Late that afternoon, the air in Vex's underground lair was thick with anticipation. She gestured for the resurrected man to change into a new outfit. With an unsettling calmness, he complied, showing no signs of resistance. His obedience was almost mechanical.
Once dressed, he followed Vex to a dimly lit reading room. She handed him a book, her eyes glinting with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
"Come here, read this book," Vex instructed.
The man took the book and settled into a chair. He began to read, his eyes moving steadily over the text. Every word made sense to him; he understood the content with an ease that seemed instinctual, yet he was baffled by how he possessed such knowledge.
Vex watched with an almost predatory delight as he absorbed the material. Her smile grew more enigmatic as she observed the man's absorbed concentration. She then produced a file, its contents bearing the weight of secrets and identity.
"Avee," she read aloud, "28 years old, graduated from Beiling Police College, currently in charge of Beiling City's police station. Married, with a nearly 4-year-old son."
Her laughter, dark and melodious, echoed softly through the room. "Kitsune, how delightful. I'm about to present you with a great treasure!"
She turned her gaze back to Avee, who was still engrossed in the book. "Once you finish reading, you'll visit your old friends."
...
Night settled heavily over the city. Enko lay in bed, his eyes wide open, staring into the darkness. The sheets tangled around him as he tossed and turned, unable to find solace in sleep. Frustration gnawed at him, and he reached for the sleeping pills on his nightstand, hoping they would bring him the escape he sought.
The pills worked quickly, pulling him into the realm of dreams. As the boundaries between reality and the subconscious blurred, Enko found himself in a strange and chaotic landscape. He awoke in the midst of turmoil, the distant sounds of explosions and gunfire filling the air.
Enko staggered out into the chaos, his senses overwhelmed. Through the smoke and debris, he saw a face he knew all too well—but it was grotesquely transformed. The familiar features were now stretched and twisted, grafted onto the body of a monstrous creature. Long, razor-sharp thorns extended from its arms, slashing through the air with deadly precision.
The monster moved with an eerie grace amidst the destruction. It cut through the storm of bullets and bombs as effortlessly as if it were slicing through water. In moments, scores of people fell before it, their lives extinguished with brutal ease. The scene was nightmarish—a sea of lifeless bodies littering the ground.
Driven by a surge of adrenaline and determination, Enko charged at the beast. His attacks were fierce and relentless, yet each blow seemed to bounce harmlessly off the monster's hide. The creature remained unfazed, its strength and resilience seemingly insurmountable.
Desperation clawed at Enko as he fought, but his efforts were in vain. In a swift, cruel motion, the monster struck back, severing one of Enko's arms with a vicious swipe. Pain flared through him, but the agony was swallowed by the larger dread of the creature's menace.
Then, as if summoned by the monster's fear, the sky began to weep. Rain started to fall, mingling with the blood-soaked battlefield. The monster's movements grew erratic, its power momentarily faltering under the onslaught of the rain.
Despite the odds, Enko found a sliver of fortune to survive.
The scene shifted abruptly in Enko's dream, the boundaries of reality bending in disorienting ways. A high-rise building loomed ominously as helicopters circled it, their rotors thrumming in the night. A figure dashed down the stairs, only to be abruptly severed by a silver thread that cut through the air with deadly precision. The perspective wavered, shifting from one vantage to another in a dizzying whirl.
Enko's view darted to a person brandishing a gun, their shots aimed at a woman clad in a flowing dress and a white mask. It was unmistakably 006—the enigmatic Fateweaver. Her silver threads danced through the air, striking the soldiers around her with lethal accuracy. In a horrifying twist, the threads manipulated the soldiers' guns, turning them against their own comrades. The once-controlled soldiers were now locked in a chaotic and deadly crossfire.
Panic erupted throughout Beiling City. The silver threads cascaded from the sky, weaving through the streets and piercing through the populace. The city fell under a malevolent control, its people rendered puppets by the unseen strings. Enko found himself ensnared by the threads, his actions no longer his own. He was propelled towards a plane, his limbs moving with a terrifying autonomy.
The propeller of the helicopter came crashing down under his own hands, triggering a violent explosion that shattered the night sky. Enko's uncontrolled form hurtled through the air, his path intersecting with Varian's. In a nightmarish culmination, his own fist drove through Varian's body, the impact sending shockwaves through his senses.
The dreamscape twisted once more, shifting to a serene café scene. Enko stood outside, his gaze drawn inexorably towards 006, who had just entered. She removed her mask, revealing an enigmatic smile. Her presence was calm, almost serene, in stark contrast to the chaos of moments before.
With deliberate grace, she pulled a bottle from her dress and held it out towards Enko. The potion within glimmered with an unsettling allure. Her eyes met him with a gaze that seemed to pierce through to his very soul.
"Number 010," she said, her voice smooth and persuasive. "You should follow the guidance of fate. Drink this, and you will become one of us."
...
While Enko was dreaming.
In the depths of an underground, an airtight chamber filled with seawater housed the imprisoned Siren. The room's atmosphere was thick with the briny scent of ocean water and the sterile tang of antiseptic. Siren, now in her mermaid form, lay submerged, her dark blue hair flowing around her like tendrils of seaweed. She glided through the water with a grace that belied her confinement, her gaze distant and unreadable.
A team of scientists, clad in reinforced suits and equipped with soundproof earplugs, meticulously documented the experiment. Their voices, muffled by their protective gear, carried a clinical detachment as they observed the subject.
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"SNB number 007—Siren," began the lead researcher, his voice barely audible over the hum of the facility's machinery. "The target's singing voice exhibits a significant memetic contamination capacity. As the singer's emotional state shifts, so do the instructions delivered to those affected by the memetic influence."
He gestured to a monitor displaying the live feed of Siren, her eyes half-closed as she swayed gently in the water. The screen showed various metrics and a digital readout of her vocal patterns.
"For instance," he continued, "If 007's mood shift towards aggression while singing, any individual who hears her will be compelled to kill the person nearest to them. If no one is nearby, the affected will turn on themselves, committing suicide."
The researcher paused, allowing the gravity of the information to sink in. "This memetic effect lasts approximately 70 hours, nearly three days. Apart from this, 007 has yet to display any additional offensive capabilities."
He turned to a nearby table where a set of soundproof earplugs was neatly arranged. "Observers must remain vigilant and wear earplugs at all times during the observation. Any interaction or inquiry directed at 007 could result in contamination, turning observers into 007-1—those who have succumbed to her memetic influence."
The researcher continued, noting the comparative anatomy displayed on a secondary screen. "Internally, 007's structure is somewhat akin to that of 002 Fish-Man, though distinct in several ways. Her lower body, combining legs with a fishtail, diverges from the purely aquatic form of 002 Fish-Man. Despite her seemingly decorative fishtail, it serves a functional purpose, enabling her to thrive in an aquatic environment."
Object Level: Level 1 Encryption
Object Attitude: Unknown
Danger Level: RS (Extremely Dangerous)
In a high-tech command center bathed in the cold glow of data screens and the low hum of advanced machinery, Varian examined a flurry of experimental reports. His fingers drummed on the edge of the console, a gesture of both impatience and contemplation.
"I didn't anticipate it being this smooth," he muttered, rubbing his temples in disbelief. "There must be a catch."
Nearby, one of the experimenters, a man with a bowl of steaming polenta, glanced up from his meal. "Isn't it just the way things go sometimes? By the way, I think I've seen 007 before…"
With a sudden burst of realization, the man fumbled for his phone. "Yes, that's her—Hope! My son's a big fan of her music!"
He scrolled through his gallery, showing Varian a clip of Hope performing. "It's peculiar. Her singing didn't seem all that extraordinary before."
Varian's brow furrowed, reflecting on the implications. "There are two main scenarios we need to consider. First, it's possible that she hadn't activated her memetic contamination abilities prior to now."
"And the second possibility?" The man asked, curious.
"The second possibility is more alarming," Varian continued, his voice taking on a grave tone. "It could mean that she has only recently developed these abilities. This would imply that there was a change in her capabilities—perhaps something or someone triggered this transformation."
He paused, deep in thought. "If that's the case, it aligns with Enko's theory. He suggested that such transformations might be orchestrated by someone—humans who create monsters out of ordinary individuals."
The man's eyes widened. "You think this is deliberate? But who would go through such lengths?"
Varian shook his head. "It's hard to believe, but the evidence is mounting. For now, our focus shifts to tracking the individuals 007 has encountered recently. If she was indeed transformed into a monster during this time, then those she interacted with could lead us to whoever is behind this."
The room shuddered with a sudden surge of energy as the lights flickered erratically. Varian's gaze snapped to the source of the disturbance, his eyes narrowing as a figure emerged from the shadows.
The figure was clad in tight black attire adorned with small, bronze-colored metal plates that glinted ominously. A shock of short white hair crowned his head, its pristine hue seeming almost unnatural.
"Who are you?" Varian demanded, his voice taut with urgency.
The intruder took a deliberate step forward. With a slow, deliberate motion, he extended his right hand. From the palm of his hand, a sleek, black spike erupted, gleaming with a cold, menacing sheen.
"Class 04 Scenario," Varian's mind raced. This was the designation for high-priority threats—monsters breaching the Kitsune's stronghold.
Before Varian could react, the figure blurred into motion. The speed was breathtaking. In an instant, he materialized in front of Varian, his expression unreadable.
A sharp, metallic hiss punctuated the air. The spike, glinting with deadly precision, drove into Varian's wrist. Pain shot through him like a blinding storm, and he staggered back, trying to summon a counterattack. But his kick, fueled by agony, seemed to have no effect on his assailant's armored form.
Another Kitsune soldier, eyes wide with shock, yanked out his pistol. "Don't move! If you—"
Before he could finish, the intruder launched a long, barbed needle with deadly accuracy. It struck the soldier's throat with a sickening crunch. The soldier's eyes bulged in silent horror as his hands clutched at his neck, struggling in vain for breath before collapsing in a final, gasping spasm.
A new threat, unclassified and unpredictable.
Varian gritted his teeth against the pain, clutching his injured arm. His mind raced for a plan, but his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a contingent of Nine-tailed Fox privates. They stormed into the room, their faces a mixture of determination and fear.
"Commander!" they shouted in unison.
"Everyone, back away!" Varian commanded, his voice strained but authoritative. "This enemy's abilities are beyond normal human parameters. Engage with extreme caution!"
The crowd heard this and did not dare to move forward, but at this moment, Enko appeared.
Enko's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Avee?" he whispered, his voice trembling as he took in the monstrous form before him. His once-esteemed colleague, Officer Avee, now stood as something else entirely—a twisted amalgamation of man and monster. The white-haired figure turned, and for a fleeting moment, a spark of recognition flickered across his eyes, only to vanish beneath the weight of something darker, more primal.
Avee's face twisted in pain as if struggling to reclaim his identity, but then, with a jolt like lightning striking his mind, he gripped his head in agony. The sound of bones creaking and skin shifting echoed through the room.
Enko took a step forward, his heart heavy. "Officer Avee, is that really you?"
Memories from his dream flashed in front of him like echoes from a distant world—he had seen this exact moment before. He had fought Avee in his vision, and now, standing here, watching the nightmare unfold, his heart filled with dread and sorrow.
Back then, when Avee's wife had reported his disappearance, Enko knew something was amiss. And now, the truth lay before him—a monster wearing Avee's skin, manipulated like a puppet on unseen strings. There was no soul left in those eyes. Only emptiness.
Varian's voice pierced through the haze of disbelief. "All soldiers, retreat!" he barked, the urgency in his tone clear as the bodies of fallen comrades littered the floor, pierced by the deadly spikes Avee wielded like extensions of his own flesh.
The monster that was once Avee stood tall, its figure trembling with power. Without hesitation, it unleashed a barrage of spikes that tore through the air with terrifying speed, impaling soldiers before they even had a chance to react. Blood sprayed like mist, and the room was painted with the grim signature of death.
Enko clenched his fists. This thing—this creature—was not Avee. It was a hollow shell animated by dark forces beyond comprehension. The man he had once known was gone.
Without wasting another moment, Enko launched himself into the fray. His movements were precise, driven by a deep knowledge of the monster's capabilities. He had fought this battle before, even if only in his dream. He knew how Avee moved, how fast he was.
Avee's monstrous gaze locked onto Enko as he stepped forward. There was no humanity left—only the cold calculation of a predator. With a single beat of his back, black, insect-like wings unfurled from Avee's back, casting shadows over the room. His feet lifted off the ground as he hovered above, a terrifying sentinel of death.
"Target number 247," Avee's voice droned, devoid of emotion. "Mission objective: destroy."