Chương 144: 143: Gathering

The rumours changed as they spread. By the time they reached the lower residential levels, Kasina's death had become only one thread in a much larger web of whispers. The trainees who had witnessed it were separated and interrogated for hours, their accounts dissected by operatives trained to detect inconsistencies. Every detail was questioned, every pause examined, every fragment of memory pulled apart and reconstructed. Liora was the first to give them the story they wanted.

Not because she was weak, but because she understood the game. The operatives were not looking for the truth. They were looking for an explanation that could fit neatly into the chaos consuming the Nest. So she gave them one.

"She appeared in the corridor," Liora said, keeping her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

"The blue-haired girl. She came out of nowhere. We were in our dorm trying to understand what was happening, and then she was just... there." The operative across from her narrowed his eyes.

"In your dorm?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I don't know why she does anything. She was covered in those strange markings, and there was something wrong with her. It was like she wasn't completely there."

"Was she looking for something?"

"No." Liora swallowed.

"She was just standing there. Kasina tried to talk to her. She was always trying to help people. She reached out, and then..."

"And then what?"

"I don't know." Her voice cracked.

"She collapsed. The blue-haired girl never touched her. She just looked at her, and Kasina was gone." The operative stared at her.

"You're telling me she killed Kasina without touching her?"

"Yes."

"That's impossible."

"I know." Liora lowered her eyes.

"I saw it happen, and I still don't understand it." The operative studied her for several seconds before finally leaning back.

"Return to your quarters. Stay there until you are called." Liora nodded and left. Only after the door closed behind her did she allow herself to breathe. She had lied. She had lied about the dormitory, about what they had been doing, about how they had encountered the blue-haired girl. They had not been sitting safely in their quarters when Katherine appeared.

They had been wandering through the frozen Nest, stealing weapons and gadgets, opening doors they had no permission to open, and exploring sections of the facility they had never been meant to see. Kasina had died because she had tried to help someone she should never have approached. Liora had lied because the truth would have killed them all. She hated herself for it. She also knew she would do it again. The others gave them the same story. Gideon. Sera. Milo. Noel. Nina. Rhett. They had been in their dormitory.

The blue-haired girl had appeared. Kasina had tried to help. Katherine had looked at her. Kasina had died. By the time the interrogations ended, the operatives had a version of events that made sense. Katherine Ichor had infiltrated the residential sector, killed Kasina without touching her, and left the surviving trainees too terrified to resist. It was almost true. Almost. The part about what they had been doing before Katherine arrived was the only piece missing. The operatives did not need to know that.

Nobody would. — The rumours spread through the Nest like wildfire. Kasina's death became only one of countless stories surrounding the blue-haired girl. Each retelling added something new. Each whisper made her more frightening. She was the one who had killed the dreamers in the pods. She was the one who had broken time. She was the one who had unleashed monsters upon the world. She was the one who had stolen something impossible from the deepest secrets of the Syndicate. Her names became confused in the retelling.

"Katherine Ichor."

"Sylvia LaCroix."

"No, that's someone else."

"Then which one is real?"

"No one knows." Some called her a demon. Others insisted she was an alien. A few whispered that she had once been an ordinary girl who had been broken so many times that whatever came out the other side could no longer be called human.

"She's the reason Kasina is dead," Sera said in the crowded mess hall, her voice low enough that the people around her had to lean closer.

"She attacked us in our dorm. She didn't even touch Kasina. She just looked at her, and she was gone." A nearby trainee frowned.

"That doesn't make sense. How can someone kill you without touching you?"

"The same way she killed everyone in the pods," Sera replied.

"Her power doesn't follow rules."

"She's not human anymore."

"Then what is she?" Nobody answered. The silence said enough.

"I don't care what she is," someone finally muttered.

"I just don't want to meet her." Another conversation began nearby.

"The white-haired guy."

"Clock?"

"They're calling him the Angel of Death now."

"I heard he was an assassin from the Antarctic Faction."

"I heard he killed fourteen Abominations by himself."

"Twenty."

"Fourteen."

"I heard he killed more than that." Someone lowered their voice.

"And apparently he's with Ouro."

"The Chain Serpent?"

"And Korhess." A pause.

"Both of them?"

"That's what they say."

"That's insane."

"I heard he fought the Commander too." A few heads turned.

"The Commander?"

"Yeah."

"Bullshit."

"Did you see what happened in the recreation wing? Did you see what Butter did to Pyramid?"

"That was different."

"How?"

"She's Butter." Nobody seemed to have a better explanation. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"She fought Korhess and the Commander to a standstill."

"She survived having her head cut off."

"She humiliated an Operative."

"She's just as much a monster as the blue-haired girl." Someone glanced toward the entrance before lowering their voice.

"Maybe." Another trainee folded his arms.

"But those monsters are fighting the things destroying the world."

"That doesn't make them our allies."

"Maybe not." He looked toward the emergency lights flashing overhead.

"But I'd rather have a monster fighting on my side than one tearing through my city."... In the training halls, Liora and the others gathered again. The excitement and fear of the mess hall were gone. Here, beneath the sterile lights, there was only guilt.

"We lied to them," Liora whispered. Milo nodded.

"We had to."

"We were stealing weapons," she continued.

"We were wandering through restricted sections while everyone else was fighting for their lives."

"If they find out, we're dead," Gideon said.

"Executed," Sera corrected quietly.

"Or dissected," Rhett added. Nobody laughed. Noel stared at the floor.

"We should have done something."

"There was nothing we could do," Nina said.

"Kasina was already gone."

"We could have warned them."

"And what would that have changed?" Liora looked toward the door.

"We could have told them about the Nonagon."

"And gotten ourselves killed?"

"We know too much already," Rhett said.

"The only reason they haven't locked us away is because they need witnesses. They need people who can tell everyone else that the situation is under control." Sera folded her arms.

"Then that's what we do."

"What?"

"Keep everyone calm." Her expression hardened.

"We tell them what they need to hear. We tell them the Commander has a plan. We tell them the Steppers are fighting. We tell them the monsters can be stopped."

"And if they can't?" Sera fell silent. The distant tremor of another impact passed through the Nest. Dust drifted from the ceiling. Nobody spoke. Finally, Sera whispered, "Then we find a way to survive." The rumours continued multiplying. By the time the emergency assembly was called, almost everyone in the Nest had heard some version of the same story. The blue-haired girl had killed Kasina. The blue-haired girl had killed the dreamers. The blue-haired girl had unleashed the Nightmares.

The blue-haired girl possessed a Nonagon. The blue-haired girl could rewrite reality. Some claimed she wanted to destroy the Syndicate. Others claimed she wanted to destroy humanity. A few insisted she had already become a god. The truth was buried beneath so many lies that nobody could see it anymore. Katherine Ichor had become something larger than a person. She had become the face of the catastrophe. The symbol of everything the Nest feared.

And as thousands of residents gathered for the emergency assembly, whispers followed her name through every corridor.

"Katherine."

"The blue-haired girl."

"The Nonagon."

"The one who killed Kasina." Nobody knew exactly what she was. Nobody knew what she wanted. But everyone was beginning to understand one thing. Whatever Katherine Ichor had become, the world was no longer large enough to contain her.... Most of those whispers concerned the Commander.

"I heard he's six foot eight now."

"Now?"

"That's what I said."

"I thought he had a hunch."

"He did."

"So what happened?"

"They say he had it straightened."

"That's impossible."

"You're talking about the Commander." That answer was usually enough to end the argument. Others had stranger explanations.

"My brother works near the cloning labs. He said the Commander's clone malfunctioned."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means something went wrong during development. The growth regulators apparently went insane."

"You're saying his own clone gave him a growth spurt?"

"An impossible one."

"That's stupid."

"You want to tell him that?"

"No." The descriptions grew more exaggerated with every retelling. Some claimed the Commander had become nearly seven feet tall. Others swore he was closer to eight. One trainee insisted he had watched the man lift a damaged conduit that required four Operatives to move.

"He's built like an orc," someone whispered. Another trainee glanced toward the corridor before answering.

"Keep your voice down."

"I'm just saying what everyone says."

"They also say he fought six experiments alone."

"Six?"

"More than six. I heard he fought an entire containment team by himself."

"That's nothing." The group turned. A young Stepper leaned against the wall, arms folded.

"He fought the Antarctic Faction's Magpies alone." The conversation died.

"You're lying."

"I saw the aftermath."

"How many?"

"I don't know."

"Magpies?"

"Several."

"And he survived?" The Stepper gave them a flat look.

"He was standing when they weren't." Nobody laughed. Someone swallowed. Another voice emerged from the back of the group.

"I heard the Founder recruited him personally." That produced a different kind of silence.

"The Founder?"

"She personally brought him into the Syndicate."

"Why?"

"No idea."

"Maybe she saw something in him."

"What kind of something?" The Stepper shrugged.

"Something worth keeping." The whispers resumed, quieter now. The Commander had become less of a person with every retelling and more of a creature assembled from rumours, victories, and fear. Yet the strangest part was that none of the stories sounded completely impossible. — The great hall filled quickly. Thousands of residents crowded into the vast chamber, their faces reflecting fear, confusion, exhaustion, and the desperate hope that someone still understood what was happening.

Trainees stood alongside Steppers. Engineers clustered with scientists. Families held their children close while wounded Operatives leaned against walls or sat wherever they could find space. Whispers moved constantly through the crowd.

"That's him."

"Where?"

"Up there."

"Don't point."

"I wasn't pointing."

"He's taller than I expected."

"Shut up."

"Is that really the Commander?"

"Who else would it be?"

"Look at his shoulders."

"Stop staring."

"I'm not staring."

"You've been staring for thirty seconds." The Commander stood upon the raised platform at the far end of the hall. He was enormous. At roughly six foot eight, with a frame broad enough to make his armour appear almost too small for him, he looked less like an ordinary human commander and more like something engineered for war. The old rumours about his crooked back had become difficult to reconcile with the man standing before them. His posture was straight now, his shoulders squared, his presence immense.

Someone whispered that the cloning malfunction had done it. Someone else claimed the Founder had deliberately remade him. A third insisted he had simply grown that way after surviving experiments that should have killed him. Nobody knew the truth. Nobody dared ask. His visors swept across the hall. The whispers died. Even the children stopped whispering. He waited until every eye was on him. He spoke.

"Listen carefully." His voice was deep and measured, carrying across the hall without the aid of amplification.

"I will not waste your time with platitudes," he said.

"You deserve the truth, and that is what you will receive." The Commander let his gaze travel across the crowd.

"The girl who escaped the pods, the one now being reported across the world, was a Dreamer. Years ago, she was placed inside one of our harvesting pods, where her mind was used to produce Apis." A murmur moved through the hall.

"But she was different." The Commander's expression remained unreadable.

"She did not merely produce dreams. She produced something we had never encountered before. A core. A Nonagon. A nine-sided artifact that should not exist." The murmuring grew louder.

"A Nonagon is not a machine. It is not an ordinary source of energy. It is an impossibility, something that exists outside the systems we understand. That artifact merged with her, and whatever emerged from that union is no longer entirely human." He paused.

"She possesses the ability to alter reality itself. She can impose concepts upon the world and force them to become true. She has already demonstrated the capacity to destroy life on a scale none of us have witnessed." The hall had become unnaturally quiet.

"She believes humanity is beyond redemption." A woman near the front whispered, "Dear God…" The Commander continued.

"And there is something else you deserve to know." His eyes hardened.

"The Dreamers in the pods are dead." The silence shattered.

"What?"

"All of them?"

"My sister was in there…"

"She killed them?"

"How many?" The crowd surged with panic. Families pulled one another closer. Several people began crying. A young trainee stared at the floor as though refusing to understand what he had heard.

"The people we were harvesting," the Commander said, his voice cutting through the uproar, "every one of them was killed."

"Thousands?"

"Were they even alive?"

"What is Apis?"

"What pods? What are you talking about?"

"Ask your parents!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"How did you never know?"

"I didn't know anything about Dreamers!"

"You were born here!"

"I was a child!"... The Commander raised one hand. The effect was immediate. The shouting diminished, followed by scattered whispers, until the great hall settled into silence again.

"This is not a revelation I wished to make under these circumstances," he said.

"But you deserve to know what has been happening beneath your feet." His gaze moved toward the families standing together.

"For decades, the Syndicate survived through the harvesting of dreams. That practice ends today." A few people exchanged startled looks.

"No more Dreamers will be placed into pods. No more minds will be harvested for Apis. Whatever we require to survive this crisis, we will obtain by another means." His voice hardened.

"We will not replace one catastrophe with another." Someone shouted from the rear of the hall.

"What about the Nightmares?" Another voice followed.

"The monsters outside!"

"The cities!"

"What are we supposed to do?" The Commander waited until the questions subsided.

"The Nightmares are already being engaged by the Steppers. Every hundred confirmed Nightmares killed will count as a completed mission. Reach one thousand, and you will be eligible for promotion to Operative." A few trainees exchanged nervous looks.

"The larger creatures are another matter." His expression became colder.

"The experiments and I will deal with them." A nervous murmur passed through the hall.

"The Operatives will focus on evacuation, rescue, reconnaissance, and containment. If they encounter a Calamity, they are to draw its attention away from civilians and retreat when necessary." He looked directly toward the Steppers gathered along the side of the hall.

"You are soldiers. You are not sacrifices." The words settled heavily over them.

"We will not throw lives away simply because the enemy is stronger." Another voice rose from the crowd.

"What about the girl?" The hall quieted again.

"The one who killed the Dreamers," someone called.

"What are we going to do about her?" The Commander stared toward the speaker.

"She is my responsibility." A pause.

"I will deal with her personally." The statement produced a different kind of silence. Someone finally asked, much more quietly, "And Clock?" The Commander's expression remained unchanged.

"The so-called Angel of Death?" A few whispers moved through the crowd.

"Clock is not entirely our enemy." That surprised them.

"He has fought the creatures threatening this world. He has protected civilians. Whatever he was before he arrived here, whatever crimes he committed under the Antarctic Faction, his actions now have placed him on our side." His gaze swept over the crowd.

"And right now, we need every ally we can find." Another voice called out.

"What about Korhess?"

"And Ouro?"

"Are they with him?" The Commander gave the smallest nod.

"They are fighting." That was all he said. The hall fell quiet again. The Commander stepped away from the platform, but stopped before leaving. He turned back toward the thousands gathered before him.

"This is not a battle we will win through strength alone." His voice was quieter now, forcing everyone to listen.

"We will lose people. We already have. There will be moments when we believe the world cannot be saved. There will be moments when fear tells you to run, to hide, to abandon everyone beside you." His eyes moved across the families, the trainees, the engineers, the wounded Steppers.

"When that happens, remember what you are." He straightened.

"You are not fuel." A hush fell over the hall.

"You are not Dreamers waiting to be harvested. You are not numbers on a mission report. You are not expendable." His voice deepened.

"You are the people who remain." The words seemed to settle into the room.

"And that means something." He looked toward the enormous doors behind the crowd, beyond which the damaged Nest continued to groan beneath the strain of repairs.

"The world outside is burning. Creatures we cannot understand are tearing through cities. Something that was once human has declared humanity unworthy of existence." His gaze returned to them.

"But we are still here." A beat of silence.

"So we fight." His voice became absolute.

"We rescue whoever we can. We protect whoever we can. We learn. We adapt. We endure." He clenched one hand at his side.

"And if the world refuses to give us a place to stand, then we will build one." No one spoke.

"You are not alone," he said. His gaze passed over them one final time.

"You have never been alone." He turned toward the exit.

"And as long as I am Commander, you never will be." The Commander walked from the platform. Someone began to applaud. One pair of hands became two. Two became dozens. Soon the great hall was filled with applause, some hesitant, some desperate, some accompanied by tears. People who had spent the last hour believing they were waiting for death were suddenly standing a little straighter. The Commander did not turn around. He simply disappeared through the doors while the sound followed him down the corridor.

Outside, somewhere far beyond the Nest, something enormous roared. The applause faltered. Everyone heard it. The emergency lights flickered. And the world continued to burn. —