[ENG] What? My "Information Club" is Actually an All-Knowing Secret Society?
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What? My "Information Club" is Actually an All-Knowing Secret Society?
Genre : Apocalypse, Fantasy, Superpower, Action
Tag : Misunderstanding, Secret Organization, World-Freezing, Super power
Side Story 1 : The Scalpel and The Halo
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[Time remaining until The Great Freeze: 19 Days]
[Status: PRE-IMPACT PREPARATION / LORE ANALYSIS]
[Location: Seraph's Private Penthouse, High-rise District - Central Jakarta]
[Time: 11:45 PM]
The massive, floor-to-ceiling windows of the luxurious penthouse offered a sprawling, glittering view of the Central Jakarta skyline. Millions of artificial lights illuminated the bustling, ignorant metropolis below. The citizens of the city went about their mundane, trivial lives, completely unaware of the colossal, apocalyptic meteor hurtling through the dark vacuum of space directly toward their fragile ecosystem.
Inside the penthouse, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense, heavy with the exhausting weight of absolute, terrifying knowledge.
Apothecary sat hunched over a massive mahogany dining table. The polished wood was completely covered by towering stacks of highly classified medical journals, complex chemical diagrams, and highly encrypted geological reports. At the absolute center of this chaotic sea of information rested several photocopied pages of the Architect's sacred manuscript.
Apothecary rubbed her temples violently. Severe sleep deprivation and an excessive intake of synthesized chemical stimulants caused her slender fingers to tremble uncontrollably. Her sharp eyes burned with an intense, manic focus, completely fixated on a specific, heavily highlighted paragraph on Page 9 of the document. She aggressively chewed on the end of her expensive titanium pen, her brilliant mind furiously attempting to decode the biological implications of the written words.
Standing on the opposite side of the grand room, Seraph poured herself a glass of pristine, room-temperature water from a crystal decanter.
The leader of the Sanctuary wore an elegant, flowing white evening gown, having just returned from a massive, highly exclusive underground gathering of wealthy socialites and desperate politicians.
She had spent the last six hours utilizing her terrifying charisma, manipulating the terrified elites into joining the Sanctuary, and give all their belongings including resources and weapon to her. Her vocal cords ached profoundly from projecting absolute, divine authority over the masses.
Apothecary slammed her titanium pen down onto the hard mahogany wood. The sharp, sudden crack shattered the quiet elegance of the penthouse.
"This specific phrasing is incredibly frustrating," Apothecary stated, her voice dripping with a cold, clinical disdain. She glared across the room at the woman she considered a delusional fanatic.
"The Architect possesses an undeniable, terrifying mastery over biological evolution and catastrophic meteorological shifts. Yet, he insists on wrapping these precise, scientific formulas in this primitive, theatrical poetry. It muddies the critical data."
Seraph turned slowly, placing her crystal glass down on a marble side table. Her golden eyes locked onto the exhausted scientist. She projected an aura of absolute, unshakeable calm, a stark contrast to Apothecary's frantic, scientific aggression.
"The Architect does not write poetry, Apothecary," Seraph corrected her, her tone carrying the heavy, melodic weight of a dedicated high priestess defending her scripture.
"He writes the absolute truth. You simply refuse to accept the spiritual magnitude of the events he is describing. You attempt to force divine miracles into tiny, sterile glass test tubes."
Apothecary let out a harsh, exhausted scoff, pushing her chair back and standing up. She grabbed the specific page of the manuscript, holding it up between them.
"Read the exact words, Seraph. Do not interpret them through your fanatical delusions," Apothecary demanded, pointing a trembling finger at the black ink.
"He specifically writes: 'When the piercing light from the heavens shatters the eternal dark, the beasts of the frozen earth will halt their slaughter. They will raise their heads to the sky in unified silence, and their eyes will burn with the crimson glow of the new order.'"
Apothecary dropped the paper back onto the table, her eyes narrowing with intense analytical frustration.
"You preach to your mindless Followers that this is a moment of rapture," Apothecary continued, her voice rising in volume.
"You tell them the monsters will literally bow to the heavens as something will descend soon. That is dangerous, unscientific nonsense. That specific behavioral anomaly is a purely biological reaction to a massive, sudden influx of cosmic radiation."
Seraph walked slowly toward the dining table, the heavy fabric of her white gown dragging silently across the plush carpet. She looked down at the sacred text, her expression radiating absolute, unwavering devotion.
"The light from the sky will rewrite their existence," Seraph recited the lines perfectly from memory. "It is the exact moment that Architect tell us to be aware of. Their crimson eyes are the physical manifestation of another beeing absolute control."
"Their eyes will turn red because the atmospheric radiation will trigger a massive, violent hemorrhaging of the optic nerve!" Apothecary countered aggressively, slamming her hands flat against the mahogany table.
"The sudden flash of cosmic light will cause an instantaneous, severe photic sneeze reflex mixed with total retinal burning. The sudden, localized spike in blood pressure within their optical cavities will physically flood their eyes with blood, causing the red pigmentation. The pain and the neurological shock will temporarily paralyze their motor functions, forcing them to freeze and stare blindly upward. It is an evolutionary biological glitch, Seraph!"
The two Pillars stared each other down across the table.
The tension in the room reached a violent, suffocating peak.
Apothecary despised the religious think-like Seraph was building. She viewed the chanting, the white robes, and the blind faith as a regression of human intellect. She believed science, absolute logic, and ruthless biological manipulation were the only tools capable of surviving the impending deep freeze.
Seraph, conversely, viewed Apothecary's cold, clinical atheism as a severe limitation. Seraph knew that scientific formulas could not comfort a starving, terrified mother holding her freezing child in the dark. Logic could not convince ten thousand people to march willingly into a subterranean bunker and abandon the surface world. Only absolute, unyielding faith could organize the chaotic, panic-stricken masses into a functional, obedient society.
"You construct a massive, dangerous cult built on theatrical fairy tales," Apothecary hissed, her voice trembling with sheer exhaustion.
"You intentionally ignore the physics and the biology of the Architect's warnings to play the role of a goddess. When the sky actually falls, your ignorant flock will freeze to death waiting for a miracle because they do not understand the thermodynamics of their own bodies."
Seraph did not raise her voice. She did not express anger. She simply leaned forward, resting her perfectly manicured hands on the edge of the table, bringing her face inches away from the furious scientist.
"And you, Apothecary, construct a cold, soulless laboratory built on arrogance," Seraph replied, her voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly powerful register.
"You believe you can completely dissect the Architect's mind with a scalpel. You think understanding the exact chemical composition of the black snow gives you dominance over the apocalypse. But when the impossible happens, when the dead walk, when the laws of physics shatter, and when your science completely fails to explain the horrors in the dark, your logic will snap. Your sterile formulas will not stop your mind from breaking."
The heavy, oppressive silence rushed back into the penthouse.
The distant, muffled sounds of the ignorant city traffic far below only amplified the absolute isolation of the two women standing in the room.
Apothecary stared into Seraph's glowing golden eyes. She expected to see the hollow, blank stare of a brainwashed zealot. She expected to see the arrogant, self-serving manipulation of a con artist using religion to gain power.
Instead, Apothecary saw something entirely different.
She saw the exact same dark, bruising exhaustion anchoring Seraph's eyes. She saw the heavy, suffocating weight of leading thousands of lives, the terrifying burden of knowing the exact date the world would end, and the desperate, crushing responsibility of preparing for the slaughter.
Seraph looked back into Apothecary's bloodshot, manic eyes. She saw the trembling, chemical-stained fingers. She saw the massive piles of complex research the scientist had generated through hundreds of sleepless hours. She saw the absolute, uncompromising dedication to deciphering the Architect's words to save their lives.
The anger draining from the room was a slow, palpable shift in the atmosphere.
Apothecary suddenly realized the brilliant, terrifying truth behind her. Seraph did not actually ignore the science. Seraph understood the physics and the biology perfectly well. But Seraph also understood human nature. The cult was never meant to be a delusion belive. It was a highly calculated, meticulously engineered psychological tool. Religion was simply the sociological solvent Seraph used to bind the fragile human minds together, just as Apothecary used chemical solvents to bind genetic material.
They were executing the exact same mission using entirely different instruments.
Seraph realized the exact same truth. Apothecary was not a heretic denying the Architect's divinity. She was a devoted, obsessive scholar desperately trying to translate the divine miracles into a language she could physically touch, measure, and recreate. Her obsessive research was her own form of absolute worship.
Apothecary's shoulders suddenly slumped. The manic energy fueling her aggressive argument evaporated entirely, leaving behind only a profound, hollow exhaustion.
She sank back heavily into her chair, covering her face with both hands.
"I have not slept in seventy-two hours," Apothecary confessed, her voice muffled behind her palms.
The harsh, clinical edge was completely gone, replaced by a raw, vulnerable admission of her own physical limits. "I am currently running on a highly toxic mixture of synthesized adrenaline and massive doses of caffeine. If I do not finalize the localized thermal-resistance enzyme by tomorrow morning, we will not have enough time to mass-produce the chemical pills before the temperature drops."
Seraph watched the brilliant scientist break down under the colossal weight of her own expectations. The leader of the sanctuary stepped away from the table. She walked slowly toward the small, elegant kitchenette in the corner of the penthouse.
She retrieved a delicate porcelain cup and a matching saucer. She filled an electric kettle with purified water and set it to boil. She opened a small, wooden lacquered box, retrieving a specific blend of dried chamomile, valerian root, and crushed lavender.
Seraph prepared the tea with slow, meticulous, and incredibly graceful movements. She understood the massive physical toll their grand preparations demanded.
They were completely alone in their terrifying knowledge. The rest of the world was a blind, ignorant enemy. The Pillars could only rely on each other.
Seraph walked back to the mahogany table. She gently pushed the scattered, chaotic piles of chemical diagrams aside, creating a small, clear space directly in front of Apothecary. She placed the steaming porcelain cup of tea onto the polished wood.
"The Architect does not require you to destroy your own biological vessel to prove your devotion," Seraph said softly, her tone entirely stripped of its usual preaching authority. Her voice was genuine, warm, and deeply comforting.
"Drink this. It will safely neutralize the synthesized adrenaline in your bloodstream and lower your elevated heart rate. You will sleep for exactly four hours. Your mind requires the rest to process the data."
Apothecary lowered her hands. She stared at the steaming, fragrant tea. She looked up at Seraph, her eyes tracing the visible lines of fatigue on the cult leader's beautiful face.
Apothecary reached into the deep, sterile pocket of her white laboratory coat. Her trembling fingers retrieved a small, highly durable metal tin. She opened the lid, revealing a row of small, perfectly spherical lozenges radiating a faint, icy blue color.
She slid the metal tin across the mahogany table toward Seraph.
"You have been projecting your voice across massive, cavernous acoustic spaces for six consecutive hours," Apothecary analyzed, her tone quiet and incredibly respectful.
"You are causing severe, microscopic lacerations to your vocal cords. This localized anesthetic compound contains concentrated honey extract, synthesized menthol, and a rapid-healing cellular accelerant. Dissolve one beneath your tongue. It will completely repair the damaged tissue and eliminate the inflammation in less than ten minutes."
Seraph looked down at the icy blue lozenges. She reached out, her elegant fingers picking up one of the small, perfectly crafted chemical miracles. She placed it beneath her tongue. The cooling, soothing relief spread through her aching throat almost instantaneously, washing away the painful, burning sensation of her endless speeches.
"Thank you, Apothecary," Seraph whispered, her golden eyes conveying a deep, profound gratitude.
"Drink the tea," Seraph instructed gently.
Apothecary picked up the porcelain cup. Her hands had already stopped trembling. She took a slow, deep sip of the hot liquid, feeling the calming, natural warmth spread through her exhausted chest.
They sat together in the quiet penthouse, surrounded by the chaotic, beautiful mess of their apocalyptic preparations.
The fierce debate regarding the crimson eyes and the cosmic radiation no longer mattered. They did not need to agree on the exact mechanics of the Architect's prophecies. Because they both know, what the architect prophecies is the only truth leading for this world future's.
And, They both shared the exact same terrifying vision. They both carried the colossal, crushing devotion to the man who held the absolute blueprint to their survival.
The brilliant, ruthless scientist and the charismatic, fanatical high priestess were no longer enemies divided by ideology.
They recognized each other as the two absolute, foundational pillars holding up the Architect's impending new world. They would continue to serve him, and in the dark, exhausting nights leading up to the end of the world, they would silently help each other.
›› To Be Continue ‹‹
—KS