Whenever there’s a conflict, she’s meddling in it – Nadine Akkerman on Elizabeth Stuart (aka the Queen of Hearts)

Operation Giga Pudding (D+6 hours)

A pair of men in heavy, weather-beaten canvas jackets bolted from the corner of the building, vanishing momentarily into the swirling haze of pink fog that clung low to the ground, seeping into every building and alleyway. They sprinted toward the rusted metal control box at the end of the street, boots pounding the cracked pavement with muffled thuds as the fog wrapped around their legs, dampening the sound and swallowing their forms in its eerie embrace.

The distant, thunderous echo of artillery fire rattled through the thickened air, reverberating off buildings that loomed like ghostly silhouettes in the mist.

Their faces were slick with sweat despite the biting cold, the damp air clinging to their skin like a second layer. Despite wearing chemical masks, the fog carried with it a strange, chemical odor, faint but unsettling, as if the ground itself were exhaling after years of silence. As they neared the control box, the men crouched low, rifles raised, eyes straining to pierce the rolling fog. Strips of terry cloth, soaked in condensation, hung limply from their weapons, blending into the thick pink mist that pressed down on the street like a living thing.

Breathing hard, their rapid exhales mixed with the fog, creating brief, swirling clouds around their heads before dissolving into the heavy air. Every sound felt distant, smothered by the strange fog, yet the men knew better—beneath the quiet, danger simmered, waiting. They glanced up and down the deserted street, where the fog twisted unnaturally around shattered windows and broken doors, making shadows dance where there was no movement.

They paused, fingers brushing the selector switches on their rifles, hovering between safe and automatic. The air felt thick with more than just fog—it was charged, like the moments before a storm broke. A low rumble of artillery in the distance momentarily cut through the silence, the shockwaves bouncing off the hollow buildings, rattling loose debris and stirring the fog into restless eddies around them.

Without warning, they flipped the switches, the clicks lost in the fog. Eyes wide, senses on edge, they crouched lower, listening. The pink fog coiled tighter around them, as if waiting for something—or someone—to emerge from its depths.

A series of sharp explosions in the distance rocked the ground beneath them, rattling windows and sending a shower of dust from nearby buildings from a stray shot. Without hesitation, they threw themselves to the ground, arms over their heads as the concussive blasts rolled through the street. For a few agonizing seconds, the earth trembled, and the air was filled with the sounds of shattering glass and falling debris.

Then, silence.

Still, in the prone position, their fingers twitched back to their triggers, rifles raised again, scanning the street with renewed urgency. Every shadow seemed to stretch too far; every broken door held the threat of an unseen enemy.

Minutes passed like hours. Finally, one of the men signaled with a quick wave, his hand cutting through the air like a blade. From the corner of the building, three more figures emerged from cover, moving quickly but cautiously. Their butternut-colored canvas coats blended with the dust and debris, masking their approach. One carried a black leather case, gripping it tightly as they ran to join the others.

The group halted beneath a streetlight, taking up defensive positions with their rifles aimed outward. The man with the case knelt on the cracked sidewalk, his hands trembling slightly as he unclasped the locks and opened them. Inside, gleaming under the weak light, was a set of tools placed under bands of Velcro.

The quiet was too deep and too heavy now. The street felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something or someone to break the stillness.

“Ivan…Peewee…keep your eyes open, I’m making my climb and don’t want to get snipper checked today,” he said pulling out a set of tools from his case.

“Don’t use my fuckin’ name, Mr. Yuk,” Peewee said to the technician. “Stick to the codenames, shit for brains.”

“Whatever, just do your damned job,” Mr. Yuk said as he climbed the pole.

At the top, he found the problem. A cable from one of the cameras was cut, dangling in the wind. Sliced sharply by a knife.

“Think the Wheels are out here?” asked Ivan.

“How the fuck should I know? Stupid mask, POS doesn’t fit right,” Peewee said grabbing his mask and adjusting it on his face.

Ivan slapped Peewee’s hand.

“Stop fuckin’ with your mask, you want the pheromone gas turning you into a lovesick fool?” Ivan said.

“Yeah, yeah, it doesn’t fit, and the eye holes keep foggin’ up,” Peewee said. “I think it’s too big.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Ivan got up from his position and helped adjust the straps when Mr. Yuk slid down the pole.

“Done, that was the last one. Let’s hurry back before that bitch’s concert starts,” Mr. Yuk said as he secured his tool case and ran across the street.

“So much for using proper street crossing tactics,” Ivan said. “At least no one is out here.”

Ivan and Peewee stood up and ran in the same direction.

The two remaining guards shrugged and followed behind.

From behind a shrug and under a long stretch of chameleon cloth was slowly pulled back. Estelle, wearing a white cat mask with blue stripes on the side, peeked up from under the cloth.

“Almost correct,” she said and began to fold up the cloth. "Someone is out here."

With the tip of her index finger, she lightly touched the black outline of the eye on her mask, rotating her finger in a slow, clockwise motion. The lenses responded instantly, zooming in on the squad as she tracked their movements for 300 meters, following them as they turned a distant corner. She sprinted from her hiding spot, keeping low until she reached the same corner.

When she peeked around the edge, an empty-looking plaza stretched before her, eerily still beneath the shadow of a towering high-rise apartment building. She spotted the squad just as they disappeared before reaching a set of glass doors, vanishing from sight.

Estelle narrowed her eyes, focusing on the building. To the casual observer, it seemed entirely ordinary—another faceless skyscraper in a sea of concrete and steel. Estelle knew better. With a quick breath, she activated her Witch Sight, the familiar tingle of arcane energy crawling across her skin. The world around her shifted, and the ordinary façade of the building peeled away as she scanned across the spectrum, revealing what was hidden beneath its surface.

There were no signs of the TWA thugs that entered the building, even the residue trail of heat from where they walked was missing. She scanned the twenty-three floors. The building didn’t have any tell-tale distortions and shimmering effects one would see with a typical dampening field.

Estelle draped the chameleon cloth over her and increased magnification. When she hit the X-ray band the back of her head began to tingle. By the edge of the building in the background, the colors swirled and faded in and out. She shifted her focus to the concrete portion of the building. The patterns of colors remained still. Even the colors on the windows were not shifting.

“Too perfect,” Estelle thought.

As a precaution, she scanned a nearby building, the colors of the structure swirled like oil in water.

“It’s suspicious, let’s go in,” Bee said.

“Not yet,” Estelle thought as she switched to the microwave and radio band of her Witch Sight.

The fine iron elements within the stone were evenly spread throughout the stone and not aligned with magnetic north. Even the normal radioactive decay was missing from the building in front of her. Estelle forwarded the images to Bee as she continued to watch the building.

“If this building is some kind of mirage or has a magical illusion on it, then… where are the latent M-particles? And how on earth did they manage to pull off something like this in the timespan of a week? Not even M. Maverick could’ve done something so complicated that fast… right? Could she?” asked Bee.

“No,” Estelle replied and placed a coin by the corner of the building. “The origin of this deception is what I intend to discover.”

Estelle pulled her spyglass from her coat pocket and attached it to her mask. She brought the device down and covered her right eye. After making a few adjustments to the focus she folded up the cloth and tucked it back in her coat.

“Just don’t get yourself killed, k?” Bee said.

Estelle focused the spyglass on the edge of the top floor. Then she pulled the Joker card from her deck and tucked it under her sleeve.

“See you on the ground or in hell,” Estelle said and flipped down the black filter.

Estelle was catapulted through the air. Spotting the edge of the building, she quickly activated Feather Step. Once at the edge, she propelled herself onto the rooftop.

A squad of men in black suits, positioned at each corner, turned to face her. Two women, also in black suits but wearing pleated skirts, stood by a noisy generator alongside a man in overalls. Another man, also in overalls, was perched on top of the machine, adjusting a long whip antenna.

The guard in the southeast corner raised his rifle, aiming it at Estelle.

“Spike, go tell Diana we’ve got a visitor,” one of the women said.

“And please let Diana know I shall accept her surrender and don’t dottle. I do detest waiting,” Estelle said.

A man with spiky hair darted toward the exit but skidded to a stop, eyes widened as he glanced at Estelle. His confusion was clear—she was outnumbered, yet there she stood, completely at ease, like she was the one in charge.

Estelle, seemingly unfazed by the situation, waved him off with a dismissive flick of her hand and turned her attention toward the building. She stood still silently, her posture calm and collected.

She casually smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, her fingers slipping over the fabric with practiced elegance. As if the situation wasn’t pressing at all, she pulled out a Joker card and began tapping it lightly against her palm.

“Given the presence of the Queen of Hearts, I trust we can bring this to a swift conclusion. I have other matters demanding my attention," Estelle said.

The Joker card disappeared and turned into a Queen of Hearts card, with a number in the corner that began to count down from ten.

“Whatever is in your hand, drop it!” the female said, reaching for her pistol.

Estelle held up the card and with the flick of her hand tossed the card in the middle of the roof.

“That was your first and only warning,” Estelle said.

***