The skyline of what was once Noctum Hollow now bore a massive, ominous scar—a colossal, smouldering crater that seemed to devour the earth itself. The destruction was unfathomable, and the whispers of fear and speculation had already begun to spread like wildfire. By the time the first camera crews arrived at the edge of the site, the scene had evolved into an international spectacle.
News outlets clamoured for information, their reporters vying for attention with microphones and cameras. The headquarters of the Special Security Counter Bureau Force was besieged with demands for answers. Chief Wen-Li stood at the podium, her expression steely, as the press conference unfolded.
Reporters bombarded her with questions.
"Chief Wen-Li, what exactly happened in Noctum Hollow?" one demanded.
"Was this an operation gone wrong?" shouted another.
A third voice cut through the din, laced with accusation:
"Is it true this catastrophe is linked to Poppy's Playtime and the horrors of Noctum Hollow? Are you hiding the involvement of your agents?"
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Wen-Li. She tightened her grip on the edges of the podium, her mind flashing back to the grim conversation with Madam Di-Xian only hours earlier.
In a dimly lit chamber beneath the ruins of a derelict church, Wen-Li had stood before Madam Di-Xian, her voice urgent but measured.
"We need to address this publicly," Wen-Li said. "If the world learns about Agent-90—"
"No." Madam Di-Xian's voice was sharp, carrying the weight of absolute authority. Her aura, as always, was imposing.
Wen-Li frowned. "People will demand answers. They deserve the truth."
Madam Di-Xian stepped closer, her gaze cold and unyielding. "Do you think the truth will set them at ease, Chief? The spirit inside Agent-90 is not some passing phenomenon. It's a curse older than any of us can fathom. It's the spirit of an emperor—of which dynasty, I cannot say. What I can say is that if this curse fully awakens, it won't be just Noctum Hollow that turns to dust. The entire world will burn."
Wen-Li inhaled sharply. "Then we need to do something about it."
"And we will," Madam Di-Xian said, her tone dark. "But not by exposing him. If the world knows of his power, he'll become a target—for worship, exploitation, or worse. Do you want to bear that responsibility?"
Wen-Li's lips pressed into a thin line.
Madam Di-Xian softened slightly. "You're a leader, Wen-Li. But this burden is beyond the Bureau or even the Sinners or Outlaws. We must tread carefully. If anything happens to Agent-90... we all die."
Wen-Li's fingers tapped the podium rhythmically as she prepared to respond to the reporter's pointed question. She raised her gaze, her tone calm but firm, her British accent carrying a precision that made each word resonate.
"The incident at Noctum Hollow was the culmination of a deep, systemic rot—a city that harboured predators and subjected innocent children to unspeakable atrocities. It is not merely a tragedy; it is a testament to what happens when those in power turn a blind eye to the vulnerable."
The room murmured as her words hung heavy in the air.
"As for Poppy's Playtime, let me make one thing absolutely clear: there is no direct connection. However, the same evil that thrives in the shadows, that preys upon the innocent, exists in both cases. These are not isolated events—they are symptoms of a deeper sickness that still lurks within our society."
Another reporter leaned forward. "Chief, are you implying that the culprits remain at large?"
Wen-Li's eyes narrowed, her voice dropping just slightly. "I am not implying it; I am stating it as fact. The people responsible for these horrors are still out there, hiding in the shadows, thinking themselves untouchable. But let me assure you, they will not remain hidden forever."
The cameras flashed incessantly, the reporters' murmurs growing louder. Wen-Li stepped back from the podium, her heart pounding. She had held the line, kept the secret, and cast the focus where it needed to be.
As she exited the room, her thoughts returned to Madam Di-Xian's warning. In the quiet of her office, she whispered to herself, "How much longer can we keep this truth buried?"
In an unknown location shrouded in secrecy, the faint click of a remote control echoed as the television screen flickered off, plunging the room into near darkness. The only illumination came from a solitary light suspended above a circular table, casting stark shadows over the figures seated around it. Their faces remained obscured, save for faint outlines and the occasional glint of calculating eyes.
The room was silent for a moment, heavy with tension, before Gavriel Elazar, the mastermind of SCP's global economic schemes, broke the silence. His voice was low, smooth, yet menacing.
"So, the SSCBF's chief, Wen-Li, has exposed Noctum Hollow's truths to the public. How inconvenient." He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "This was not part of our plan."
Arindam Chatterjee, overseer of SCP's propaganda wing, scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain.
"The media storm is already ablaze. This exposure undermines years of meticulous propaganda. How did they manage to uncover such deeply buried operations?"
Maheshvar Rao, the commander of SCP's secret police, spoke next, his voice gruff.
"It's no accident. The SSCBF have grown audacious. That woman, Wen-Li... she's persistent. Much like her father was."
A cold chuckle emerged from the far end of the table. Philippe Devereux, head of SCP's Ni-Ran-Gi division, leaned into the light.
"Persistent, yes. But predictable. Her exposé only scratches the surface of our operations. What concerns me more is this... 'Agent-90.' Who is he? Where does he come from? And more importantly, who does he work for?"
Yuan Meiling, the technocrat overseeing SCP's advanced experiments, tapped her long, painted nails against the table.
"There's another matter—this spirit that obliterated Noctum Hollow. Ancient, destructive, and tied to Agent-90. What do we know about it?"
The mastermind, Gavriel Elazar, leaned forward, his expression grim.
"We know it destroyed a city in mere moments. If it remains tied to Agent-90, it could jeopardise our entire three-century plan. But let's not be rash." He turned toward Edward Cartwright, who managed SCP's media domination.
"Edward, make the public distrust him. Use our media networks to turn him into an enemy of the people. Paint him as a rogue, dangerous, unstable."
Edward Cartwright nodded, a sinister smile tugging at his lips.
"Consider it done. The people love a villain."
Arindam Chatterjee added, "And what of Wen-Li? If she delves further into our affairs, she could uncover everything."
Gavriel's tone grew colder.
"She's her father's daughter, stubborn to the core. Remember, we silenced Wen-Luo when he dared to threaten our plans. Should she tread the same path, we'll eliminate her too."
Diego Cervantes, overseeing SCP's narcotics empire, chuckled darkly.
"The SSCBF won't take kindly to her removal."
Otto Kohlmann, the architect of SCP's clandestine operations, interjected.
"The chairmen will deal with SSCBF's interference, but if they escalate, we'll dismantle the organisation entirely—just as we did with the Global Gazette."
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the rustle of papers. Ingrid Falk then spoke, her voice soft but cutting.
"And what of Agent-90? Shall we deploy someone to handle him directly?"
Gavriel nodded, a cruel glint in his eye.
"I've already arranged it. Eitan Shalom, our finest hacker, will infiltrate Wen-Li's privacy. Every message, every secret will be ours. As for Agent-90... Kenji Nakamura will find out who he serves and eliminate him if necessary."
Akihiro Takahashi, head of cyber-intelligence, smirked.
"Kenji never fails. He'll flush out whatever organisation backs this mysterious man."
The conversation turned darker as Adil Hasan, leader of SCP's urban development initiatives, raised the ancient spirit's destruction.
"This spirit, this... The Emperor is a relic of a bygone age. Its power is beyond anything we've accounted for. If it resurfaces, it could undo everything we've built."
Gavriel Elazar stood, his shadow looming over the table.
"Then we ensure it doesn't. If we can control it, we will. If not, we'll find a way to neutralise it. Nothing, and no one, will stand in the way of the Syndicate Communist Party."
The room fell into a grim silence, punctuated only by the faint hum of the light above. One by one, the members of the SCP departed, their plans set in motion, their resolve unshaken.
In the dark recesses of the room, the television screen flickered on once more, replaying Wen-Li's face as she spoke to the world. Somewhere deep within the shadows, Gavriel Elazar's voice murmured, almost inaudibly:
"She may have exposed a corner of our empire, but she's about to learn what happens when you challenge the masters of the world."
Meanwhile, at the white room was sterile and cold, its walls void of any warmth or character. In the corner of the cell, Agent-90 sat crouched, his form curled inward, head buried in his arms. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the overhead lights.
From outside the cell, voices echoed through the corridor, growing louder as they approached. Jun, Farhan, Roy, Masud, and Alvi appeared, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, unease, and determination.
Jun was the first to speak, his voice laced with a nervous chuckle. "Blimey, mate, you've gone and done what no one thought possible. You've turned Noctum Hollow completely upside down. The whole world's buzzing about it."
Farhan nodded slowly, his arms crossed. "It's true. What you did back there… it's not something any of us could've imagined."
Jun shot Farhan a pointed look, his eyebrow arching mischievously. "Still, you weren't there with us, were you? While we were out risking our necks, you were babysitting." He smirked, gesturing animatedly with his hands. "I mean, what's the story there? Could've used another set of hands, mate."
Farhan rolled his eyes but offered a faint grin. "Someone had to protect the kids, didn't they? Madam Di-Xian's orders. Or do you fancy explaining to her why the children weren't looked after?"
The others chuckled at the exchange, but their attention quickly turned back to the figure in the cell. Agent-90 hadn't moved an inch, his posture as still as a statue.
Roy leaned closer to the bars, his voice softer but firm. "It's not your fault, you know. What happened, what you did… it wasn't you. That thing inside you—it wasn't you."
Masud chimed in, his tone steady and reassuring. "You've done more than any of us could. You carried the weight of that bloody curse and still fought harder than anyone. Don't let this break you."
Alvi stepped forward, her gaze piercing but gentle. "Agent-90, you're not alone in this. Whatever that thing was, it didn't win. You're still here. You made it back."
For a long moment, there was no response. The group exchanged uneasy glances, the silence dragging on. Then, slowly, Agent-90 lifted his head. His expression was neutral, his gaze as piercing and unreadable as ever.
But then it happened. A subtle shift—a small, fleeting smile. It wasn't much, just the faintest curve of his lips, but it was enough to freeze them all in their tracks.
Jun blinked, then nudged Farhan with his elbow. "Did you see that? Was that—was that a smile?!"
Farhan smirked, leaning against the bars. "Well, I'll be damned. Didn't think you had it in you."
Roy chuckled, shaking his head. "It's not just any smile, mate. That's a bloody miracle."
Masud folded his arms, a grin spreading across his face. "You're full of surprises, Agent-90. First, you turn a city into a crater, and now this? What's next?"
Alvi simply watched, her eyes softening. "Sometimes, it's the smallest gestures that say the most."
Agent-90 didn't say a word, his expression returning to its usual stoicism. But for that one fleeting moment, he had allowed himself to let his guard down.
And in that moment, the cold, sterile atmosphere of the white room felt just a little warmer.
However at late-night the soft glow of Wen-Li's laptop illuminated her face in the otherwise dim room. The rhythmic tapping of keys broke the silence, accompanied by the occasional soft purring of her cat, Wen-Mi, who rested lazily nearby. It was late—far too late—but sleep eluded her.
Her mind was trapped in an endless loop of images: Agent-90, transformed into something beyond human, the overwhelming power that reduced Noctum Hollow to ruins, and that chillingly unrecognisable voice.
Wen-Mi, sensing her unease, leapt onto the desk and nudged her arm, letting out a soft meow. Wen-Li blinked, startled, and offered a small smile, scratching the cat gently behind her ears. "Oh, Wen-Mi, you always know when I'm overthinking," she murmured, her voice tinged with weariness.
But her thoughts refused to rest. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she scoured the internet for any mention of the Emperor's cursed spirit. Madam Di-Xian had been vague—cryptic, even—when mentioning its origins. "Some dynasty," she had said, but which one?
Historical records. Folklore. Urban legends. Wen-Li sifted through everything, her brow furrowing deeper with every dead end. The dynasty's name remained elusive, and the fragmented whispers about cursed spirits in ancient times offered no clarity.
Her eyes stung with exhaustion as she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "Ugh, this is pointless," she muttered, closing her laptop with a soft click.
Wen-Mi took the opportunity to climb into her lap, curling into a warm ball. Wen-Li chuckled softly, stroking her fur. "You've got the right idea, don't you? No sense losing sleep over things I can't figure out."
Yet, as her hand moved absentmindedly, her thoughts drifted again—not to the monstrous version of Agent-90, but to his face when she'd first encountered him.
Her cheeks flushed involuntarily at the memory. That sharp, calculating expression. The way his presence dominated the room, even when he was an escaped fugitive. He had been so composed, almost unnervingly so. And yet, in those rare moments when his façade slipped, like the normal feature she'd witnessed earlier, there was something… human.
Wen-Mi meowed softly, pulling her from her thoughts. "I'm talking to myself again, aren't I?" Wen-Li said, smiling faintly as she scratched under the cat's chin. "But, you know, I can't stop thinking about him. That face, that presence… It's infuriating how he gets under my skin."
She sighed, leaning back in her chair with Wen-Mi still nestled comfortably in her lap. "What are you doing to me, Agent-90?" she whispered to the quiet room, her gaze drifting toward the window and the night beyond.
Though she was exhausted, sleep wouldn't come easily—not with the shadows of her thoughts lingering and the faint warmth of something she couldn't quite name stirring in her chest.
The morning of 23 May 2042 began with a golden hue, the soft light of dawn filtering through the windows of Nightingale's tidy apartment. The rhythm of the city was slow to wake, but she was already in motion. Her silvery-greenish hair glistened faintly in the sunlight as she tied it into a neat half-ponytail.
After a quick session of stretching and light exercises, Nightingale donned her Special Security Counter Bureau Force (SSCBF) uniform. The attire reflected her rank as a lieutenant—an immaculately pressed black officer's blouse, a sleek skirt, and long black thigh-high pants that accentuated her disciplined elegance. She made final adjustments, glancing at herself in the mirror before stepping outside.
Her apartment was just a short walk from the SSCBF headquarters, and as she briskly made her way, the wind teased her hair. Her focus on the day ahead made her oblivious to the thread from her skirt snagging onto the corner of a passing briefcase.
It belonged to Agent-Jun, a tall figure in a tailored black suit. His reddish hair gleamed in the morning light, contrasting with the sharp spectacles perched on his nose. The snag hadn't gone unnoticed by him, but Nightingale's determined stride prevented him from addressing it immediately.
As she walked past a group of pedestrians, their muffled laughter reached her ears.
"Is she serious?" whispered one woman.
Another snickered. "Her skirt's—well, let's just say it's riding up more than it should."
Nightingale froze mid-step, her face flushing as she became aware of the glances and comments. Turning to a reflective surface, she realised her skirt had shifted slightly, revealing more than she'd intended—though her thigh pants covered her, the situation was still embarrassing.
"Oh no, no, no..." she muttered, fumbling to pull her skirt into place.
Before she could fully regain her composure, Jun approached, his demeanor calm yet slightly amused. His voice was measured and polite.
"You're fine," he said with a slight smirk. "You're wearing thigh pants; there's nothing to be embarrassed about."
Nightingale's head snapped toward him, her expression a mix of mortification and annoyance. "Shut up, you!" she snapped instinctively.
As her gaze settled on him, recognition dawned. "Wait—you're that guy... the one with Agent-90, right?"
Jun chuckled lightly, unfazed by her flustered state. "Guilty as charged." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his blazer. Without making eye contact, he gently draped it over her shoulders, shielding her from further scrutiny.
The gesture caught Nightingale off guard. Her face turned a faint shade of pink, and she mumbled, "Uh, thanks…"
Jun adjusted his briefcase, stepping back with a courteous nod. "Excuse me, Lieutenant. I've got to be on my way."
Before he could leave, Nightingale called after him. "Wait!"
He paused and turned, his reddish hair catching the sunlight as he gave her a diligent smile.
"What's your name?" she asked, her tone softening.
"Agent-Jun," he replied, his voice as smooth as his expression. "It's a pleasure, Lieutenant Nightingale."
With that, he walked away, leaving her standing amidst the morning bustle, clutching the blazer and trying to suppress the warmth in her cheeks.
The Frostbane Passage subway train was teeming with life in the early hours of the morning. The carriages were packed to capacity, the murmur of conversations mingling with the faint hum of the train's movement. A mother juggled her child on her hip while clutching a shopping bag, a suited businessman flipped through a newspaper, and a young couple huddled close, whispering to each other. The faint scent of coffee lingered in the air as a man sipped from a thermos, his laptop balanced precariously on his lap.
Lan Qian stood amidst the bustling chaos, holding onto the loop handle above her head. The sunlight streaming through the window caught the lenses of her glasses, casting brief flares of light that danced across her serene features. She kept her gaze fixed on her phone, scrolling through messages, though her focus wavered as an unsettling sensation crept up her spine.
A hand brushed against her inappropriately. Her breath hitched. It was deliberate, not the accidental jostle of a crowded train. She tensed, her heart racing, but fear and the oppressive atmosphere of the busy carriage rendered her silent. Around her, passengers were absorbed in their own worlds, oblivious to her discomfort.
In the same carriage, Agent-Farhan leaned against the pole near the door, earphones in, listening to music. Beside him stood Agent-Masud and Agent-Roy, all dressed in sharp, gentlemanly attire that made them stand out in the crowd. Masud's keen eyes swept the compartment, always alert.
His gaze landed on the scene unfolding near Lan Qian. His brow furrowed as he nudged Farhan, pulling out one of his earphones. "Farhan," he said in a low, disgusted tone, "look at that old man. He's touching that girl inappropriately."
Farhan's expression darkened instantly as he turned to see the offence. His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists.
"Don't," Roy interjected calmly, placing a hand on Farhan's shoulder. "No panic. Handle it smoothly."
Farhan exhaled sharply, reigning in his temper as he stepped closer to the perpetrator. He leaned down slightly, his tone polite but dripping with suppressed fury. "Excuse me, sir. Is your hand... quite alright?"
The old man startled, pulling his hand back abruptly and raising his voice to protest. "What are you talking about? How dare you accuse me?"
His outburst drew the attention of other passengers, creating a scene.
Masud and Roy exchanged glances, both thinking the same thing: Here we go again.
Farhan's patience snapped. "You like to play the victim, don't you?" he said coldly, his voice low and menacing. "Let's play."
Before anyone could intervene, his fist connected with the old man's jaw in a swift, brutal motion, sending him sprawling to the floor. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the man clutched his face, wailing in pain.
Lan Qian, who had frozen in place during the confrontation, now looked at Farhan with wide eyes. A mix of gratitude and awe filled her expression as the old man was quickly subdued by transport officers called to the scene. Farhan, however, was reprimanded for causing such a public disturbance and fined.
As the tension eased, Lan Qian approached Farhan, her voice soft but clear. "Thank you. You acted when no one else did."
Farhan, caught off guard, scratched the back of his neck, his usual composure faltering. "Ma'am, as long as you're alright... that's all that matters." His words were simple, but the sincerity in his tone struck a chord with her.
Lan Qian smiled warmly, the earlier tension melting away.
Meanwhile, Masud and Roy smirked, sensing an opportunity to tease their comrade.
"She's impressed, mate," Masud whispered.
"She's definitely going to remember this," Roy added, grinning.
Lan Qian, seemingly unaware of their teasing, tilted her head curiously. "You're with the team from Noctum Hollow, aren't you? The deadly blue-eyed subordinate... is that you?"
Farhan blinked, puzzled, until Roy leaned in and whispered, "She means Agent-90, dummy!"
Lan Qian chuckled at Farhan's confusion. "Well, thank you again... Farhan, was it?" She gave him a small wave as she stepped off the train at her stop, turning back briefly to add, "You're a good man."
As she disappeared into the crowd, Farhan stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest.
"You've fallen for her, haven't you?" Masud teased, his tone gleeful.
Roy chimed in with mock seriousness. "Love at first sight. It's tragic, really."
"Shut up, you two!" Farhan barked, his cheeks reddening, but his protests only fueled their laughter.
The office of the Special Security Counter Bureau Force (SSCBF) headquarters exuded an air of order and discipline. Wen-Li, seated at her desk, meticulously reviewed a stack of crime records. Her sharp eyes scanned each detail, pausing on a particularly disturbing pattern—the trail of deceased criminals, many with ties to Sinners and outlaws, all killed with surgical precision. The name Agent-90 lingered in her thoughts, a shadow cast over every file she examined.
She exhaled deeply, closing the latest report, and leaned back in her chair just as a knock sounded at her door. Without looking up, she called out, "Come in."
The door creaked open, and Captain Robert entered, his imposing figure framed by the doorway. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture straight and authoritative. His voice was deep and steady as he spoke.
"Chief, you called me?"
"Yes, Robert," Wen-Li said, motioning for him to step closer. She closed the file before her and rested her hands on the desk. "I wanted to ask you about something—or rather, someone."
"Go on, ma'am," he replied, his tone cautious yet respectful.
"You're aware of Madam Di-Xian and her group, the Crimson Lotus, aren't you?" Wen-Li asked, her gaze piercing. "I need everything you can tell me about her and her operatives."
Captain Robert let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head slightly. "Chief, I can't say I know much about the Crimson Lotus. Their existence is shrouded in secrecy. Even among the higher ranks, there's barely any concrete information about her men. They operate in shadows, and for good reason."
He paused, his expression growing somber. "But Madam Di-Xian... I do know her. Or, rather, I used to."
Wen-Li leaned forward slightly, interest piqued. "Go on."
Robert clasped his hands together in front of him, his gaze distant as if recalling memories long buried. "Years ago, Madam Di-Xian was one of us—a highly skilled officer of this very organization. Back then, the SSCBF was still finding its footing, and the late Chief Wen-Luo, your father, was our captain. He, along with Lieutenant Ren-Li, Commander Krieg, and Madam Di-Xian, formed the backbone of this force. They didn't just enforce the law; they redefined what it meant to protect this city."
Wen-Li listened intently, her expression unreadable.
Robert continued, his voice tinged with both admiration and regret. "Di-Xian was a force to be reckoned with. Brilliant, ruthless when necessary, and utterly dedicated to the cause. She was instrumental in taking down some of the most dangerous syndicates of that time. And then there was the President—back when he was Chief. He worked closely with them. Together, they built this organization into what it is today."
"What happened?" Wen-Li asked, her voice soft but probing.
Robert's jaw tightened. "Things changed. The lines between justice and politics blurred. Di-Xian started seeing cracks in the system—corruption, compromises, the kind of rot that eats away at everything good. She became... disillusioned. After a particularly brutal operation went sideways, she left. Some say she went rogue. Others believe she's been fighting her own war ever since."
"Against who?"
"The predators in the shadows," Robert said grimly. "The kind of people we've seen lately—the ones you've been investigating. Di-Xian hunts them down with her own methods. She's effective, but..."
"But she doesn't answer to anyone," Wen-Li finished for him.
Robert nodded. "Exactly. She's a wild card. As for her operatives, they're ghosts—fighters with no ties to any government or organization. They follow her because they believe in her vision, even if the world sees them as criminals."
Silence filled the room as Wen-Li absorbed his words.
"Thank you, Robert," she said finally, her tone measured. "This helps. A lot."
He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Be careful, Chief. Di-Xian's path is dangerous. If she's aligning herself with people like the Crimson Lotus, it's because she believes she has no other choice. That doesn't mean we should trust them."
Wen-Li nodded, though her thoughts remained clouded. "Noted. You're dismissed."
Robert turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Chief," he said, glancing back at her, "for what it's worth... you remind me of your father. He'd be proud of the way you've led this organization."
With that, he left, leaving Wen-Li alone with her thoughts and the files before her. The name Madam Di-Xian now carried even greater weight, the questions it raised more troubling than ever.
At the moment Nightingale comes to her and says "Chief you have a meeting with President and Chairmen along Captain Robert and Commander Krieg will join you"
"Tell them I'm coming" she reply as she prepare her files,
The large conference room at SSCBF headquarters was illuminated with natural light streaming through the glass windows, contrasting the grim mood inside. At the head of the long table sat President Song Luoyang, his sharp features calm yet stern. Around the table, the Chairmen and Chairwomen of the Global Security Council were present: Zhang Wei, Fahad Al-Farsi, Elizabeth Carter, Selim Kaya, Kim Ji-Soo, Hiroto Nakamura, Aarav Sharma, and Rahim Ahmed. On the other side were Commander Krieg, Captain Robert, Chief Wen-Li, and her lieutenant, Nightingale.
The atmosphere was tense, the weight of the Noctum Hollow catastrophe pressing on everyone present.
President Song began, his voice steady and authoritative. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered to address the recent catastrophic events in Noctum Hollow, specifically the incident that turned the city into... a void. Chief Wen-Li, as the head of SSCBF, please provide your account."
Wen-Li stood, her uniform immaculate, her face stoic. "Thank you, Mr. President. As you are all aware, the destruction in Noctum Hollow was unprecedented. Initial reports point to an unknown entity—a spirit—capable of catastrophic power. However, what we know is limited, as the event happened swiftly and left no survivors among the perpetrators responsible for the city's decay."
Chairman Aarav Sharma leaned forward, his tone biting. "Limited information, Chief? A city was turned into a gigantic hole! The global community is demanding answers, and you're giving us 'limited information'? Who is the culprit?"
Wen-Li glanced at her team—Nightingale, Robert, and Krieg—before responding carefully. "The investigation is ongoing, but—"
"Enough of this nonsense!" Aarav interrupted, slamming his fist on the table. "You are withholding information! You stand here, expecting us to believe that the SSCBF has no idea who or what caused this destruction?"
The other Chairmen exchanged uneasy glances. Elizabeth Carter spoke next, her tone sharp but measured. "Chief, it's clear that you're being cautious, but this secrecy does not inspire confidence. Is this about political interference? Are there forces at play here we should be aware of?"
Wen-Li hesitated, her silence speaking volumes. Nightingale shifted uncomfortably, her hands clasped tightly behind her back, while Captain Robert's jaw tightened.
Chairman Selim Kaya leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "there are certain... elite members of society involved in Noctum Hollow's downfall. Is that what you're implying, Chief?"
The words hung in the air like a thundercloud. Wen-Li's gaze hardened, but she said nothing.
Chairman Aarav barked out a laugh, leaning forward aggressively. "Do not tread into political matters you cannot handle, Chief! Your late father, Chief Wen-Luo, made the same mistake. Always standing against the system, always failing to see the bigger picture. Are you planning to follow in his footsteps?"
The room fell deathly silent. Wen-Li's hands trembled slightly, but she clenched them into fists to steady herself. Nightingale visibly tensed, her eyes narrowing at Aarav.
Captain Robert rose, his fists clenched. "Enough!" he said sharply, his voice reverberating in the room. "Chairman Aarav, with all due respect, you have no right to insult Chief Wen-Li or her late father!"
President Song raised a hand to calm the growing tension. "Captain Robert, stand down."
But before anyone else could speak, Commander Krieg slammed his hands on the table, rising to his feet. His voice, deep and thunderous, cut through the room. "That's enough out of all of you! You sit here in your comfortable seats, playing politics, while Chief and her teams risk their lives every day to clean up the messes your systems allow to fester!"
The room froze. Krieg's piercing gaze moved from one Chairman to the next, his words biting. "You talk about trust and transparency, yet you threaten and belittle the people actually working to protect this world. You should be ashamed."
Krieg turned his attention to President Song. "And you, Mr. President, should be ashamed as well for allowing this meeting to descend into insults and threats. Chief Wen-Li has been nothing but loyal to this organization and this world's safety. If this is how you treat your best, then perhaps the problem lies with you—not her."
The room remained silent, the weight of Krieg's words settling over everyone. President Song's expression remained unreadable, but he finally nodded. "Commander Krieg, your point is noted. This meeting is adjourned."
As the Chairmen and Chairwomen began to leave, many of them avoiding eye contact, Krieg turned to Wen-Li. His expression softened as he placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't let them break you," he said quietly. "You're stronger than they'll ever understand."
Wen-Li met his gaze, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you, Commander. For everything."
Krieg gave her a small nod before leaving the room. Nightingale approached her, offering a reassuring smile.
"You've got people who believe in you, Chief," Nightingale said. "Don't forget that."
Wen-Li glanced back at her empty desk, her resolve hardening. "I won't." then she glance at her says "uhhh, Nightingale today is not much work even no investigation so,... Let's go and have dinner at some café ", giving a smile.
Nightingale's face turns to surprise as her cheeks glow and accepts her offer.
The grand office of President Song Luoyang was steeped in an uneasy quiet. The soft tick of an antique clock on the wall was the only sound accompanying the faint rustle of papers on his desk. Song sat slumped in his leather chair, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he stared at the polished surface of the desk. The weight of the earlier meeting bore down on him heavily, and his usually composed demeanor had fractured into visible tension.
The shrill ring of the phone shattered the silence, startling him. Song hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the receiver before he picked it up.
"Yes, this is President Song," he said, his voice weary yet formal.
A cold, measured voice answered on the other end. Gavriel Elazar—a name Song had hoped not to hear.
"Ah, President Song," Gavriel said smoothly, his tone carrying an undercurrent of menace. "I trust this is a convenient time for you."
Song straightened in his chair, the tiredness in his eyes replaced by a flicker of apprehension. "What do you want, Gavriel?"
A dry chuckle came through the line. "Straight to the point, as always. Admirable. Well, I'm calling to discuss your next steps after today's... debacle in the meeting room."
Song frowned, his voice tightening. "If you're referring to the council's questioning, I have handled it as best I can. There's nothing more to discuss on that matter."
"Ah, but there is," Gavriel replied, his voice dropping to a chilling calmness. "You see, Song, certain individuals—myself included—expect you to steer this narrative in a more favourable direction."
Song's grip on the receiver tightened. "I will not manipulate the truth or undermine the integrity of my office to serve your agenda, Gavriel. You're asking me to cross a line I refuse to—"
"Refuse?" Gavriel interrupted, the word laced with mockery. "Oh, Song, you misunderstand. This isn't a request; it's a directive. You will do what is asked of you."
Song's voice rose, a rare hint of defiance slipping through. "And if I don't?"
There was a pause, followed by a low, deliberate laugh. "If you don't?" Gavriel's tone turned icy. "Let's consider what might happen to your family, shall we? Your wife—such a graceful woman—and your two daughters. I'd hate for their safety to be... compromised."
The blood drained from Song's face. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as his free hand gripped the edge of the desk. "Don't you dare threaten my family, Gavriel!"
"Oh, but I already have," Gavriel said coldly. "Now, let's not make this harder than it needs to be. You're a smart man, Song. You know the cost of disobedience. Comply, and everything remains as it is—your family untouched, your position secure. Resist, and... well, let's just say, you'll regret your stubbornness."
Song's breathing was heavy, his mind racing. He could feel the noose tightening, the invisible chains of Gavriel's power binding him.
"What exactly do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice strained but resigned.
"That's more like it," Gavriel purred. "There are narratives to spin, alliances to maintain. You'll receive detailed instructions shortly. Follow them to the letter, Song, and we'll all be quite... satisfied."
The line went dead, leaving Song standing in the middle of his office, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him like an anvil. He stared at the phone in his hand, a storm of emotions swirling in his chest—fear, anger, and a deep sense of helplessness.
He sank back into his chair, his head falling into his hands. For the first time in years, Song Luoyang felt truly powerless, trapped in a game he couldn't win, with stakes he dared not imagine.
The city buzzed with life as Wen-Li and Nightingale strolled down the wide, illuminated streets. Towering skyscrapers glistened under the indigo night sky, their holographic advertisements painting the air in vibrant colors. Flying vehicles whizzed by overhead, their hum blending with the ambient city sounds of chatter, laughter, and the occasional faint melody of street musicians playing modern, electronic tunes.
The sidewalks were crowded with people dressed in futuristic styles—a blend of minimalism and retro elegance. Neon-lined coats, sleek metallic dresses, and light-emitting accessories stood out under the streetlights. Among the crowd, Wen-Li and Nightingale were a striking duo: Wen-Li in her tailored coat with its subtle military insignia and Nightingale in a sleek yet professional outfit that accentuated her commanding presence.
As they crossed a bridge lit by glowing rails, the soft murmur of a nearby artificial river added a calming note to the scene. On the other side of the road, they passed a tall woman dressed in elegant Victorian-inspired attire, complete with a wide-brimmed hat adorned with intricate lace and feathers. The woman moved with a graceful, almost regal air, her heels clicking against the pavement in rhythm with the bustling crowd.
"That's... different," Nightingale muttered, her eyes following the woman briefly.
"Victorian is making a comeback," Wen-Li replied with a faint smirk, her hands tucked into her coat pockets.
They arrived at a quaint café tucked between two modern glass towers. Its exterior was a charming blend of old and new—a brick façade with large windows emitting a warm golden glow, contrasted with neon signs that read "Lunar Brews & Bites."
Inside, the atmosphere was cozy yet futuristic. The walls were lined with bookshelves and holographic displays showing scenic landscapes that shifted every few minutes. The tables were sleek, made of polished glass that faintly shimmered, and each was illuminated by small floating orbs of soft, warm light. A robotic server glided between the tables, delivering drinks and pastries with mechanical precision.
The pair found a table near the window, where the moonlight streamed through, casting a silver sheen on Wen-Li's hair.
As they sipped their drinks and shared a platter of delicacies, Wen-Li leaned back in her chair, her usually stoic expression softening. "It's been a while since we've had time to just relax, hasn't it?"
"It has," Nightingale agreed, a small smile playing on her lips. "Although, it feels strange to be doing something so... normal after everything."
Wen-Li nodded, her gaze briefly drifting to the bustling streets outside. "Normal is relative in our line of work."
After a pause, Nightingale grinned mischievously. "Speaking of 'normal,' I had an interesting morning. Remember the guy from Noctum Hollow Agent Jun?"
Wen-Li raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What about him?"
Nightingale chuckled, brushing a strand of her silvery-greenish hair behind her ear. "Let's just say I bump into him and I can't seem to forget him. He's... unusual. Polite, yet annoyingly smug."
Wen-Li smirked. "Sounds like he left quite an impression."
"Maybe," Nightingale admitted, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.
The conversation shifted, and Nightingale leaned forward slightly. "But let's not forget the elephant in the room. You've been unusually quiet about 90. He's still occupying your mind, isn't he?"
Wen-Li hesitated, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her cup. "He's... complicated. What he's done, who he is—it's not easy to ignore."
Nightingale tilted her head, her gaze thoughtful. As the moonlight reflected off the glass walls of the café, it illuminated Wen-Li's face, giving her; along silky black hair an almost ethereal glow.
"You look beautiful tonight, Chief," Nightingale said softly, almost as if the words escaped her unbidden.
Wen-Li blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Thank you," she replied, her voice tinged with confusion. Quickly, she changed the subject. "So, about that morning exercise routine of yours—"
Nightingale chuckled, sensing Wen-Li's subtle deflection. She decided not to press further, instead letting the warmth of their camaraderie fill the space as they continued their light-hearted chatter.
*The Syndicate Communist Party (SCP) is a shadowy, elite organisation that wields immense power and influence over the futuristic world of Nin-Ran-Gi. Cloaked under the guise of ideological purity and economic equality, they are, in truth, a highly manipulative and corrupt entity. Their elite status allows them to control major aspects of society, ranging from politics to commerce, and even to the underworld. They exploit their position to further their agenda, suppress dissent, and conceal their heinous crimes.