Burngear tilted his head, his mechanical fingers twitching slightly as he scanned the wall of screens.
"…Huh."
He blinked again, this time glancing at the civilians strolling casually past them. Not one of them even looked at the man speaking on every television in unison. No surprise, no whisper, no hesitation.
They weren't fazed at all.
It was like the sudden appearance of this stranger wasn't an intrusion—it was normal.
"The hell…?" Burngear muttered under his breath.
The man on the screens chuckled, his voice warm, perfectly modulated.
"Ah… Crimson."
Burngear stiffened slightly at the name.
"Confused, are you?"
The Director leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin lightly on the back of his clasped hands.
"Why would they be afraid of me?"
His smile widened just enough to make it unnerving.
"After all, who could fear the man who helped them?"
The Doctor's eyes narrowed.
"So you're the reason this district hasn't fallen into the same chaos as the others."
"Indeed," the Director said pleasantly, inclining his head as if receiving praise.
Some of the screens flickered briefly, static rolling across them before reforming into playbacks of earlier events.
Father Ruin, standing atop the school and singing his choir's lament.
Black Root soldiers corralling civilians and branding them with crimson seals.
The desperate scramble to rescue the Doctor himself.
All of it was there.
Every detail.
Kharon's hand drifted toward one of his spears, his jaw tight.
"You've been watching us."
The Director's laugh was soft and genuine, almost cheerful.
"Oh, yes. Quite closely."
He raised one finger, wagging it slightly as if scolding a child.
"But please, don't get the wrong idea."
Kal'tsit's drone sparked suddenly, its lens jerking as if something had just overridden it.
The Director's voice flowed smoothly through its speaker.
"I haven't just been watching you."
The screens shifted again, now displaying feeds from all over Chernobog—Father Ruin's choir in District A, Reunion banners flying in District D, Black Roots patrols dismantling barricades in District C's outer streets, even Rhodes Island's operators barely holding a defensive line.
"I've been watching everyone."
Istina's brows furrowed as she tightened her grip on her notebook.
"If you could see all this… why didn't you help them?? Us??"
The Director's expression softened into something almost sympathetic, as though the question was endearing.
"Oh, my dear," he said lightly, "the answer is simple."
His eyes gleamed, and for the first time his smile carried a hint of teeth.
"You were all… a variable I didn't need."
He rose from his chair slowly, straightening his cuffs as he spoke with unhurried cadence, each word measured.
"My goal was to take control of Chernobog. An elegant plan. Efficient, seamless, perfectly optimized."
His expression shifted ever so slightly into mild irritation, though his tone remained calm.
"Imagine my displeasure when I realized I was not the only one with the same idea."
He gestured lazily toward the feeds of Father Ruin's followers clashing with Black Roots patrols and Reunion fighters alike.
"So… I simply let the variables delete one another."
His eyes turned back toward the group watching from the street.
"And you… all of you… are no different."
He smiled again, sharp now, but still perfectly polite.
"You're not anomalies. You're data. And data… can be optimized or deleted."
A sudden silence swept across the street.
The hum of traffic faded. The idle chatter vanished mid-sentence.
Every civilian walking past the group stopped.
They didn't stumble, didn't falter—just froze.
Hands still halfway through motions, mouths slightly open, but no sound.
Like the pause button on reality had been pressed.
On the screens, the Director's smile softened again, almost wistful.
"You see… even I know that I alone am not enough to halt the march of time."
He rose from his chair fully now, clasping his hands behind his back as the cameras followed with perfect fluidity.
"Time doesn't stop, after all. It teeters endlessly forward, inching closer and closer to the edge of the abyss."
He turned his head slightly, as though gazing out of a window none of them could see.
"But that does not mean I will collaborate with just anyone who claims to share my vision."
The civilians turned.
All at once.
Their movements were smooth, synchronized, like dozens of marionettes reacting to the same string being pulled.
Their eyes locked on the group.
Unblinking.
The Director's gaze returned to the screen, his smile polite and inviting.
"I shall await you on the westernmost building in the district."
The feed zoomed in slightly, close enough for his expression to sharpen ever so slightly.
"Do try… to pass the test."
The screens all cut to black.
At the same instant, the civilians moved.
No warning. No hesitation.
They lunged toward the group like moths to a flame.