The laboratory smelled of antiseptic and overheated machinery.
White lights reflected harshly against metal surfaces. There were monitors in the corners.
Drs. Karen finally pushed open the operation room door after what felt like too long.
Her large coat hung loosely from tired shoulders. Hair tied back carelessly. Sleeves partly rolled in tiredness.
There were shadows beneath her eyes that made it look like sleep had become something theoretical rather than real.
She removed her gloves slowly. Outside the room, Ozymandis stood waiting.
The moment he saw her expression, he stepped forward.
"What happened?" he asked immediately.
"She was fine. We were literally talking an hour ago. How does someone just— How does this even happen?"
Karen barely looked surprised by the panic.
"Calm down, boy. This organization loses people almost every day. Tragic timing isn't exactly revolutionary."
Ozymandis stared at her.
"That is supposed to make me feel better?"
"No," Karen replied honestly. "It's supposed to make you think clearly."
A quiet silence followed.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose.
"Julio was shot. Entry wound is present. Massive blood loss from deep of her head."
Ozymandis swallowed.
"…Bullet?"
"That's the strange part."
Karen looked back toward the sealed room.
"There is a hole. Even the bullet isn't there it's still possible to tell that it was a bullet. This might be some planned supernatural interaction."
Ozymandis frowned immediately.
"What does that even mean?"
Karen folded her arms slowly.
"It means, either someone used ammunition we don't understand… or whatever hit her was never meant to stay inside the body to begin with."
Drs. Karen looked down slightly.
"There is something else."
Ozymandis looked up immediately.
Karen pulled a tablet from beneath her coat and turned the screen toward him.
Near Julio's collarbone. Barely visible beneath dried blood. It was a strange symbol etched into the skin. Delicate lines, almost ceremonial rather than violent.
"At first I thought it was random damage. But it isn't."
Her tired eyes narrowed slightly.
"It resembles a Tarot Card signature."
Ozymandis frowned. "Tarot?"
Karen tapped the image.
"The Empress."
The room grew quieter.
"I checked old restricted records. There are some high ranking independent operatives who don't belong to any organizations directly. Small numbers but they are extremely dangerous. People connected to Astras of the Primordial level."
She paused.
"Their markings often resemble Major Arcana symbols."
Ozymandis stared at the screen.
"The Empress… that sounds weirdly fitting for Julio."
Karen crossed her arms.
"I don't know. If Julio knew something or if someone believed she was connected to The Empress somehow…"
Her gaze shifted toward the operation room.
"Then this may not have been random assassination at all."
....
The emergency meeting room was warm.
Just tension sitting quietly between people who understood that too many strange things had begun connecting together.
Sako Murasaki stood near the front of the long table. Around him sat several Two-Star agents and senior personnel.
Allen Iverson sat near the center in his loose caravan-like clothing, glasses rested low against tired eyes.
Beside him were Melisande, Vincent van Gogh, Shams Raye and several others quietly reviewing reports.
Nobody looked rested.
Sako announced first,
"The situation around the Order of the Third Hand is escalating. Their King selection process has become unstable. Internal factions are moving."
Allen adjusted his glasses slightly.
"Instability inside organizations rarely stays internal," he added quietly.
He slid several documents across the table.
"A few days ago, a nuclear factory suffered a catastrophic explosion. Officially? It is a typical industrial malfunction."
He tapped the report once.
"Unofficially, we traced some clues and communication gaps linked to people surrounding the Third Hand conflict."
One of the agents frowned.
"You are saying they caused a nuclear incident?"
Allen leaned back slightly.
"I am saying coincidence is becoming mathematically irritating."
A few quiet breaths of tension moved through the room.
Melisande finally spoke.
"When Vincent and I visited the candidates. The interview turned into quarrel very quickly."
Vincent folded his hands together.
"We asked reasonable questions. They answered reasonably… until they didn't."
"They attempted to detain us." Melisande added flatly.
Sako narrowed his eyes.
"So both candidates remain suspicious."
"Suspicious, yes. Though we hadn't confirmed."
Vincent looked around the table.
"But something important stood out. Neither side behaved like ordinary political rivals."
His expression lost some humor.
"They acted like people already expecting war."
Then Allen spoke again.
"There is more. Excluding ours, multiple organizations recently reported assassination attempts against independent agents. Now, Julio Santana is dead."
Nobody said anything for a moment.
Shams Raye leaned back in his chair slowly, long gray hair tied behind him swayed.
His voice was calm like a old grown man.
"If we assume the nuclear factory incident wasn't accidental. Then the simplest explanation is not internal chaos."
He glanced toward the others one by one.
"A third party benefits most when two strong candidates—Adam Moore and Zenon Caeser began competing. Not by supporting either side but by accelerating distrust between both."
Vincent didn't interrupt this time. Even his usual casual posture had quieted. Shams continued.
"A nuclear-level disruption forces organizations into financial and political reaction mode. It doesn't just cause damage. It forces redistribution of responsibility exploiting us in public."
Allen slowly exhaled.
Melisande added quietly,
"In that redistribution, someone invisible can reposition themselves without being noticed."
A brief silence followed. Then Sako spoke, firm and direct.
"So we are no longer dealing with isolated attacks."
No one disagreed. The realization settled across the room slowly.
They all understood the same thing without needing it to be repeated. If they stayed separated, they would keep reacting.
If they kept reacting, they would keep losing control of the narrative.
Allen closed the file in front of him slowly.
"We need direct communication. We need structured dialogue between all major points of conflict before escalation becomes irreversible."
Vincent nodded and said,
"Translation, we need to stop guessing from the sidelines and actually speak to the people shaping the storm."
Sako's gaze hardened slightly.
"If we don't coordinate now, it might get worse."
The room didn't argue anymore.
Sako Murasaki closed the file in front of him.
Allen Iverson stood without speaking. Seeing them Vincent and Melisande stood up too.
Sako's voice broke the stillness.
"Enough observation. We have mapped the flaws. Now we will enter their den."
Melisande adjusted her coat. Shams stood without comment. Allen turned toward the door.
Vincent gave a small breath, almost amused.
"So this is the part where everyone stops talking and starts becoming a problem for someone else."
The lights of the headquarters felt colder as they walked away.
....
The room carried the quiet tension as always.
Equipment lay scattered across the table—maps, protective gear, radios, sealed files.
Outside the window, late daylight stretched across the headquarters while preparations are done quickly through the halls.
Henry adjusted the strap of his equipment bag while checking his revolver one final time.
Avery stood nearby sorting medical supplies and protective seals with practiced calm, though there was clear focus behind her actions.
Roland sat quietly for a moment before finally speaking.
"So… I am really not going with you?"
Henry looked toward him.
"No, your assignment is different."
Avery slid a file toward Roland.
"The nuclear plant is where you are going I heard. Some survivors were recovered after the explosion. A few are finally stable enough to speak."
Roland looked down at the documents.
"We already received legal clearance. Protective gear too. Radiation filters, environmental scanners, all of it."
Henry leaned lightly against the table.
"If there's a pattern behind this mess. There's a chance the plant survivors saw something before everything went to hell."
Roland nodded slowly.
"And you two?"
"We are paying a visit to the Order of the Third Hand."
Avery sighed softly.
"They violated enough laws already. Now someone has to knock on the front door and ask uncomfortable questions."
Near the far wall, an old bench sat beneath a dim overhead light.
Henry, Avery, and Roland stayed there for a while, waiting for the final call.
Roland shifted slightly in the operational suit.
"These shoes feel like punishment. Why are they so heavy?"
Avery glanced down at the thick protective boots and almost smiled.
"Because normal shoes don't stop radiation or your terrible balance."
"That's rude."
"Heavy? Perfect. At least when you kick someone's cake, they will feel it." Henry said without any significant expression.
Roland let out a quiet laugh, though it faded after a moment. He looked between both of them before speaking more quietly.
"You know… I actually felt really good staying here with you guys."
Neither interrupted.
Roland rubbed the edge of his sleeve slowly.
"Back then, I didn't think things would become like this. I kinda wish… I could just keep living like this forever."
Avery looked down for a second, fingers resting loosely over her gloves.
Then Roland added awkwardly, trying to sound casual but failing.
"What if this ends up being our last mission together?"
Henry immediately groaned.
"Here we go."
"What if we never meet again?"
Avery finally looked up and shook her head.
"You always think too dramatically," she said, nudging his shoulder lightly. "How many dangerous things already happened? We have faced weird dimensional nonsense before."
She shrugged.
"We survived all of it."
Henry leaned back against the wall.
"Exactly and besides—"
He pointed at Roland's oversized operational shoes.
"You are legally not allowed to die before I buy you an actual decent pair of shoes."
Roland blinked.
"That's your emotional speech?"
"It's a very expensive emotional speech."
Avery laughed quietly this time.
Outside, distant footsteps came through the halls as preparations neared completion.
For a little while longer, the three simply sat there talking about nothing important—food, bad missions, strange people in headquarters, things they wanted to do later.
Ordinary things.
The kind people rarely notice becoming memories while they are still happening.