The Western Main Building did not burn.
That was the first thing Netoshka noticed.
For a structure that housed Synarchy oversight, population compliance records, chemical research, and internal security command, it should have been scarred—blasted, sabotaged, reduced to rubble by resistance cells long before Inferius arrived.
Instead, it stood pristine.
Tall. Sterile. Untouched.
A monolith of authority.
White alloy walls reflected the burning slums in the distance like distant memories—violence happening elsewhere, never here. Automated turrets rested dormant along the spire's edges, not because they were disabled…
…but because they were waiting.
"This place hasn't seen real combat," Circe muttered, overlays crawling across her visor. "Security systems are intact. Internal power grid untouched. That means—"
"They wanted it this way," Netoshka finished.
Inferius Squad assembled in full.
All sixteen.
No fractures. No delays.
Zev was not among them.
Rue's voice came over the secured sub-channel, steady but tense.
> "Zev is still under. Vitals stable. Sleeper serum holding. I'll stay with him and Alev. Ron's assisting. If something moves down here, I'll know."
Netoshka acknowledged with a silent nod.
Good.
Zev didn't need to see what came next.
The main doors parted without resistance.
That was the second thing that unsettled her.
No alarms.
No lockdown.
No announcement.
Just a smooth mechanical opening—as if the building itself had been expecting them.
"Stack," Netoshka ordered.
They moved.
The lobby was cathedral-wide. Polished floors. White pillars. Long banners bearing Synarchy insignia and slogans etched into steel:
ORDER IS COMPASSION
CONTROL IS KINDNESS
CHAOS IS CRUELTY
Netoshka's jaw tightened.
"Contact," Circe whispered.
Figures emerged from concealed alcoves.
Not riot police.
Not drones.
Synarchy Special Enforcement.
White-gray armor segmented with crimson seams. Visors opaque. Movements precise. Weapons already leveled.
SAU.
"Clear them," Netoshka said flatly.
Inferius did not hesitate.
The lobby erupted.
Suppressive fire ripped through marble pillars. Shock rounds detonated against kinetic shields. Zeph and Letze flanked left, tearing through a firing line. Circe scrambled the building's internal sensors mid-fight, turning friend-or-foe systems into static.
Netoshka moved straight through the center.
Bullets curved wrong around her.
Reality stuttered as she glitched forward, snapping a trooper's neck mid-step, stealing his momentum to vault over suppressive fire, landing behind another and driving her blade clean through his chest plate.
SAU units adapted fast.
They always did.
"Second wave inbound!" Spectr called.
"Don't stall," Netoshka replied.
"We're not here for bodies."
They advanced floor by floor.
Rooms were breached.
Offices cleared.
Labs abandoned mid-work.
And then they found it.
A sealed research wing.
Red hazard markings lined the walls.
Air filtration systems thrummed louder here, almost anxious.
Circe froze mid-hack.
"…Netoshka."
"What."
"I'm reading chemical signatures. Synthetic, but… aggressive. Not gas deployed yet, but stabilized. Weapon-grade."
Netoshka felt it then.
The same cold pressure she'd felt in the slums.
Not rage.
Premeditation.
They breached the final chamber.
And the room applauded.
Slow.
Measured.
Mocking.
A man stood alone at the far end of the chamber, hands clasped behind his back. No armor. No weapon. Tailored black coat trimmed with red filament.
Director insignia pinned to his chest.
Gray hair pulled back neatly. Eyes sharp. Calm.
Unafraid.
"Well done," he said pleasantly.
"You arrived faster than projections."
Netoshka didn't lower her weapon.
"Director Malicer."
He smiled.
"So you do know me. I was afraid I'd become obsolete."
Around him, holographic displays ignited.
Images flooded the air.
The slums.
Bodies.
Fires.
Netoshka.
Her silhouette, glitched and blood-soaked, carved into the city's underbelly.
Malicer gestured gently.
"Tragic, isn't it?"
Circe's voice sharpened.
"You staged this."
"Of course," Malicer replied.
"Chaos is useless unless it can be directed."
He turned toward Netoshka fully now.
"You see, your rampage was… inconvenient. Necessary, but inconvenient. So we refined it."
The holograms shifted.
Chemical dispersal charts. Crowd density models. Mortality projections.
A red compound rotated slowly at the center.
Malicer spoke its name like a prayer.
> "BLIGHTMIST 9."
Netoshka's blood ran colder.
"Aerosolized psycho-reactive agent," Malicer continued calmly.
"Derived from stress-response amplification and neural overstimulation. Causes paranoia, aggression, hallucinations… followed by organ failure if exposure persists."
He smiled wider.
"Beautiful, really. Turns unrest into justification."
Surgien stepped forward. "You deployed it."
Malicer shook his head.
"No. You will deploy it."
The hologram shifted again.
Broadcast overlays.
Emergency alerts.
Footage already edited—Netoshka framed perfectly amidst crimson fog, bodies collapsing around her.
Synarchy insignia stamped clean over the feed.
Malicer spread his hands.
"When Blightmist 9 is released, the world will see a monster. Not a system. Not corruption. Not us."
His eyes locked onto Netoshka.
"They'll see you."
Silence fell.
Netoshka stepped forward slowly.
"You're assuming I care."
Malicer chuckled softly.
"No. I'm assuming the world will."
He leaned closer.
"And when they beg us to stop you… we will."
Circe cut in sharply.
"He's already seeded the narrative."
Spectr cursed under his breath.
Malicer's tone softened, almost paternal.
"You're a weapon, Netoshka. An extraordinary one. But weapons don't get to choose what they justify."
Netoshka raised her blade.
"Last chance."
Malicer didn't flinch.
"Then try to Kill me," he said calmly.
"And Blightmist 9 still deploys. The systems are autonomous. The blame… permanent."
The room hummed.
Red gas canisters hissed softly behind reinforced glass.
The trap was complete.
And for the first time since entering the building—
Netoshka hesitated.
Not out of fear.
But because Malicer was right about one thing.
This wasn't about killing him.
This was about what came after.
And Malicer smiled…
…because he knew it too.