They didn't leave the building right away.
Inferius stayed put, crouched in the dark operations floor while the city above kept moving like nothing had happened. Sirens echoed distantly — not alarms yet, just patrol rotations shifting after the brief blackout Netoshka caused during their data pull.
Circe's visor flickered as she scrolled through stolen files.
"…This is bad," she muttered.
Netoshka turned.
"Define bad."
Circe swallowed.
"Red Plague isn't just a chemical weapon. It's a framework."
She brought the data up on a cracked holo-panel scavenged from the wall. Lines of encrypted schematics unfolded — transit routes, population clusters, quarantine zones, production schedules.
Surgien leaned in, eyes narrowing.
"That's not deployment. That's civil management."
"Exactly," Circe said.
"The gas isn't meant to wipe people out immediately. It destabilizes cognition first. Fear. Compliance. Neurological suggestion."
Rue scoffed quietly.
"Mind control."
"Soft control," Circe corrected.
"Enough to break resistance. Enough to make people accept what comes next."
Genrihk's jaw tightened.
"And what comes next?"
Circe highlighted another layer of the file.
INTERNAL SECURITY ACT — DRAFT
AUTHORIZATION: DIRECTOR MALICER
Zev let out a low growl.
"Secret police."
Netoshka didn't react immediately. She stared at the data, jaw set, fingers twitching slightly as the familiar numbers tried to claw their way into her peripheral vision.
11… 2… 17… 13… 21…
She crushed them down.
"Show me the money," she said.
Circe switched files.
Accounts. Shell corporations. Black-budget funding streams routed through humanitarian fronts, reconstruction grants, medical relief organizations.
Surgien cursed.
"They're financing oppression with aid money."
"And blaming dissent," Rue added, reading ahead, "on foreign destabilizers."
Zev looked up sharply.
"That's probably be us..."
Circe nodded grimly.
"If Red Plague goes live, Inferius becomes the excuse. The villain. The justification."
Netoshka exhaled slowly.
"So Malicer doesn't just want control," she said.
"He wants a war narrative."
Taran crossed his arms.
"Where's the gas being made?"
Circe zoomed in on a logistics map.
Multiple sites. Mobile labs. But one location was marked differently — flagged, reinforced, buried under layers of authorization.
She highlighted it.
CENTRAL MANUFACTURING NODE — SECTOR BLACK
Rue frowned.
"That's the Main Building."
Silence settled over the room.
Genrihk finally spoke, voice low.
"This city isn't sick. It's being prepared."
Netoshka nodded.
"That's why the people move in unison," she said.
"Why fear is everywhere. Why surveillance is tighter than usual."
She looked at her squad, one by one.
"This isn't just a mission anymore. This is a setup."
Before anyone could respond—
Static burst through their comms.
A distorted voice cut in, filtered and sharp.
> "Unauthorized presence detected in Grid-7."
Circe's eyes widened.
"Someone's tracing us."
Lights flickered overhead — not off, but watchful. Camera lenses whirred faintly behind wall panels.
Rue unslung her rifle.
"We're burned."
Netoshka stepped back, already calculating exits.
"No," she said. "We're being watched."
A pause.
Then another transmission — closer now.
> "Remain where you are for inspection."
Zev cracked his knuckles.
"Inspection by who?"
As if in answer, heavy boots echoed from the stairwell below. Not soldiers — not yet. These steps were measured. Disciplined.
Genrihk's eyes darkened.
"Secret Police," he said.
"Not Malicer's troops. Worse."
Netoshka pulled her hood up, glitching static briefly rippling across her outline.
"Alright," she said quietly.
"Now we know the truth."
She turned toward the shadowed corridor.
"This city isn't under threat."
She chambered a round.
"It's already fallen."
And Inferius moved — straight into the conspiracy tightening around them.