Back in the research lab, the atmosphere is a mixture of tension and urgency, the kind that comes barrelling when the weight of the world rests on your shoulders. The low hum of fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, casting a cold, sterile glow over the space. Rows of computers line the walls, their screens flickering with complex diagrams, data streams, and intricate molecular models of the mutated cores that have brought the world to the brink of destruction.
The room is alive with activity—scientists and researchers are hunched over their workstations, fingers flying over keyboards with a feverish intensity. The clacking of keys is a constant rhythm, punctuated by the occasional whispered exchange of theories and calculations. Some are scribbling frantic notes in the margins of printouts, while others are locked in quiet debates, trying to piece together the puzzle that could save Atheria from annihilation.