In the end, more than half of the recruits stepped through the door. Most did so at the very last second — trembling, hesitating, then slipping away as the light swallowed them whole.
When the heavy doors shut again, silence lingered. Out of the hundreds that once filled the auditorium, fewer than fifty remained.
To Kenji's surprise, both Aiden and Octavia stood among them.
'Or maybe I shouldn't be too surprised.' Kenji thought.
His gaze drifted toward the stage.
Shō stood there still, expression unreadable — but every few minutes, his eyes flicked toward Kenji. There was something in that look — a shadow of disappointment, and something else buried beneath it: worry.
The whole monster act. The killing, the horror — it was all to drive him away. But it had the opposite effect.
Kenji's grip on the steel armrest tightened at his side. If anything, it made him want to stay more.
Shō finally exhaled, breaking the silence.
"Well," he said, voice quieter now, stripped of that cold edge. "I guess that settles it. Welcome to the Choir."
His tone wasn't proud — it was weary, as if he'd just watched something he hadn't wanted to.
He stretched his arms, then stepped down from the stage, boots echoing against the tile.
"Alright, recruits," he said, gesturing for them to follow. "Let's get this over with. I'll give you a proper rundown on what exactly you've signed up for."
He snapped his fingers.
From the far wall, a set of hidden doors slid open with a mechanical hiss.
The bright white light spilled into the dim auditorium — but what lay beyond wasn't anything like the sterile corridors they'd walked through earlier.
The new hallway was alive with motion and sound.
Neon blue veins of light pulsed along the corners, circuits thrummed beneath the glass floor, and the air itself buzzed faintly with power.
The group's awed murmurs echoed softly through the space.
"What?" Shō glanced over his shoulder with a crooked smirk. "You thought we were all about plain white walls and creepy silence?"
He swept a hand across the illuminated corridor. "You're about to see the best technology this world has to offer — so keep your eyes open, Choir."
They entered the corridors, some tried to take pictures out of habit but their phone cameras only captured black images. Shō snickered and turned to the group.
"Sorry, any and all cameras are prohibited at this point of the tour. You could thank Ars Animus for that. Anti‐Photography tech... it had another name, but I couldn't be bothered remembering it." He said before turning back.
"This is facility 12-0218. One of the many many facilities our organization operates worldwide. The kicker? This one's considered a minor one — barely a blip on the map. You are amongst the few in an organization that spans millions."
As they walked, they passed by a window. He gestured for the group to look, many of them saw men and women, all in cuffs being lead through in a line.
They looked horrified, scarred, terrified of what was to come. Their eyes were both lifeless and hollow — yet so full of fear. Kenji's mouth thinned, looking at the gray jumpsuits with serial numbers that each of the prisoners wore.
"Test subjects, guinea pigs, people marked for death — taken here instead for testing. Trust me folks, you do not want to be one of them. They're declared dead in the public eye, and honestly, a lot of them wish that they were. Ars Animus could be cruel, really really cruel."
Shō's lips thinned, his voice hardened.
"Especially with that new leader of theirs..." He trailed off, he nearly spat the word.
Through the crowd, Octavia raised her hand.
"Yes, you!" Shō snapped, pointing like a lecturer spotting a curious student. "What's your question?"
"Can you explain what Ars Animus is?" Octavia asked, flipping open her notebook — the same hardcover she'd rammed into that sludge monster earlier.
"Good question." Shō turned and kept walking, hands in his pockets.
"Ars Animus is one of the four major departments. The Choir's divided into four distinct branches — body parts of a whole, if you will."
He raised one finger.
"Ars Animus is the brain. They think, research, and develop. Most of our tools come from them. They're the ones who study anomalies — figure out counters, catalog them, the whole scientific mess. Each group has a call sign, by the way — bird-themed. Ars Animus are the Ravens."
A second finger.
"Then there's my department, Noctua Oculus — the Owls. We're the eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and skin of the Choir. We handle the senses. We're the ones out in the field, gathering intelligence. The frontliners, the vanguard. We see the most, and usually die the most, too."
A third finger.
"Next, Avis Ferrea — the Hawks. The Choir's fists. The talons we use to strike. They're our military; organized into companies, legions, units — armed to the teeth with the best toys Ars Animus can build. One unit of them alone could make a nation tremble."
And finally, a fourth.
"Last is Columba ex Charta — the Doves. Administration. Paperwork, finances, internal and external affairs. They're the spine of the Choir — sending signals through the nerves, making sure the rest of us keep moving."
Then Kenji raised a hand. Shō caught the motion, sighed, and lazily pointed his way.
"Yes, you. What's your question?"
Kenji hesitated for a moment before asking, "Does that mean the soldiers I saw were Avis Ferrea?"
"Oh, no," Shō replied, waving a hand dismissively. "They're all Noctua Oculus."
Kenji blinked. They wore full tactical gear, armed to the teeth — the kind of soldiers you'd expect in a warzone.
Shō caught the look on his face and smirked. "Trust me, if Avis Ferrea's ever called in, it means something's gone terribly, terribly wrong. The Hawks don't show up unless the world's already on fire."
He paused for a moment, then added more casually, "That said, some of them were present during that little incident earlier. Echo One's Avis Ferrea, though I doubt you'd know who that is."
Kenji frowned, the name sparking a vague memory — a call sign he'd heard echo through the radio chatter during the chaos.
Octavia raised her hand again. "Then what department would we be in?"
Shō turned to glance back at her, expression unreadable. "My guess? You're all Noctua Oculus. Ars Animus would've sent you a notice if they wanted you — usually before we even got out of here. Avis Ferrea tends to pick people up directly from the field, or sometimes they'll pull experienced Owls if the head Hawk requests and the head Owl agrees."
He shrugged. "If not the Owls, then most of you would probably end up as Doves."
Shō continued once Kenji fell silent, his boots clicking against the metal steps as he led the group down a flight of stairs.
"There are other departments, of course," he said, tone easy and practiced. "Smaller, but still functional. Most are just sub-sections of the main four — though a few are independent. Special functions. Odd jobs nobody else wants to handle."
He stepped aside and gestured toward a wide glass viewport. The recruits crowded in, and a collective gasp filled the air.
Below them stretched a hangar the size of a city block. Engineers and soldiers moved in organized chaos, sparks flying from welding torches, vehicles rumbling across the polished floor. Rows of armored carriers gleamed under floodlights, tanks rested in maintenance cradles — and towering over it all were three massive figures.
"Are those fucking mechs!?" / 'Are those fucking mechs?'
Aiden shouted aloud, while Kenji thought with disbelief.
Three enormous machines stood on raised platforms, metal titans bristling with armaments — rotary cannons along their arms, missile pods on their shoulders, reinforced plating thicker than any tank's hull.
"Close," Shō replied, clearly amused. "They're drones. Unmanned."
"Their creator originally wanted to make them mechs," Shō went on, leading the group along the observation deck. "But the higher-ups decided they'd be better off as drones. Ars Animus had a field day arguing over that one — half of them said it was impractical, that we should just build more tanks and carriers instead."
"But Erhardt insisted, so here we are. He said, and I quote:"
He paused mid-stride, clearing his throat before slipping into the worst fake accent imaginable.
"Zese unevolved primitive apes fail to understand ze capabilities of a giant fuck-ass robot tearing its vay through ze battlefield!"
The crowd blinked. A few laughed, and the rest soon followed. Even Kenji found himself chuckling.
Shō nodded with a dry chuckle, then deadpanned. "He doesn't actually have a German accent, by the way. But he is German."
He looked to the side, almost absently. "And he's... kind of insane."
A cough later, he continued walking.
"We're actually on our way to meet him," Shō said. "Since you're all officially Choir now, it's only natural you'll each be fitted with an STCT."
He raised a hand, fingers tracing letters in the air as he explained. "That's Specialized Tool for Containment or Termination. Basically, it's a weapon or gadget you design yourself. Doesn't have to be perfect — hell, even a bad doodle works. Submit a mock-up within the week and you're set."
He gave a half-smile. "Trust me, they can get... ridiculous."
Octavia raised her hand again. Shō pointed to her like a weary professor who already knew who had the right answer.
"What is it this time, good student?"
Octavia barely suppressed an eye roll. "By ridiculous, how ridiculous do they get?"
Shō stopped walking for a moment. His grin slowly returned, sharp and mischievous.
"One STCT a colleague of mine had was a spray," he said. "Guess what it did."
The group turned to one another, muttering guesses.
"It shrunk people?" one recruit tried.
"Bzzt, wrong," Shō said dryly. "Keep going."
"It set you on fire?" Aiden guessed.
"Getting warmer," Shō quipped.
Kenji, without missing a beat, shouted, "It makes things explode!"
"Half-right," Shō said, already walking again. "It made anything objectively cute explode. How Erhardt managed that, I'll never know."
A stunned silence followed.
"...define 'cute,'" someone muttered.
Shō shrugged. "Apparently, it was subjective. The first test killed a puppy and two engineers. They were devastated — mostly about the engineers. Except Erhardt, he was more concerned about the dogs."
The group collectively shuddered. Kenji frowned, his mouth thin. Poor puppies. That was cruel — senselessly cruel. What use could that even have? It wasn't as if you could spray a horde of monsters and watch them explode… unless you were a very particular kind of insane.
"You said it made things objectively cute explode," Octavia interjected, her brows furrowed. "How could that be based on something subjective?"
"To Erhardt," Shō said, his tone dry but edged with reluctant respect, "his subjective beliefs are objective truth."
He gave a faint, resigned hum. "Man's got an ego — a well-deserved one, but an ego nonetheless."
Eventually, the group stopped before a door — a massive slab of white carbon fiber, its surface etched with faint hexagonal patterns. Taped right in the center, however, was a small paper note scrawled in bold black ink:
"Erhardt's Evil Lair."
A collective deadpan swept through the group. Even Shō paused, blinking once before letting out a long sigh.
"Could've sworn the higher-ups told him to get rid of that," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But he's… persistent, I guess."
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the recruits. The contrast between the pristine white door and the childish scrawl was almost surreal.
Shō exhaled through his nose, rubbing at his temple. He stared at the note, then sighed.
"Maybe deranged artist is a better term..."
He stepped forward, pressing his hand to the scanner beside the door. The hexagonal patterns lit up in soft blue, humming as the locks disengaged with a hiss.
"Alright, brace yourselves," Shō said, glancing over his shoulder. "Erhardt isn't exactly what you'd call… normal."
The moment the doors slid open, the group was immediately assaulted—
by blaring techno music and a kaleidoscope of flashing neon lights.
Kenji froze, wide-eyed.
Octavia winced, rubbing her temples.
Aiden just blinked, half convinced he was still hallucinating.
At the center of the chaos stood a man in a lab coat, a headset clamped over his head. He slid across the floor with practiced rhythm, dancing in sync with the pounding bass as a swarm of drones spun above him, projecting pulsing beams of color through the air.
He twirled, pointed dramatically to the ceiling, and struck a pose — completely oblivious to the stunned audience.
Aiden leaned toward Kenji and muttered, barely holding back a grin.
"Hey, if nothing else… he's got moves."
Shō stared ahead, his expression caught somewhere between deadpan resignation and mild existential fatigue. It was clear this wasn't the first time he'd walked into this particular circus.
Over and over and over and over—
He shoved the thought aside before it could spiral. No need to relive that.
Turning to the recruits, he forced a wry, strained smile.
"Sit tight while I… handle something real quick."
He strode forward, weaving through flashing drones and neon chaos until he stopped just behind the dancing man. A sharp tap on the shoulder was all it took.
Erhardt let out a startled yelp, leaping back as his drones immediately locked onto Shō with a mechanical chorus of clicks—the sound of several dozen micro–machine guns arming in unison.
Shō didn't flinch. He merely crossed his arms, unimpressed.
"Which fool dares interrupt my rhythm with their—oh!" Erhardt blinked, then brightened. "Shay! It's you!"
"Shō," came the flat correction.
Erhardt waved it off with a carefree laugh, utterly unfazed. "Right, right — Shay. That's what I said!"
Erhardt never made mistakes, Erhardt was always right. Says Erhardt, so it must be true.
"What brings you here, Shay?" Erhardt asked, handing the headset to a passing drone, which plucked it neatly from his hand with a claw-like grip.
Shō didn't bother answering. He simply pointed toward the gathered recruits.
Erhardt blinked, then followed his gaze. His bright yellow eyes widened before he smacked a palm to his forehead.
"Oh, right! The new recruits. Thank you for reminding me—"
He paused for dramatic effect. "—is what I would've said if I'd forgotten! Haha! But I never forget."
He snapped his fingers and turned toward the group, marching up the steps with grand, theatrical steps. He stopped before them, scanning each face in silence for several uncomfortable seconds.
"…What is he doing?" Octavia muttered, glancing between Aiden and Kenji.
Erhardt suddenly raised his arms wide. His stance was unmistakable.
"…Is he T-posing?" Aiden whispered. "In this year?"
"I am asserting my dominance," Erhardt declared, tone perfectly matter-of-fact, "in a manner you unevolved apes can comprehend."
He began pacing as he spoke, gesturing animatedly with his hands. "You see, on the grand evolutionary chart, apes stand all the way over here—"
He flicked his fingers toward one end of an imaginary line.
"Humanity," he continued, shifting his wrist slightly, "rests somewhere… around here."
Then, with a flourish, he produced a small laser pointer from his sleeve and aimed it across the far wall.
"And I, naturally, am all the way over there."
He clicked the pointer on, a tiny red dot landing absurdly far away.
"Behold the difference between us, Homo erectus!"
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Shō stood there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The kind of dead-eyed stare only someone who'd seen this exact thing happen too many times before could muster.
Aiden looked from Erhardt to Shō, then leaned slightly toward Kenji. "Does he do this often?"
Kenji glanced at Shō, then back at Erhardt — still mid–T-pose, laser pointer trembling ever so slightly in his hand.
"Judging by his face?" Kenji muttered. "Every. Single. Day."
Shō sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Erhardt, for the love of sanity, they're recruits, not an audience for your evolutionary manifesto."
Erhardt slowly lowered his arms, looking offended. "You wound me, Shay! This is an educational demonstration! It builds character."
"It builds migraines," Shō muttered.
A nearby drone beeped sympathetically, handing Shō a cup of coffee. He took it without hesitation, sipping it with the hollow calm of a man long past resistance.
Erhardt turned back to the recruits, suddenly all smiles. "Now then, little hatchlings, welcome to Ars Animus! I am your shepherd through science, your prophet of progress, your divine engineer—Dr. Erhardt Schmidt!"
"You added 'divine' again," Shō interrupted flatly.
"Because it's true!" Erhardt shot back, flashing a grin.
Shō just sipped his coffee. "You see what I deal with?"
Aiden quietly whispered to Octavia, "I'm starting to think the monsters were the normal part."
"Ah!" Erhardt suddenly exclaimed, turning to Aiden with a spark of revelation. "You should get used to this, Aids. For the supernatural will soon be your new natural. As members of the Choir, you must learn to embrace the absurd!"
Aiden froze. 'Aids!?' he internally screamed, his face twisting somewhere between disbelief and offense.
Kenji barely suppressed a snort, shoulders trembling. Octavia just arched a perfectly skeptical brow.
None of them had even introduced themselves, so how—
"I memorized it, of course!" Erhardt declared proudly, as if reading Aiden's thoughts. "Every single one of you! Your files are right over there."
He gestured to the side, revealing mountains of stacked folders — piles upon piles of them, some toppling precariously. Each was labeled, tagged, and likely detailed every recruit, even those who'd already left.
"Took me an hour of continuous reading, but I managed." He tapped his temple. "Eidetic memory. Quite the useful little gift!"
He paused dramatically, eyes glinting with manic pride.
"Yet somehow," Shō muttered from the corner, "he still can't remember names properly."
Erhardt waved him off without missing a beat. "Details, Shay! Great minds transcend trivialities like pronunciation!"
"So…" one of the recruits finally spoke up. "Aside from the STCT, why else are we here?"
Erhardt's grin widened — slow, deliberate, almost predatory. He clasped his hands neatly behind his back and began to pace, each step far more dramatic than necessary.
"Ah, an excellent question!" he declared, voice echoing through the neon-lit lab. "You stand on the precipice of a world cloaked in shadow. A world of ghosts, monsters, demons…" He swept a hand toward the ceiling, as though summoning the very things he spoke of.
"And before we cast you into that darkness, you must first understand it."
His pacing stopped. The grin never left his face.
"As such, alongside your STCTs, each of you will receive a gift — a psychic endowment of my own making." He leaned in close, eyes gleaming like molten gold beneath the lab's lights.
"And naturally…" He paused for dramatic effect, letting the silence stretch until the group leaned forward in anticipation.
"I need to teach you about the Shroud."