darkness that swallowed her and those around her. He was an Aeon obviously, but she didn't know what he was capable of. And the unknown pissed her off more than she often let on. She'd keep an eye on him, the same way she always kept an eye on people.

"Oh. I don't know..." Peter began, coughing a little before he continued, "I just want to help people, so, if that path led me here, then, I suppose I'm okay with it." Isolde nodded as though she agreed and sympathized with his sentiment, "How honorable. You truly are a Funerailles in the highest sense of the title, but my dear..." she rested a hand on his back, "Are you alright? You seem awfully pale." Peter nodded, "Yes, I'm fine, just fatigued is all."

"Well, when you finish healing this poor poor woman, administer the fever agent and then have Dr. Poole help you move her to an empty cot. After that, go rest." As Isolde explained, she placed a syringe beside him and then gestured toward Dr. Poole, still huddled to himself in the corner. Peter turned to look at the doctor, instinctively furrowing his brows, "Is he okay? What's wrong with him?"

"He's just had a bit of a fright, my dear, nothing of grave concern."

Peter nodded, accepting her explanation without further skepticism or questioning like he might have normally. This was Dr. Featherswallow. He'd heard about her through the tabloids and what not. But, he was too exhausted to think critically about anything else regarding her. His magic was zapping ever fiber of his being, and he had very little essence left; just about enough to finish healing Amy. Isolde saw that he was swaying back and forth as he healed the medic, teetering on the verge of fainting. "Hang in there dear."

Isolde stood up, heading for the door when Peter called out to her asking about the little girl. She reassured him that she was safe and that he could see her later. That bit of relief brought a second wind to him, it seemed. But how long that would last, only time would tell. As she entered the hallway, she saw the aftermath of their battle up close. Yes, the smell was pungent and yes, the scene was gory and grotesque. But she remained calm, not a scrunch of her nose to indicate that she was in any kind of distress.

"Goodness..." she began as she walked towards the group, stepping over a corpse, kicking it once with her heel for good measure.

"Isolde? Eunji? What is this?" Emilia inquired.

As Isolde made her entrance, she controlled her posture to appear tall and glamorous. She kept her voice low, but projected, commanding their attention like she was stealing the spotlight in the all-important scene of a movie when a major plot point is revealed. She gave each of them a once lookover, capturing the audience's attention with her steely gaze.

"Unfortunately, this is the effect of the new strain of stigma. As we feared, we in the Research Division believe it is connected to the disappearance of Benjamin."

She paused, letting the silence and sudden reveal linger heavily between them. Those who already had their suspicions would be less surprised.

"While you were in combat, we found traces of Benjamin's DNA laced within the blood of our patients infected by this new strain. Though it is not 100% clear, and further testing is needed to confirm it, we are almost certain, somehow, Benjamin's magic has caused the stigma to mutate."

Isolde pulled out her redberry and made a swiping motion at the screen with her fingertips, sending a digital copy of a scientific report to their mobile devices and/or tablets, written and doctored by none other than Eunji.

"We must give credit to Dr. Park's previous report on fungi in helping us come to this conclusion sooner. But I imagine our resident fungal expert has probably already come to this deduction on her own." Isolde gestured at Eunji and gave her an approving nod, moving to stand by her before she continued addressing the group. "We surmise that the new strain behaves almost identically, and as you'll find in Dr. Park's report about it, Ophiocordyceps unilateralis...the zombie-ant fungus."

Dr. Featherswallow, laced her fingers together and let them fall flat in front of her. She took a deep breath, looking around at everyone's faces. She wondered why Marcus and Oerba had not returned before continuing, "I think Dr. Park can explain its probable behavior in undead humans better than I can, but I will say this..." Isolde allowed that smothering silence to return, letting it hang to emphasize the importance of what she was going to say next. In fact, this may be the most important thing she would say at all.

"If I can obtain Benjamin's blood, or rather, extract it directly from his body, then I may be able to doctor a cure for the new strain. While this is only a hypothesis, this strain behaves unlike any other. This may be the first true breakthrough the Research Division has had in finding an actual cure." Isolde's voiced became amplified as she spoke, like a skilled orator, the thrill and passion for her years-long work revealing itself in the rising inflections of her tone.

Isolde settled into the silence of the situation one last time before making her final statement. Isolde's gaze fell on each of them again before settling on Emilia, her gaze so fixed on Garuda that she very well could of bore searing holes straight through her cranium.

"If you care at all about giving humanity a fighting chance at survival against the encroaching stigma, then..."

"I need Benjamin..."

"Alive."

NPCs [+]

Dr. Poole


Infection Specialist Dr. Helen Khan


Oerba


Marcus Featherswallow

It was that light again. The light Emilia had seen in the forest earlier did come from Peter. She half suspected it, now the mystery was solved. Huh...Aether. Emilia thought to herself. It had been ages since Emilia had tried to heal herself or anything else. However, that light was different from what Peter was producing. I haven't seen that before... I wonder what that is. There was no doubt that Emilia had a general interest in Aeon and what they could do, but it was all mostly surface-level and nowhere near the detailed expertise of some of those present in the research wing. Regardless, Errikos seemed to keep an ever-watchful eye on everything, so Emilia could focus on the bizarre Stigma issue.

Isolde certainly displayed who the real authority was around this place. She had the seniority both in age and rank, a wealth of knowledge and research behind her, and a rather frightening expression of the spirits within that would humble most Aeon. Emilia had no intention of ever telling this woman what to do or not do. Not even the careerist pigs within the UDF could keep her on a leash like they did everyone else. To top it all off, general McMahon had been polite to her and he rarely took a knee for anyone. The more Emilia thought about it, the more she straightened her own spine out and stood properly while listening to Isolde speak.

Of course it's connected to Ben. Why wouldn't it be? Everything else revolves around him. The entire fucking world revolves around him for some reason. Emilia scolded the former flame of her life, as Isolde mentioned him by name. As the buzzing of notifications in cellphones faintly sounded among those present, Emilia reached for the back pocket of her pants out of habit and hardcoded muscle memory. A hint of panic struck her facial expression, followed by rolling eyes as Emilia realized that she had tossed her phone off of a roof early this morning. I'll just listen more carefully, instead. She thought along with a modest sigh escaping her frame. Although, Isolde's praise of Eunji managed to get a warm smirk out of Emilia, which was somewhat rare during missions and times of strife.

"Zombies? Like in the movies?" Emilia lightly chuckled, a lazy puff of air at most, flaunting its sarcastic aroma—after Isolde's comment about the ants. It was an outrageous statement to call something 'undead' or 'zombie'. Then again, they were fighting literal monsters and demons out of a horrible nightmare on a daily basis, so it was not as reaching as one could assume.

Isolde sounded more like a mad scientist the longer she talked. There was a fine line between being a genius and insane. She was going to conduct some personal experiment on Ben? Emilia certainly felt a bit of a punch in the stomach after hearing those ramblings about blood and a cure come out of the authority's mouth. It was as if that classified part of the Research Division had brainwashed Isolde's soul to a pulp. Or rather, Isolde was probably the one that did the brainwashing. It was difficult to tell whether these lunatic scientists of ResDiv were more out of touch than the night-crawling weirdos of IntDiv. Emilia did not take to the overall suggestion very well, but she kept her mouth shut.

That ice-cold stare from the woman did not help. Isolde did not have to say or do anything more, Emilia could feel a sick sense of pleasure in the woman from a mile away—she actually enjoyed this, just as she enjoyed stepping over these poor people's corpses like they were trash in the street. UDF High Command would eventually know about this development, and they would probably side with Isolde. Emilia figured that they would also change their minds about a thousand times before the group even got close to Ben, so it was not over yet. Regardless, there was no use in speculating. Emilia tried her best to control the somewhat disturbing train of emotions going through her facial expressions each second, but it proved to be more difficult than usual.

"Well..." Emilia began, trying to equalize her tone as much as she could, erasing any trace of an open book to her heart and soul. "I'm sure you'll convince McMahon and High Command of that. I don't know what we're supposed to do with him other than find him, so any practical direction would be nice, for a change. All I know is that we have to get into that city and find out why he basically destroyed it." Emilia paused and looked at the BlackRock operator. "Christina here saw an Archon in the city earlier, which is obviously Ben. He was close to achieving transcendence years ago, so it's not much of a stretch to assume that he has now. But, if these, eh, things have Ben's DNA in them, is it really him or is it Bahamut? I mean, they're not entirely the same thing, right? So, the question is whether you need Ben or Bahamut alive. I'm only asking because depending on the answer, the mission drastically changes in difficulty." She said and leaned her back against a somewhat clean wall.

𝙾𝚑, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚘𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚛.

𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚝, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍. 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚣𝚎𝚍-𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙶-𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 - 𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜. 𝙸𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚏, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑. 𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗 '𝙰𝚖𝚢' 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚏𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚍. 𝙷𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚢, 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚂𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙶-𝚙𝚊𝚕 𝚂𝚌𝚢𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚊 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙱-𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗, 𝚕𝚊𝚋 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚝 - 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢. 𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠.

𝙸𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚣𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚍-𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚣𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙸𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚢𝚎𝚛. 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑. 𝚃𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚓𝚘𝚌𝚔, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

"𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚝, 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚢. 𝙳𝚞𝚍𝚎'𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜."

"𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚜, 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚞𝚜. 𝙾𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚌."

𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚂𝚌𝚢𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎.

𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐.

Scylla Fluerane is quiet.

She is the sole representation of contemplation and thought, of will and force bridled within a frame that is all too relaxed and knowing.

She remembers and she listens, every muttered theory and truth coiled into a series of pinpointed words and utterances that cycle on repeat through her mind. The voice and peeling wail sire betwixt her ears, mind awash in the crescendo of a wraith like creature spun high as the waves crashing on Tenebre shores. Scylla's spirits ebb and flow, lulled and seduced by the mention of the legendary Archon, by the glow of Aether, yet not disturbed by the felled undead now at her booted feet. She did not hesitate and she did not waver, because it was recognition and know-how that inspired her blows and saw the reanimated slain.

Because there was Section H - Hellon Fort.

"I've seen something like this before." It's a muttered confession, her shiv maneuvered to balance upon her arachnid gestures, infected blood oozed and malicious in the red-black gleam under florescent lights. She bends, wipes it clean, feeling just almost out of place. Science and disease and cures are beyond her measure, no, Scylla thrived on conspiracies and fallen-from-grace, on battle and darkness and waves of the deep... "I was - " a careful glance. "-stationed with Ben weeks ago, before. Well, before." Scylla deigns to sit, reclined as a Queen upon a throne, one leg crossed over the other at the knee and arms folded at her bust. Contemplative.

"It was a basic rotation for me, he had been there for a couple weeks or so. But it took only a couple of nights before these things began stalking the night. It only happened on our patrols. I don't know if - maybe - it was related." She vaguely tossed her head, her stare of blue-black stark against her skin; harsh and unyielding. "We went out, once, hunted them down. Some of the average stigma and something else. Almost like the -" she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the designation of zombie. " - Undead."

"At the time, command said nothing of it, let it go. They said." Scylla glances toward Emilia. "I was shipped out not long after, Hellon Fort - I heard - was suddenly labeled unsafe and out of commission a week after that. Convenient."

Just like this sudden revelation.

She dare not utter of the last inquiry Ben bequeathed her in the shadows, blood and bone and darkness their heralds, she felt it as if the dawn was never meant to come, and the moon guttered as he whispered - what lies within the depths of the Lullin Sea.

Did he dare seek another Archon, if she even slumbered still in those endless waves. They could - would - never know. Scylla refused to answer and refused to speak of such now, it would benefit none but to complicate their objective further. However.

"A couple of days ago, I received news that there were signs of strange creatures in the waters off of Junon Port. Along with unmarked ships. It's a trade port Tenebre allies with closely." She was careful of how much she conveyed, for she did not trust none outside of what she and her mother had shared. "Perhaps.. it's related. Somehow." Scylla rocked back, only slight, peering through her lashes and casting their rake upon Robert's profile.

"It is risky. But we're SWARG. Risk is in that very name." Scylla carefully rose to her feet, graceful, a presence that alluded to her heritage. "Either one is a potential lead - point of interest if you will. But, I suppose it depends on what you tell command." It was a dulcet suggestion cloaked in a drawl, head canted and her glare now pinned on both ResDiv scientists and their Captain.

The firefight lived just as quickly as it died, except in this case the targets were unalive, but not quite dead. Her spirits had established a perimeter ensuring there were no more reanimated corpses waiting to sabotage the group around a corner or a corridor. The rest of the dispatching was left to those with more infantry experience. When it was all over, Eunji could feel the heat off the smoking barrels of those around her. Particularly a new face, a woman she had never seen before or read a dossier of. The rescue perhaps, but she would have to catch up much later. For now, with the small lull rose the next rising action. An assemblage of the minds between Isolde and Eunji. To be honest, had the two been able to become one person they may have been through this plague by now. That is, if they were able to dispense control properly. Oil and water they were for now, at least in their approach to solutions.

Emilia, the ever-apparent leader, and tenured vet was also a part of the conversation while the others fell silent, for a while. Eunji was already fatigued from the perspicacity in which Isolde carried herself, commanding something from them that they had passively given her. The voracity for her work and image never felt satiated. And after the bullets came a bomb. Metaphorical at least. This Benjamin figure was becoming more of a sign of the end in biblical terms than the son of the right hand. Although he did manage to create a tribe, just not the right one. The discomfort from Emilia was obvious despite her stoic outer shell. Eunji could feel it, even sense it, how? Well humans inhale anywhere from 1,000 to 10 billion spores a day, in that firefight alone she inhaled thousands of spores that had Eunji’s spirit attached to them.

It was an invasion of privacy, each spore working its way through her body. The central nervous system especially, which helped her empathetically feel the tumbles going on in her head that no one else was privy to. The same feeling one got from reading someone else’s diary, just less invasive. The praise, no matter if it were backhanded or not, was well received by Eunji and partially distracted her fixed gaze on the side of Emilia’s perfectly curated skin. Nothing less for the face of almost every sponsor, including skincare, from here to Goryeo. Isolde was quick to cut to the chase and become quite grim, at least they were in accordance. Benjamin needed to be brought back alive, not like Emilia would have wanted anything less. Plus, if Benjamin’s blood helped them find a cure, it would do wonders to mitigate the lives loss in whatever carnival of corpses lay behind Isolde’s operating room.

“Haha, yes exactly like in the movies Garuda” she chuckled with playful delight, devoid of malice. “Thank you, Isolde, astute as ever. As you all just heard this is a fungus I’ve worked near and dear to. To keep it short and in layman’s terms. There’s a fungus that actively releases spores vital to its propagation and survival. The spores are specialized to attack and infiltrate ants below the canopy. Once inside they more or less grow and take control of the nervous system of the ant. Killing it once it grows sufficiently. Once fully mature, it will use the ant’s corpse to climb to an altitude high enough where humidity and temperature will allow it optimal growth. From then it closes the powerful mandibles of the ant around the bark allowing a fruiting body to grow and repeat the cycle.”

Eunji took a pause to both let the information sink in like the vicious spore and catch her breath. The feeling welling up in Emilia stirred the innards of Eunji. A sad kind of smile formed on her face.

“I believe these are just the prototypes. If there’s anything I know about fungus its that they adapt incredibly fast, are brilliant as animals, and take everything from the environment. Not to cast a dark cloud over our heads, but with Benjamin’s blood, Aeon blood, there’s no telling what their ceiling is. They’ll only get more durable, disfigured, and monstrous the longer they live and adapt. Worst case scenario that hulk we put down is chump change to what they spit out. Best case scenario they can’t secure enough resources in this hell hole to adapt fast enough. And we find Benjamin and create a cure. Whether it’s him or Bahamut is unknown. It’s better to assume the two are one, so this is going to get a hell of a lot harder if it wasn’t there already.” Eunji put a hand on Emilia’s shoulder gripping it slightly and gave her a warm smile, “Well get Ben back, alive don’t worry. We won’t hurt him, trust me.” Soothing words for the face of the team to put her mind at ease. Isolde probably agreed but wouldn’t hurt him too much.

The mood was quickly derailed once more by the admission of truth from the Tenebrae royalty in the standing in the wings. Eunji could feel there was more than just the kernels being portioned out to them, there was more secrecy shrouded between the party members than there should have. A knot was forming in her stomach, maybe she made a mistake putting this patch on her jacket. It started to feel more like a target than one of honor. She would keep tabs on everyone like a fruiting body, until she could trust them fully. “Well, whatever the case we better decide if we’re all in or folding like the cards lover boy plays with outside of the cockpit.”

Eunji’s fated chat with Isolde would have to wait for now. Fate was out of their hands.

Errikos moved through the halls with intentionally quiet steps, as he usually did. He was on edge this time as he saw the situation in the medical wing had been secured and, nothing else stood out on the cameras but when he was in his body, he couldn’t watch everything like normal. His body felt just a touch out of synch with his movements, as if there was a visual lag, a tear in the screen between mismatched refresh rates. It happened when he spent a long time out of his body as his presence… his soul, his ghost got used to being in a body again. The sinister red glow of the halls punctuated with bright yellow flashes made the walk all the more ominous as the red light didn’t illuminate as well.

As he neared the medical wing he could hear Featherswallow talking, just at the end to hear her talk about grabbing Bahamut alive to focus on a cure, his face betrayed no emotion on the matter as he entered the room. He noted Garuda’s response, her state was heightened, clearly not as detached from the situation as the scientist was understandably. He noted the flyboys response and nodded in understanding with the idea of possibly needing to kill the renegade Aeon. He walked through the door and posted on the wall besides it, listening to the conversation break down.

Then the royalty spoke.

His eyes darted towards her as she shared the story of Hellon Fort and, more specifically Junon port. The ships she mentioned. Pursed lips under an arched eyebrow showed his response. His eyes flickered an electronic yellow as he passively entered the surveillance system in the room. Virus didn’t have to fully exit his body to do that much but the idea of essentially splitting himself was never one he was particularly fond of. His body stayed propped against the wall, and he observed the conversation, paying particular focus to when the fungi expert began speaking. It seemed almost too fitting that she was here, somewhere in the digital aether, Virus smiled at the choice to task her with this group for Bahamut. It was appropriate. However, considering her description of fungi spores and the possibility of an airborne infection, Virus snapped a majority of attention back to Errikos who promptly took a moment to put his filtered helmet back on before snapping back into the system. It wasn’t uncommon to wear some form of filtration in operational areas due to the stigma infection and an individual’s varying paranoia on how honest/competent the UDF were in researching it. Errikos purposely chose the full enclosure as it brought a heads-up display with it. That HUD didn’t really matter a lot to him, but it allowed Virus to use the helmet as a springboard to jump into connected tech more easily. It had the mild benefit of slightly masking when his eyes lit up.

Through the earpiece comms Virus simply commented: “If it’s airborne, we’d be smart to make sure filtration is solid.”

Christina scratched her nose and then raised her hand. "Hi..."

She tapped her chest. "I am the Christina person. You can call me Thena. I don't have uh... whatever group chat you're all plugged into so I didn't get the homework. I'll just have to take your word for it, doc. I'm also letting you all know that I'm tagging along. Your friend..." She looked at everyone else in the room. "Wiped out my team and if what you're saying is true, that probably means they're not... where I left them."

Christina scratched at the back of her head as her emotions began to fight each other for control. There wasn't just the possibility of her facing her own team again and the sick twisted hand of fate she was being dealt, there was the more pressing worry of her own exposure. "I probably need to get myself checked out..." She muttered under her breath. "... Anyways, I'm not leaving my dirt around for you all to clean up yourselves. If it comes to it, I'll put them down myself. What I really want to know is this: if Benjamin's blood is tainted with this new strain, could he simply be infected too and not actually the source? Because if the answer is yes, then Aeon's can turn and I think we have a bigger problem on our hands. And not just in general, but for the task you're giving us." She turned to the man who had entered the room last and noticed he had put on his helmet. "I think I'm going to need one of those. You wouldn't happen to have another, would you?" She asked.

Science was not Christina's forte but the curiosity instilled in her at birth by an overbearing father never left. It was especially potent now considering her life and the lives of those in the room were at stake. The mission was dangerous. She understood this better than most after having run into the target already. Any kind opportunity she could find to give them an advantage she had to take. Not to mention, she didn't know anyone on the team and wouldn't be given any time to jell with them. She found the idea of them putting a bullet in the back of her head with little to no sympathy after discovering she was infected, upsetting.

What was even more upsetting was the thought that the bodies of her brothers would not be allowed to rest. All of them were here for a reason, herself included. They believed in what they were doing despite being surrounded by ill intention and the allure of money in a dying world. Now, they were dead off a case of bad intel and a monster the UDF could not or would not control. That sad end should have been the conclusion to their story. Christina could have lived with that. Could have spun a tale for their families preserving some version of the truth and their heroism. But they couldn't rest, so neither could she.

An enormous freight platform elevator had taken them deep below the surface of Steelwater. After hours of searching for signs among the rubble, destruction, and dangerous hazards, the Special Warfare and Reconnaissance Group had found what they were looking for. It was a semi-abandoned installation from the early days of the war. A massive emblem was carved into the steel and concrete above the main entrance to the slithering hallways by the elevator stop. The emblem was a bizarre mix between the Intelligence and Navigation divisions of the UDF. It was clearly never meant to see the light of day in any official, meaningful sense. The only conclusion that the perceptive members of the Group could draw was that this place was a 'black site', one of many secret projects that the divisions had out of sight from UDF High Command. "Huh, is that the Int and Nav symbols put together? I didn't know they ever collaborated. Weird." Emilia thought out loud.

Strange clusters of spores hung in the air in seemingly random locations and the colorful, easily recognizable fungi of the Stigma clad some of the walls. Emilia silently indicated to the team that it was time for respirators. They were standard-issue UDF half-face respirators that the Group had secured at the ResDiv Portable Research Station, earlier, before departing. Even if Aeon were quite resistant to diseases in general, the complexity that this apparently new strain of Stigma showed was enough to warrant caution. The remains of two guards lay on the cold steel floor by the main entrance, just off the elevator. They had been violently ripped apart by the waist with little sign of struggle. A gruesome trail of blood led further into the facility. Distant moaning, scratching, and dragging of things could be heard echoing between the narrow pathways. The 'undead' things were here, yet some corpses seemed to be unaffected by the transformation, such as the two guards. Perhaps they were too mauled to reanimate.

The facility still drew power as the lights and various systems appeared to be on. The place had most likely been in maintenance mode, barely in use, yet enough to warrant guards and other personnel to be stationed there. There were strange claw marks and other dents in the walls leading into the first hallway from the main entrance. Emilia's first thought was that Benjamin had forced his way in through his Archon form, but surely this space was too narrow. "Whatever this was, it clearly wasn't invited." Emilia said while hesitantly touching the bestial marks on the walls, as the group slowly advanced further into the facility. They shortly arrived at a junction with several hallways splitting off in different directions. A legend on the floor attached names of locations and colored lines to follow for easy orientation. The green line was marked 'Reactor', the red line was marked 'Research', the yellow line was marked 'Systems', and the purple line was marked 'Communication'. The trail of blood and occasional corpse seemed to split off in each direction as if the carnage had taken several turns all at the same time.

"It looks like he's been everywhere, so maybe he was looking for something." Emilia said, inspecting the colored lines and gazing off in each direction. "Errikos, you want to check out Systems? See if you can set yourself up in there, get an overview of the place and perhaps dig in some data." She delegated. Emilia had ignored and avoided the responsibility that McMahon had given her as 'punishment' for... whatever it was. However, at some point, she would have to apply some kind of leadership, as long as it did not create further complications. It was a truly bizarre situation that she had never been in before, trying to give 'orders' to people who gave orders to others every day. Not to mention, most if not all of those present were far more capable than Emilia, who was just a 'face' for the average masses to recognize. "Scylla, check the Reactor? Hopefully, we don't blow up. Cool it down if you have to." Emilia glanced at the pale royalty — a modest request. "Our friends from ResDiv can check out Research, yeah? Robert, you get to check Communications, since you're the only NavDiv here. And the rest of us get to pick our poison, which is just me and you, Christina" Emilia said and finally landed her eyes on the BlackRock operator. "Do you know anything about this place?"

It was nice to see Errikos in the flesh again. Even if just a couple of hours had passed since the meeting this morning, it felt like a lifetime had vanished in the blink of an eye. The man was a bit banged up, to say the least, but Emilia had a feeling that the old-timer could take quite a beating before going down on his knees. He also seemed to understand, among other things, that Robert had a point. The best would be for Isolde to tag along, which is probably what McMahon wanted in the first place. But, the UDF being what it was, there was always a hidden agenda somewhere that nobody ever mentioned. However, Emilia was not about to put it to the test. If the legendary Research Division icon wanted to come along, she would.

Eunji expertly explained how all the pieces in the 'undead' fiasco were put together. It was all rather unnerving, disturbing, and horrid all at once. What if Benjamin had just been hijacked by the Stigma? Perhaps something had gone wrong during this transcendence, the Stigma taking control of his Archon form, creating some kind of abomination that he has no control over. All kinds of strange scenarios played out in Emilia's mind, one more terrible than the other, boiling her senses and flustering her cheeks with reddish hues. Eunji's touch was a welcomed disruption. The destructive train of thought came to a screeching halt and Emilia was brought back to reality from her demented delusions. "I don't think there's much of a choice. We have to go all in." Emilia spoke with a modest tone as if having recently woken up from ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Scylla carried herself like the elegant mystery she had always been. The pale beauty told a compelling story, one that almost rang recognition in Emilia's mind but stumbled and failed on its way to the finish line. Benjamin must have either achieved his Archon form some time ago or the suspected affliction of Bahamut began to brood long before any transformation was possible. Either way, it did not change their current predicament. Emilia remained silent, leaning against that unspoiled wall. Scylla's notes were all good things to keep in mind going forward. Most things were never just coincidence. Emilia shrugged at the semi-question of what they would tell Command. She was not going to tell them anything. It was all on Isolde's shoulders at this point.

Christina asked what Emilia and probably the others were all thinking. It was the same concern that had rushed through Emilia's head just a moment ago, playing out its nasty scenario and unflattering ending before her very eyes. The worst fear was that Benjamin was neither the source nor simply infected, but 'hijacked' in a similar way that Eunji had explained the fungi doing with ants. Regardless, there was no use in speculating. It would only lead to disaster and nothing would be done. "I think we'll just have to get into the city and find out. There's no use in getting all hopped up here on theories, even if we have brilliant minds present." Emilia said and released herself from leaning against the wall. "I'll gather some respirators for us. We're leaving in 10 minutes." She said and slowly walked towards the doors they had blasted through some moments ago. "If there's anything in that city related to Ben, we'll find it."