The frantic energy of the street-level battle had been replaced by the cold, methodical tension of a Bureau operation. The entrance to Havenworth Station was a black maw, cordoned off by crackling energy barricades and surrounded by armored vehicles. The sickly green glow from within had subsided to a faint, ominous pulse, but the air still smelled of ozone and something alien, something damp, ancient, and reptilian.
Clio stood before the entrance, her azure trident held loosely in one hand. Beside her, Sun had pulled up the hood of his dark jacket, his face partially obscured, making him seem like a natural extension of the station's shadows. Ace, by contrast, was a picture of nonchalant ease, casually sipping a can of soda he'd procured from a nearby vending machine.
A small, elite Bureau team stood ready. They were clad in matte gray combat armor, their helmets retracting to reveal grim, professional faces. Their leader, a stern-faced man with a jawline that looked like it was carved from granite, approached Clio. His armor bore the insignia of a Commander.
"Ms. Vance," Commander Thorne said, his voice a low baritone. "My team's scanners are having trouble getting a stable reading past the threshold. The dimensional friction is off the charts." He then turned his gaze to Sun and Ace. "Director Nair's orders were clear that you are to be observed, but my team operates by the book. Since you are civilian assets, you require a formal briefing before we proceed."
Thorne's expression was all business. "A Dungeon is a pocket of unstable reality. Think of it as a knot in the fabric between dimensions, where friction creates a miniature, temporary world of its own. At its heart is a core, an object or entity that acts as an anchor. Our objective is to neutralize that core, and this entire space will collapse."
Ace tilted his head, a look of genuine curiosity in his eyes. "So, a spontaneous, temporary reality created by a trapped power source? How delightfully inefficient. And the monsters?"
"The core bleeds raw Aether," Thorne explained, pointing toward the station. "This energy gives birth to hostile entities. The energy bleed has a distinct color signature, which gives us a preliminary threat assessment." He gestured to the entrance. "That green glow indicates a B-class core. We classify them by color: Blue is D-class, Green is C to B, Amber is A, and Red is S-class. If you see a red Gate, you run."
"Just one question," Ace said, crushing the soda can. "Are there snacks?"
Commander Thorne's jaw tightened. "This is not a tour. This is a high-risk incursion."
Before he could continue, Clio stepped in. "We're briefed, Commander. Let's move."
The moment they crossed the threshold, the world shifted. The familiar station gave way to a warped landscape. Concrete tunnels twisted at impossible angles, their walls slick with a pulsating, blackish-green ichor. Rusted tracks plunged into abyssal pits or curved up onto the ceiling.
"Fascinating," Ace murmured, pulling out his tattered "Holiday Break Guide".
"This realm's foundations are a child's scribble; its rules bend to the slightest pressure. These creatures are but puppets of Aether, a crude mockery of life. Even the plants feed on raw power instead of true light. To shape chaos into form is a common parlor trick....."
A quill materialized in his hand out of thin air.
'Life forged from energy, not born of it, a fundamental flaw in the design. And yet, for all its crudeness, this chaos feels... guided. Something is afoot.'
The team dynamic clicked into place. Sun became a whisper in the gloom, scouting ahead and identifying spatial distortions. Clio took the point, her trident casting a steady, azure light. Ace strolled behind, observing the flora with an analytical gaze.
They moved deeper for ten minutes before Sun's hand shot up. He pointed towards the ceiling.
The crocodilian monsters dropped from the darkness. The agents formed a defensive circle, their rifles doing little more than superficial damage. Clio was a whirlwind of azure light, her trident dissolving monsters with each precise thrust. Sun was a blur at the edges of the fight, his shadow tendrils disabling and disrupting the creatures' assault.
Then, a new wave of larger, B-class threats charged their exposed rear.
"Contact rear!" Thorne yelled.
But before he could fire, a theatrical sigh cut through the chaos.
"Oh, for goodness sake," Ace muttered, sounding genuinely annoyed. "Can't a man properly study a new environment in peace?"
He made a small, dismissive gesture. The charging monsters froze, then were flattened against the walls and floor as if stepped on by an invisible giant, leaving nothing but grotesque paste.
The tunnel fell into a dead, ringing silence. The Bureau agents stared, their composure shattered. Clio stood frozen for a second, a muscle twitching in her jaw. The sheer, casual economy of it was almost insulting.
Ace, unfazed, glanced at the mess he'd made, then opened his guidebook again. 'Addendum: B-class crocodilian hostiles are structurally unsound. Susceptible to sudden, extreme changes in atmospheric pressure. Note: Messy.'
He snapped the book shut and yawned. "Right. Shall we carry on, then?"
He took a step forward, ready to proceed down the now-cleared tunnel. Sun moved to follow, but Clio didn't move. She stood rigid, her knuckles white on the shaft of her trident. The azure light from its prongs flickered erratically.
"Clio?" Sun asked, his voice low and cautious.
She didn't answer. Her wide eyes were fixed on the tunnel ahead of them. But she wasn't seeing the pulsating ichor or looking for attacking monsters. Instead the air in front of her shimmered, the twisted subway tunnel replaced by the image of a burning city street, choked with black smoke and strewn with rubble.
Her breath hitched, a small, choked gasp. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Not again."