11:30 PM — Ascension Gala, Second Floor: Sovereign District — Shirley's POV
Silence swallowed the Sovereign District whole.
No cards shuffled, no glasses clinked. No quiet negotiations carried between tables anymore.
The elegant rhythm that had defined the second floor all night had shattered completely.
Shirley stood frozen near the balcony railing, his pulse hammering violently in his chest as blood slowly spread across the polished wooden floor beneath the amber lights.
D2 staggered forward once, then collapsed onto one knee.
A sharp gasp rippled through the surrounding guests.
Several people immediately backed away from the scene, chairs scraping harshly across the floor as panic finally cracked through the carefully maintained composure of the Sovereign District.
"…MEDIC!" someone shouted from deeper in the lounge.
Others were already moving toward the exits.
They weren't running yet. But fast enough to betray fear.
The guards stationed throughout the second floor straightened instantly, hands drifting toward concealed weapons beneath their jackets as their attention locked onto Michonne.
And yet… none of them approached her.
Not immediately.
Shirley noticed that first.
That alone told him everything he needed to know.
They were afraid.
Michonne stood calmly among the growing chaos, one hand resting lightly against the sheath of her katana as though nothing significant had happened at all. Her expression barely changed despite the horrified stares surrounding her from every direction.
The only sound near her now was the soft drip of blood sliding from D2's chest onto the floorboards below.
Shirley's throat tightened slightly.
"…He's still alive," he realized.
Barely.
The woman remained beside Shirley near the balcony, entirely composed.
Like she had expected this outcome from the very beginning.
Her eyes stayed fixed on Michonne with quiet amusement.
"Well," the woman said casually, "that certainly confirms your identity."
Michonne sighed.
"You made it kinda obvious. Diamond."
"You were the one carrying a sword around pretending to serve drinks."
"That usually works."
Diamond smiled faintly at that.
"Not here."
Around them, whispers exploded across the second floor.
"It's really her…"
"The Silent Blade—"
"How did she even get onboard?!"
"Who let her in?!"
"Was she targeting someone?!"
The tension in the Sovereign District thickened with every passing second.
Shirley's eyes darted between the guards now slowly surrounding the area, their movements cautious and coordinated.
Still hesitant. Still keeping their distance.
"…Who the hell are you people…" Shirley muttered under his breath.
Michonne's eyes shifted toward him.
She looked at him directly, and smiled.
"…You're the clueless one," she said.
Shirley frowned immediately.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Before she could answer—
D2 suddenly coughed violently.
Blood splattered across the floor beneath him.
Several nearby guests recoiled in disgust while a pair of guards finally rushed forward to stabilize him.
Diamond's expression barely changed.
Then, the lights flickered.
The entire Sovereign District paused again.
A strange hush swept across the lounge as every guard on the second floor simultaneously raised one hand toward the earpieces hidden beneath their collars.
Static crackled faintly through the silence.
Then Shirley heard it, a voice, calm and cold, lifeless.
Echoing softly through the guards' communicators.
"…Contain the situation."
Then, almost all at once, the guards drew their weapons.
Pistols slid from beneath jackets and waist holsters with sharp metallic clicks as the Sovereign District tightened around Michonne in a widening circle. Their movements were controlled, practiced, but Shirley could still see the hesitation buried underneath them.
Every gun aimed directly at her.
One of the guards stepped forward slightly, his voice cutting through the silence.
"Freeze."
His grip tightened around the pistol.
"And drop your weapon."
The atmosphere seemed to compress around the command.
But Michonne didn't move. One hand still rested lightly against the sheath of her katana as she glanced between the guards surrounding her. Then, to Shirley's confusion, she smiled faintly.
"Sure," she said calmly.
"I'd be happy to."
She took a single step forward.
Instantly, several guards raised their guns higher.
The tension sharpened.
"But first…" Michonne continued, her voice smooth, almost playful.
"How about one of you gives me a tour of the third floor?"
A stunned silence followed.
Even the guards looked caught off guard by the question.
"The audacity…" one muttered under his breath.
Another guard's expression hardened immediately.
"You think this is a joke?"
Michonne tilted her head slightly.
"No," she replied.
Then her thumb pushed lightly against the guard of her blade.
The katana shifted.
Just enough for steel to gleam beneath the amber lights.
Shirley's heart slammed against his chest.
The room blurred.
Every sound suddenly became too sharp.
The trembling clink of a glass somewhere nearby.
The guards adjusting their footing.
The quiet scrape of Michonne's blade leaving its sheath millimeter by millimeter.
"No…"
Shirley's breathing quickened.
His pulse became deafening.
"No more…"
The words escaped him before he even realized he was speaking.
Then louder, "NO MORE!"
The entire Sovereign District stopped.
Every head turned toward him.
Shirley's fists trembled violently at his sides as his breathing grew uneven.
"Is any of this really necessary?!" he shouted.
His voice cracked through the second floor lounge.
"Does more blood seriously have to be spilled?!"
The blood on the floor beneath D2 suddenly felt unbearable to look at.
And then, For a split second—
It wasn't D2's blood anymore.
Shirley saw Choreees.
Saw Micheal's severed head lying there again. He saw the streets stained red.
Saw CORE standing motionless in the middle of it all, blood splattered across his face while that same unbearable coldness swallowed the world around him.
Shirley's body locked up instantly.
His chest tightened painfully.
The warm Sovereign District suddenly felt freezing.
His lungs struggled to pull in air. His heartbeat became violent.
CORE's eyes stared directly at him inside his mind.
Shirley staggered slightly.
His vision darkened around the edges.
Somewhere nearby, people were speaking now, but their voices sounded distant, warped.
Like he had fallen underwater.
Then—
"Hey—!"
Michonne's voice cut sharply through the distortion.
Shirley barely saw her reaching toward him.
Her expression had changed completely.
For the first time since revealing herself, She looked genuinely alarmed.
And then everything went black.
11:33 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor: Entertainment District — Tucker's POV
Tucker shoved through the entertainment district crowd as fast as he could.
Guests stumbled out of his way while music thundered through the first floor once more, performers dancing beneath flashing golden lights like nothing aboard the plane had changed.
But for Tucker,
Everything had changed.
His breathing came fast as he pushed past groups of laughing nobles and drunken criminals, nearly knocking a tray of drinks from a server's hands in the process.
"…Move—move!" he muttered, weaving between bodies.
The French man's words still echoed violently inside his head.
Not rumors anymore, not vague mystery, something real.
Something disgusting.
Tucker shook his head hard as if trying to physically throw the thoughts out of his mind.
"No way…" he whispered.
His grip tightened around his cane.
"I gotta find Shirley."
He shoved past another guest without apologizing this time.
"I gotta tell him. Right now."
11:28 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor: Entertainment District — Tucker's POV
The lights around him blurred together as the memory replayed again in his head,
The music had still been roaring throughout the gala when the French man leaned closer across the counter.
His expression had changed completely by then.
"…Listen carefully, mon ami," he had murmured quietly.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the upper floors.
"Most people aboard this plane believe the troisième étage, is where the true elite gather."
A pause.
"They are wrong."
Tucker remembered frowning immediately.
"…Then what is it?"
The man stayed silent for a second too long.
Like even speaking about it made him uncomfortable.
Then finally,
"…It is whispered," he said quietly, "that the third floor is not a lounge…"
His voice lowered further.
"…but a marché humain."
Tucker blinked, His jaw tightening instantly.
The noise of the gala had suddenly felt distant after that.
The French man swirled the drink in his glass slowly as he continued.
"Human beings. Sold like merchandise."
Tucker's expression had immediately twisted.
"…You're joking."
"I wish I was."
The man's tone never changed.
"There are stories… people taken upstairs in chains. Debtors. Criminals. People who crossed the wrong kingdom."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Or simply people who learned things they should not know."
Tucker remembered staring at him in disbelief.
"…That doesn't even make sense."
The man let out a humorless chuckle.
"Bienvenue aux Sept Royaumes."
He leaned in closer afterward.
"So many powerful people aboard this plane, yes? Nobles. Scientists. Investors. Royal blood."
His fingers tapped lightly against the glass.
"Do you really believe they gather here merely to drink and gamble?"
Tucker's stomach had tightened.
The man continued quietly.
"The slaves are shipped primarily toward one kingdom."
A pause.
"Mynistria."
The way he said the name sounded almost bitter.
"…They call it scientific advancement there."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"But the rumors…"
He hesitated.
"…les rumeurs sont monstrueuses."
Tucker remembered the way the gala noise faded around him while the man spoke.
"They experiment on Presence users. On human bodies. On organs, nerves. Blood."
The man's fingers tightened around the glass.
"Some are stripped apart for research."
Another pause.
"Others are kept alive."
Tucker felt sick just remembering it.
"…Why would August allow something like that?"
The man looked toward the stage where August had stood moments earlier.
Then back toward Tucker.
"…Because men like August do not become rulers of the sky by being innocent."
Silence.
"And if the rumors are true…"
The man's eyes had narrowed carefully.
"…then everyone aboard this plane may already be for sale."
11:34 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor: Entertainment District — Tucker's POV
Tucker pushed harder through the crowd, nearly tripping over his own feet as the French man's words replayed over and over inside his head.
A human market? Slaves? Experiments?
People disappearing because they "knew too much."
His stomach twisted violently.
"No…" Tucker muttered under his breath, shaking his head hard as he moved. "No, no, no…"
The flashing gold lights of the entertainment district suddenly felt sickening now.
The laughter, music, the smiling faces.
All of it felt fake.
Like the entire gala had been built on top of something rotten.
"We need to leave…" Tucker whispered, panic beginning to creep into his breathing. "I need to get Shirley and get out of here. Right now."
He shoved past another group of guests without slowing down.
Then, Tucker slammed directly into someone.
The impact knocked him completely off balance, sending him crashing flat onto the polished floor beneath the glowing lights of the gala.
The music continued around him.
People nearby gasped softly.
"…Huh…?" Tucker muttered dazedly as he pushed himself up slightly, one hand against his forehead.
Then a shadow fell over him.
Tucker looked up.
And froze.
The rich purple suit stood directly in front of him.
Perfectly tailored. Perfectly clean.
Towering over him beneath the warm golden lights of the entertainment district.
August.
Tucker's breath caught instantly.
For a moment, the noise of the gala disappeared entirely.
August looked down at him with a faint grin resting across his face, but the expression never quite reached his eyes.
Those eyes felt distant.
Cold.
Like he was observing something mildly interesting rather than another human being.
"…Well," August said smoothly, tilting his head ever so slightly.
"What do we have here?"
Sweat immediately began sliding down the side of Tucker's face.
His heartbeat thundered violently in his ears.
August slowly lowered himself onto one knee in front of him.
The surrounding guests instinctively kept their distance now, pretending not to stare while very obviously staring.
Then August extended a hand toward Tucker.
"Apologies," he said politely.
"It seems I was in your way."
His voice was calm. Charming. Refined.
And yet somehow…
Tucker felt more danger from him than he had from the armed blue suits earlier.
"Are you alright?"
That same grin remained on August's face.
But Tucker could tell instantly, He didn't care whether the answer was yes or no.
Tucker's body locked up completely.
His mind screamed at him to move.
To run, to do anything.
But under August's gaze, even breathing felt difficult.
Slowly…
Tucker reached out.
And took his hand.