The conference room was too quiet.
Not the respectful quiet of professionals waiting their turn to speak, but the strained silence of people who had already exhausted every word they knew how to say. Screens lined the walls, each frozen on different angles of the same impossible image. A city swallowed by white.
The President stood at the head of the table, one hand resting on the back of a chair, the other hovering over a remote. His face looked older than it had that morning. Lines cut deeper around his mouth. His jaw was tight, as if holding back something that threatened to break free if he let it.
"Turn it on," he said.
A staffer swallowed and nodded.
The largest screen flickered to life.
Static cleared, replaced by the shaking image of a news helicopter feed. The camera struggled to focus, the lens fogging at the edges. Beyond it, the skyline of New York was barely visible, half consumed by rolling white mist that churned like a living sea.
A woman's voice cut through the noise, steady but strained.
"This is Amanda Reyes reporting live above Manhattan."
The camera zoomed slightly, revealing the vastness of the phenomenon. Entire districts were gone, reduced to indistinct shapes beneath the mist.
"Approximately thirty minutes ago, New York City experienced what experts are now calling a catastrophic quirk-related event. At 12:47 PM local time, a massive unidentified entity appeared in the sky above the city. Witnesses described it as whale-like in shape, white in coloration, and large enough to block out direct sunlight."
The footage shifted.
A replay began. Shaky phone recordings from civilians. A shadow creeping across streets. People pointing upward. Nervous laughter.
In the conference room, no one spoke.
"We initially believed the incident might have been the result of a mutation quirk, large-scale illusion, or quirk malfunction," Amanda continued. "Those assumptions were quickly disproven."
The screen cut to Captain Celebrity's arrival. His descent. The cheers. The raised hand.
Several officials flinched.
"At 12:53 PM," Amanda said, her voice lowering, "the number one ranked hero, Captain Celebrity, arrived on scene to assess and contain the situation."
The replay slowed.
Captain Celebrity approached the creature.
The eye opened.
The sound that followed distorted the audio feed. Even through speakers dampened and filtered, it made people in the room shift uncomfortably.
The footage cut to chaos.
People screaming. Falling. Clutching their heads. A woman dragging herself across pavement, nails scraping bloody trails behind her. A child shaking uncontrollably as his father tried and failed to hold him upright.
Captain Celebrity's image appeared again, close-up. His hands tearing at his helmet. His face twisted in terror.
The President closed his eyes for a brief moment.
"Captain Celebrity's current status is unknown," Amanda said. "Following the entity's vocalization, all communication with him was lost. Rescue attempts have failed. Heroes deployed after him were similarly incapacitated."
The feed changed again.
This time, it was quiet footage. A wide shot of the city from above.
Mist poured outward from the creature's body, spilling down like a waterfall turned sideways. It rolled through streets, climbed buildings, swallowed everything it touched.
"And then," Amanda said softly, "the mist appeared."
In the conference room, someone whispered a prayer.
"Since the emergence of this mist," she continued voice cracking, "a new and deeply disturbing phenomenon has been observed. Any individual who comes into direct contact with the mist vanishes."
The word hung heavy.
"Not incapacitated," Amanda clarified. "Not displaced. Vanished. Erased."
The screen cut to recorded footage from earlier that day.
A rescue team stood at the edge of the mist line. They wore full hazmat suits, sealed helmets reflecting the white fog ahead of them. Their outlines were sharp against the brightness.
A man holding the camera laughed nervously. "You guys are really doing this, huh?"
One of the suited figures gave a thumbs up. "Someone's gotta find out what's in there."
Another adjusted his gear. "Tell my wife I love her if I don't come back."
"Don't say that," the cameraman replied quickly. "You'll be fine."
The team stepped forward.
One by one, they disappeared into the mist.
Not dramatically.
No scream. No struggle.
They simply faded, their silhouettes dissolving into nothing.
The camera lingered on the empty space where they had been.
Seconds passed.
The man behind the camera shifted. "Uh," he said. "Guys?"
No response.
His breathing grew louder.
"Wait... who went into the mist?"
The footage ended abruptly.
Silence filled the conference room again.
A general leaned forward, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white. "Sir," he said to the President, "we have confirmed reports from multiple agencies. This is consistent. Anyone who crosses that boundary ceases to exist."
A scientist shook her head slowly. "It violates everything we understand. It is not teleportation. It is not decay. It is not spatial compression. It is as if they were erased from existence. The only evidence of their existence is the video footage. of victims"
The President opened his eyes and looked back at the screen, where the helicopter feed had resumed.
Amanda's face was visible now, pale, eyes rimmed red.
"We are being told," she said carefully, "that evacuation of New York City is no longer possible. The mist is expanding at a slow but constant rate. Airspace is restricted. Ground access is impossible."
She hesitated, then added, "Authorities urge anyone outside the affected zone to remain where they are. Do not approach the mist under any circumstances."
The camera panned out once more.
The White Whale hovered above it all, unmoving, indifferent.
"Is this the end of the world?"
The President muted the television.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then he exhaled slowly.
"This is not a disaster," he said. "This is an extinction-level event if it spreads."
Eyes turned toward him.
"We need answers," he continued. "We need to know what that thing is, where it came from, and whether it can be stopped."
A pause.
"And if it cannot," he added quietly, "we need to know how long we have."
The room did not erupt into argument.
Because outside the conference room, the world kept watching the mist roll forward, swallowing a city whole.
That alone spoke volumes.
The President looked around the table, meeting the eyes of his generals, advisors, and specialists. No one looked eager. No one looked confident.
He broke the silence.
"Get me Stars and Stripes."
A low murmur rippled through the room. Not disagreement. But surprise by the idea.
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs leaned forward. "Sir, if we deploy her now, we risking our most important strategic asset. If she fails—"
"We are already past the point of restraint," the President said, voice firm. "New York is gone. Captain Celebrity is missing. Heroes are ineffective. Conventional force is meaningless."
A scientist adjusted her glasses, hands shaking slightly. "Her quirk does not operate on conventional limits. It rewrites reality through imposed rules. If anything can interact with something that ignores physics, it is her."
Another general exhaled slowly. "She is still human."
"So is everyone we just watched disappear," the President replied.
Silence again.
Finally, a nod.
"Patch her through," the Chairman said. "Priority channel. Shel will be given full authority to use anything in our United States arsenal."
The line connected almost immediately.
...
Stars and Stripes was now airborne.
The sky around her was clear, the roar of the jet engines escorting her a distant thunder beneath her own controlled flight. Her posture was rigid, eyes fixed forward, jaw set. Wind tore at her uniform, but she did not waver.
"Mr. President," she said. "I'm listening."
Her voice was steady. That steadiness carried weight.
"You've seen the footage," the President said.
"Yes, sir."
"You understand the situation."
"Yes, sir."
A pause.
"Your quirk," he continued, carefully, "is the only one we know of that might be able to impose order on something like this. We do not know if it will work. We do not know what rules apply."
"I understand," she said again.
The mist appeared on the horizon then.
A white wall stretching across the land, swallowing buildings and landmarks alike. Even from miles away, it felt wrong.
The President's voice lowered. "You cannot afford to fail."
Stars and Stripes did not bristle. Did not protest.
"I know."
"If this thing spreads beyond New York," he continued, "we may not get another chance. There may not be another line to hold."
"I know," she repeated.
A beat passed.
The President closed his eyes briefly.
He knew it.
she knew it.
It was a suicide mission.
"May God be with you," he said. "All of us are praying for your safety."
She paused, her voice softened.
"I'll do my duty," she replied.
The channel cut.
Stars and Stripes flew on in silence, the escort jets falling back as she approached the edge of the mist.
The aircrafts slowed.
Hovered.
The mist loomed before her, endless and patient.
Stars and Stripes exhaled through her nose, steadying herself. The weight of the world pressed against her shoulders, familiar and unbearable all at once.
She reached up and tapped her earpiece, severing the line completely.
"...First the Shinjuku incident with my master," she muttered to herself, eyes narrowing as she stared into the white, "and now this."
Her fists clenched.
She pushed forward.
A/N: We have finally moved from the beginning arcs, things will now get more complicated. Stay tuned!