"Taking vengeance... it might not answer no questions. It sure won't make the world a fairer place or the sun shine warmer. But it's better'n not taking it. It's a damn stretch better." ― Joe Abercrombie (Best Served Cold)

* * * *

The overhead light in Allen's dorm room buzzed faintly, casting a dull amber hue over the compact, utilitarian space. The walls were a pale, off-white, unadorned but for a few old schematics pinned above Allen's work desk—blueprints of weapons he'd modified, circuits half-finished, and the guts of abandoned projects.

A dusty, disassembled drone sat in one corner, long since forgotten. The room smelled faintly of soldering iron and engine oil, and on a warmer night, that might have been oddly comforting.

But tonight… Tonight, it felt like a tomb.

Jonan sat cross-legged on the floor near Allen's bed, his back hunched, and his fingers curled around the cold can of beer Allen had handed him. He hadn't taken a sip yet. The thin aluminium was slick with condensation, and it trembled faintly in his grip. His eyes were shadowed, pale blue irises rimmed with the hollowness of a week's worth of nightmares.

Allen was seated in his creaking desk chair, turned away from his workstation, his foot tapping against the metal base. His ruby-red eyes, normally sharp with mischief or bright with invention, were unfocused and distant. His expression was taut and drawn, like a stretched wire about to snap.

Across from them, Elijah leaned against the bedpost, hood pushed down for once, crimson hair falling in loose, jagged strands across his sharp features. His onyx-black jacket was unzipped, revealing the grey long-sleeved shirt beneath, though he seemed unaffected by the slight chill in the air. As always, his expression was unreadable. The tactician of Team Alpha never let his guard down, not even here.

But the tension hanging in the room was a thing of weight and substance. It pressed against their ribs like iron hands.

It had been a week since that disastrous mission.

When Team Alpha and Team Delta were given the orders to 'assist' the hunters with some mission. The ESA director didn't even know about that mission, and when she'd heard about it upon their returns, she had almost blown her top.

Last that Jonan had heard, Misha had been in several meetings with the director since, trying to remove Maia from his team. And considering what they've seen Maia do, Jonan isn't surprised, considering that Misha and Louis are both Gifted.

Lucas, too, had returned a day or two after that mission, being very quiet since. Heck, the entire atmosphere within Team Alpha and Team Delta is tense since that mission, considering what they've seen.

"So, what's this all about?" Elijah asked, finally breaking the silence.

His voice wasn't demanding, more resigned. He wasn't stupid. He'd known the moment they called him here that it wasn't just for drinks and half-hearted commiseration.

Allen and Jonan exchanged looks. "…What do you think about what happened?" Allen asked at last. "You know, a week ago? At the hunters' headquarters at Blackpool."

Elijah's face darkened. "I am truly hoping that incident is enough to at least make Lucas realise the truth of what's going on. As well as that of Team Delta," he murmured. "From what I heard from my contacts, the suicidal attack of the two members from Aegis DID kill all those doped up hunters in the wind barrier with them. But sadly, Nicolosi is still alive." His tone made it sound like he wouldn't be very sorry if Nicolosi died. "Still in agony, and needs some severe skin grafting, but sadly, he's still alive. And from what I heard, on the road to recovery."

Allen blinked. "He's still alive? How is that possible?"

Elijah only shrugged, not really all that concerned. Beside him, however, Jonan shifted, finally cracking open the can. The hiss seemed abnormally loud. "We need your help."

Elijah raised a brow. Allen nodded grimly. "It's about Veridale. And Blackpool. And everything in between."

Elijah didn't speak. He simply waited.

Jonan exhaled and reached into his jacket, producing a matte-black impact-proof case, small and unassuming. He clicked it open slowly, almost reverently, and held out a small silver data card.

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"Considering the situation in not just Eldario, but also within the ESA these days…" Jonan trailed off slowly before sighing. "You know the Veridale facility? The one that was recently destroyed?" Elijah nodded slowly. "I was there when it all went down. Unsanctioned. I was gathering some data. Proof of what the hunters are really doing. I copied everything I could from Veridale before the place blew sky-high."

Elijah took it, turning the device between his fingers. He said nothing, but something flickered in his gaze. Faint recognition, perhaps.

"I didn't have time to look through it," Jonan went on, his voice quieter now. "Not after… After everything that happened at Blackpool. I figured… You were the only one we could trust. The only one who's not in the hunters' pocket."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Elijah said dryly.

Allen snorted. "He's not wrong. You don't exactly strike me as a fan of authority. Taylor as well."

Elijah didn't answer. Instead, he reached down to his duffel bag, and drew out a portable computer. It was sleek, unmarked, and clearly custom-built. A second later, he produced a palm-sized device with a dull black screen and a few blinking lights.

"That's definitely not ESA-issued," Allen remarked, eyeing the portable computer.

Elijah gave a humourless smirk. "Of course not. What you're asking me to do can be considered treason at this point. I'm not stupid enough to run something like this through ESA channels." He then held up the palm-sized device. "This device scrambles signals and blocks detection. No one's tracing us tonight. I'm not as good as Louis, but I can manage this much."

He inserted the data card with a soft click, fingers dancing over the keyboard. Code began to flood the screen. Lines upon lines of encrypted files, shifting symbols, and rerouted directories. Elijah typed furiously, his focus absolute, the room dimming slightly as the screen's bluish glow became the primary light source.

Jonan leaned in over one shoulder. Allen over the other. They said nothing as they watched Elijah work, his fingers slicing through code like a surgeon's scalpel.

Minutes passed. Finally, with one last keystroke, Elijah sat back.

The screen shifted.

A series of folders opened—each labeled in sterile, clinical fonts. Subject Alpha. Bio-Weapon Development. Human Testing Logs. Visual Records. Project Pandora.

And then… Images.

Jonan's breath caught in his throat.

The first photo was of a body.

Emaciated. Its skin hung like rags over brittle bones. One arm was entirely missing—torn off or perhaps surgically removed. Its left eye was gouged out, and its mouth was stretched in an eternal, silent scream. The flesh across its back had been flayed, the white curve of a spine clearly visible.

Jonan recoiled, one hand over his mouth. "By the Goddess…"

Allen went pale. "No. No, no, no…"

Image after image scrolled by.

Bodies—men, women, teens, and even children. Gifted, clearly. Their faces twisted in pain, hollow-eyed and unseeing. Some had been dissected. Others had organs missing, tags hanging from their toes like meat in a butcher's shop. There were charts beside them.

Notes. Calculations on durability. On combat viability. On psychological thresholds.

Elijah said nothing. His eyes didn't waver. He moved on with calm efficiency.

"This was Veridale," Jonan choked. "I knew it was bad. I saw one of the rooms, but I didn't… This is…"

"Sick," Allen murmured, his fists clenched tight. "They weren't experimenting. They were torturing them."

"They weren't human to the hunters," Elijah said flatly. "Not to Nicolosi. Just…material." He opened another folder.

Pandora_Development > v3.2 > Blue > Red

A set of images filled the screen. Blister packs, six blue capsules per strip. Another set, red this time. Glossier. Heavier.

Elijah stiffened. His jaw twitched, just slightly.

"What is that?" Allen asked.

"…Blue Pandora," Elijah said at last darkly. "I should have known. With the way those hunters are at Blackpool nearly a week ago…"

Jonan blinked. "Blue Pandora?"

Elijah paused, as if weighing how much to say. Finally, he sighed. "Have you both heard of an incident nearly six, seven years back? About a mysterious drug that was in circulation not just amongst the underground circles, but also amongst civilians, and even hunters, and ESA agents?"

Jonan frowned, but Allen seems to be thinking. "I think I heard something about that," he mused. "Six, nearly seven years back… We would still be in training back then. Not really out on the field yet. But I think I heard something about that. A drug enhancer? Something that would enhance a Normal's speed, power and reaction time, able to let them go toe to toe with most Gifted. Even boosting healing."

Elijah nodded. "That would be Blue Pandora. Around that time… About six years back, nearly seven, there were…rumours. A drug spreading underground. Black market origins. No traceable supplier. They called it Blue Pandora. Take it, and suddenly a normal man could tear a Gifted apart with his bare hands. Speed. Strength. Healing. Unnatural reflexes. Hunters and corrupt agents used it to level the playing field. It even got out to the civilian populace. With Gifted, however, it will wake their abilities forcibly if they're still dormant. And if it fails, it'll kill them."

Jonan's eyes widened. "Blue Pandora… I heard the rumours. But I figured it was just rumours. That was real?"

"It was real," Elijah said grimly. "It was real, and it was a nightmare. The Aby—" He stopped himself. "…A few people tried to wipe it out. Erase the records. Destroy the labs. But they were too late. Too many had already died. The side effects were grotesque. Anyone who took it didn't last more than a few weeks. Internal bleeding. Madness. Full mental collapse."

Allen's face went pale. "So what is this?"

"The next generation," Elijah said, pointing to the red pills. "They've brought it back. Refined it. Made it stronger. More stable. Nicolosi must have survived thanks to this. Remember how burned he was? And yet he's recovering."

"Those frenzied hunters at Blackpool," Jonan murmured. "They weren't normal."

"They weren't human anymore," Elijah corrected softly. "They were weapons. Living, breathing weapons."

"And the hunters…" Allen ran a hand through his hair. "They're planning to use this. On themselves. On others."

"They already are." Elijah flicked to another screen. Combat logs. Deployments. Dosage records. "They're testing it in real time. Most of the Gifted who've gone missing these last few months? They're not runaways. They're test subjects. Fuel."

Jonan flinched. Elijah finally closed the laptop with a soft click.

The silence afterward was deafening.

"Tell me," Allen said finally, his voice low, "Do you still believe we're on the right side?"

Elijah didn't answer right away. His eyes were shadowed and unreadable. "You already know the answer," he said at last. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Allen was quiet. Jonan turned away, pressing his palms to his eyes. "If we speak out… If we defect… We're dead," Allen muttered. "The ESA doesn't let people go."

"No," Elijah agreed. "Even the director doesn't hold true power anymore. Neither does the Eldario Council. They never have. But now? It's worse. The ESA is a puppet, and the hunters are the ones pulling the strings. We're already being watched. Questioning orders, and even digging into files… It won't go unnoticed forever. I'm honestly surprised no one said anything when Lucas went missing for more than a day after the Blackpool mission."

"…So what do we do?" Jonan whispered, his voice barely audible.

Elijah's eyes gleamed. "We decide who we want to be," he said. "We decide what we stand for. And we decide who we fight with. Because war is coming to Eldario, whether we want it or not. And it's already on our doorstep."

There was a long, pained silence. Then Elijah leaned back, folding his arms. Finally, he exhaled. "…Do either of you know where Lucas is?"

Allen and Jonan looked at each other. Neither of them answered.

But both knew the unspoken truth.

Everything was about to change.

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