In the hushed streets of Lilac City, where time seems to linger like the fading sunlight upon weathered rooftops, a sense of tranquil normalcy prevails. Here, amidst the whispers of rustling leaves and the distant strains of a melancholic melody, life unfolds with a delicate balance between past and present.

But the illusion of peace is shattered in an instant—a sudden eruption rends the air with a thunderous crack, scattering birds from the ancient mahogany tree in a frenzied flurry of feathers. Panic ensues as chaos grips the community, mothers cry out for their children, and the elderly seek refuge from the impending storm.

Amidst the tumult, a middle-aged man steps forward, his nerves taut with anticipation as he addresses the village chief. "Chief, perhaps we should investigate the source of that shot," he suggests, his voice tinged with apprehension.

The chief's gaze is heavy with uncertainty as he considers the proposal, his aged eyes reflecting the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. "Will you lead such a group?" he inquires, his voice a mix of resignation and reproach.

Silence hangs in the air as the villagers hesitate, their resolve tested by the specter of danger that looms on the horizon. But before a decision can be reached, a commanding voice cuts through the clamor—a young woman, clad in the uniform of the Collective military, steps forward, her presence commanding attention.

"I'm Major Florence from Zone 7," she announces, her voice ringing with authority as she presents her identification to the chief. "We've apprehended a notorious criminal from the Black list, and I request your cooperation until backup arrives."

The chief's disbelief is palpable as he stares at the handcuffed man before him, his thoughts racing to reconcile the unexpected turn of events. "Prepare accommodations," he instructs, his voice laced with a mixture of gratitude and bewilderment.

As they gather beneath the sprawling branches of the ancient mahogany tree, Major Florence's grip tightens around her pistol, her gaze unwavering as she fixes it upon the man before her. There's a tension in the air, thick with unspoken words and hidden agendas.

"I won't waste time with formalities," she declares, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Any sudden moves and you might find yourself in the state hospital."

Her words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the gravity of their situation. But amidst the charged atmosphere, there's a flicker of recognition in the man's eyes—a shadow of regret that dances across his features like a fleeting memory.

"Who would've thought, you, my mentor, would stoop to this?" Florence continues, her tone tinged with disappointment. "Should I call you Richard or Michael?"

The man's demeanor shifts, his expression hardening as he meets Florence's gaze with a cold resolve. "Yes, who would've thought?" he replies, his voice laced with bitterness. "I apologize."

Florence refuses to be swayed by his hollow apologies, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as she searches his face for any sign of remorse. "I guess it all started that time," she sighs, her voice heavy with the weight of their shared history. "Three years ago was the first time you approached me."

He scoffs, adjusting his glasses with a derisive laugh. "Who do you think you are working for? The Collective or the people?" he taunts, his words dripping with disdain.

But Florence remains unmoved by his rhetoric, her resolve unshakeable as she stares him down with unwavering determination. "The people have the Collective to thank for the peace they have received since the disaster."

"Wrong," he retorts, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her. "Without a doubt, the Collective has pulled the wool over your eyes. Don't be deceived by their smoke and mirrors. There is far more to this than meets the eye."

"Michael!!! Michael!!!" Florence calls with an increasing crescendo.

"Yes, you were saying what?" Michael is drawn back to the present.

Florence stares at her ex-boss, sighing at how fate played a twist in their lives. Her boss whom she had always known was now a shadow of himself, his eyes sunken, and life seemed to be drained out of him by the minute.

"Why did you make that decision?" She asks softly.

The air is stiff and Michael shows unwillingness to answer at first.

"If the hands of time could be turned back, I would still make that choice." Michael sounds with conviction.

Florence was taken aback by Michael's words, his conviction shining through despite the somberness of their conversation. She couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as she tried to understand the depths of his transformation.

"But why?" she pressed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Michael's gaze softened as he looked at her, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "That is the only way for humanity," he replied, his voice echoing with unwavering conviction.

Florence struggled to comprehend his words, her mind racing with questions. How could he abandon everything he once stood for? What could have possibly driven him to such extremes?

As Michael continued to speak, Florence found herself drawn into his words, captivated by the intensity of his beliefs. Memories flooded her mind, reminding her of the man he once was, and the bond they shared in their shared devotion to the Collective.

But now, faced with the stark reality of his transformation, Florence couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal. How could he turn his back on everything they had fought for?

"Breaking out of the cocoon is never easy," Michael explained, his voice tinged with a hint of madness. "The Collective was trying to protect their continent at the expense of the destruction of the other continent. Blood can be spilled, only if it is not theirs."

His words sent a chill down Florence's spine, her mind reeling with the implications of his revelation. Could it be true? Could the Collective's noble cause be tainted by such darkness?

As Michael's words grew more cryptic, Florence couldn't shake the feeling that she was standing on the precipice of something far greater than herself. With a heavy heart, she realized that the man she once knew was gone, replaced by someone consumed by a fervent belief in a cause she could no longer understand.

"Do you think you caught me?" Michael's words jolted Florence back to the present, his smile sending shivers down her spine.

"What?" she stammered, her mind racing to make sense of his words.

"I gave myself unto you," Michael replied, his voice calm yet filled with an unsettling sense of certainty.

Michael's words hung in the air like a heavy mist, enveloping Florence in a cloak of uncertainty and apprehension. She regarded him with a mixture of disbelief and concern, her eyes betraying the turmoil of emotions swirling within her.

"The forbidden talk," she echoed softly, her voice barely audible above the din of their surroundings. "What is forbidden, and what is not?"

Michael's sigh carried the weight of a thousand burdens, his pale face a canvas of weariness and determination. "If doing this could save humanity from this looming danger, I am willing to do it a thousand times more. What a pity!"

Florence watched as Michael's figure seemed to retract into itself, his words echoing in the silence that followed. She could sense the gravity of his conviction, the depth of his resolve, and yet, she couldn't help but wonder at the cost of such unwavering dedication.

"I was on a mission at that time," Michael continued, his voice tinged with regret. "Colonel Adams was just promoted to his new rank, likewise myself. Poor Owen, he thought he was next. He would have died without knowing how."

As Florence looked into Michael's clear eyes, she found no trace of falsehood or deceit, only a steadfast resolve that sent a shiver down her spine. With a silent nod, she released him from his restraints.

"We were chosen as one of the very best in each zone. A total of four hundred and seventy-one officers," Michael's words lingered in the air, a sobering reminder of the responsibility they bore and the challenges that lay ahead.