The plan didn't start as it should've seem to be.
It started as a problem.
They were packed into the dark service level beneath the city's mid-sector—an abandoned logistics corridor lined with fiber conduits and obsolete tram rails. Circe's hacked lights flickered low, just enough to see faces without giving away position.
Netoshka crouched near a cracked holo-table projected from Battery's wrist unit. Red schematics hovered in the air—industrial blocks, transport routes, sealed zones marked RESTRICTED BY ORDER OF DIRECTOR MALICER.
Surgien broke the silence first.
"I'm seeing repeated medical shipments," he muttered, scrolling.
"Not weapons. Not food. Pharmaceutical-grade containment units."
Rue frowned..
"For who?"
Circe zoomed in on one route. Her voice dropped.
"For everyone."
The data snapped into alignment—shipment logs, air filtration grids, emergency quarantine protocols buried under civic infrastructure. The city wasn't just watched.
It was prepared.
Zev leaned against the wall, arms crossed, ears twitching faintly.. .
"Prepared for what?"
Circe hesitated.
Then she brought up the chemical profile.
A crimson molecular lattice rotated in the air—unstable, aggressive, reactive with oxygen and neural tissue.
Netoshka's jaw tightened the moment she saw it.
"…gas."
"Not riot control," Circe said quietly. "Not crowd dispersal. This is a wide-spectrum neurological agent. Causes panic, paralysis, hemorrhaging. Survivors experience… behavioral rewriting."
Surgien went pale.
"That's not suppression," he said.
"That's conversion."
Alev swore under his breath.
Battery clenched his fists.
"So Malicer's not ruling the city. He's prepping to overwrite it."
Netoshka stared at the projection, numbers flickering involuntarily at the edge of her vision.
8… 12… 14… 15… 7…
She forced them down.
"How far along?" she asked.
Circe swallowed. "Production phase. Dispersal infrastructure already installed. Ventilation towers. Subway systems. Even residential air recyclers."
Rue's hand tightened on her blade.
"If this goes live—"
"It won't," Netoshka cut in.
She straightened, eyes hard.
"This isn't recon anymore. This isn't infiltration."
She reached out and manually tagged the operation file, renaming it with a sharp gesture.
> OPERATION: RED PLAGUE
Zev looked at her.
"We stopping production… or the man?"
Netoshka didn't hesitate.
"Both."
She tapped the map, isolating several locations.
"Gas doesn't move without coordination. There's a control chain—factories, transit hubs, command authority."
Her finger stopped on one structure.
The Main Building.
Blacklisted. Overclassified. Buried under layers of civic bureaucracy and armed presence.
"That's Malicer's spine," Battery said.
"We hit it head-on?"
"No," Netoshka replied. "Not yet."
She looked around at them—really looked.
"We're too visible as one unit. This city eats groups."
Her gaze lingered on Zev, Rue, Surgien… then shifted.
"We split."
The word landed heavy.
Circe frowned. "Neto—"
"I know," she said.
"I don't like it either."
She pulled up two routes—East Side and West Side—each crawling with patrol density, informant nodes, and black-site facilities.
"East Side has factories and labor zones. While
West Side holds data, command relays, internal security."
Rue exhaled slowly. .
"Secret police territory."
"Exactly."
Netoshka shut the projection down.
"We dismantle this city piece by piece. Find out who's disappearing. Where the gas is being tested. Who's already been exposed."
Her voice dropped.
"And we make damn sure Malicer doesn't get to choose when this plague is released."
Somewhere above them, a siren wailed—long, low, almost ceremonial.
Zev's ears flattened.
"They're sweeping sectors."
Netoshka drew her weapon, chamber checking by instinct.
"Then we move now."
She looked at each of them, one by one.
"From this point on, nothing here is coincidence. Every street. Every arrest. Every silence."
A pause.
"This city is sick."
Her eyes glitched faintly.
"And we're the cure."
The team dispersed into the tunnels—two paths, one objective, and a city that was already tightening its grip around them.
Above ground, ventilation towers hummed softly.
And somewhere deep within the city's heart, crimson gas waited patiently to be born.