The entirety of Floor 8 had descended into chaos.
Sirens screamed across the sector, red lights flashing in frantic rhythm.
Guards shouted over each other, trying to regain control, but their voices were drowned out by the thunder of stampeding feet and the crashing of broken barriers.
Prisoners who had been locked away for years now ran free, drunk on the air of sudden freedom and rage.
Some fought the guards. Others simply ran, disappearing into sectors no one had opened in decades.
"Seal the exits!"
"They're everywhere—Sector D's completely lost!"
"We need backup—someone report to Central!"
Orders were barked, but nothing held. It was madness. The kind of collapse that shouldn't have been possible. All caused by a single man no one had recognized—until it was far too late.
And while they cursed his name—
Fenrir sneezed.
"Ugh. Dust."
He muttered, stepping onto Floor 9 like nothing had happened.
