I jumped down from the table and moved across the floor to the door without a sound. Ziggy trailed behind. Both of us listened, too, hoping to catch the faintest hint of danger prowling on the other side.

She glanced my way, and with a firm nod, she grasped the doorknob. Ever so slowly, she twisted it. Holding her breath, she pushed the door open, just a sliver at first, and then after a few more seconds of silence, she pushed it wider.  

I crept past her feet and poked my head out.

No one was there, except Wynn, still trapped in his tiny prison, pacing around. I could almost feel his frustration, his growing rage. But then, I realized something. There was no low hum. The place was quiet. Too quiet.

"Looks clear to me," Flynn whispered, having slipped out of the Kill Room and now inching toward the table leg to climb.

"What do you think you're doing?" I hissed, barely containing my panic.

"I'm not leaving without my brother!"

"He's not the same—" I lunged to stop him, but a shadow fell over me. 

Slowly, I glanced up, only to find my own reflection staring back at me in the glossy, black surface of the full-faced mask.

The masked stranger stood tall in a metallic blue suit that hugged his body like an artificial second skin. And he wore a long, silvery coat that rippled like liquid metal with each subtle movement. Strapped to his back was a cylindrical tank with a tube attached to the mask. 

He stared at me for a long, uncomfortable time. Then, slowly, his attention turned to Alan, who hovered in the doorway of the Kill Room, her expression unreadable. One hand was hidden behind her back. Without breaking her gaze from him, she began inching toward the far door, her aim clearly set on reaching the staircase.

“You see,” she began, her voice a strained attempt at calmness, “I came here to find you. There were a few questions—questions about a purchase made by one of the NOAH 1 residents.” 

She paused, glancing nervously toward the door. “But the front door... it was wide open, I swear! I thought maybe someone had broken in, that something was wrong, so I came up here to investigate.”

The masked stranger tensed up, metallic fists clenching as one foot slid forward, ready to lunge. I realized his intent too late, throwing myself in his path just as his brutal, steel-tipped boot crashed into my chin. Pain exploded through my skull, distorting everything into a dizzy blur for a split second. My senses all snapped back into focus just in time to see him hurtling toward Alan. 

My instincts fired before I could think—fight or die. My claws were out, sharp and ready. As I leapt onto him, I felt it: the suit was too hard, designed not just to protect but to erase any vulnerability.

I couldn’t tear into it. My claws slid uselessly over its metallic surface. But then I noticed—the suit wasn’t perfect. It had seams, tiny rivets and grooves. I used them, scrambling up his leg, clinging to these fractures in his armor, moving up his back. Finally, I found myself atop the cylindrical tank strapped to him. 

Alan moved fast, ducking just as the masked figure charged at her. She swung her arm around, revealing the scalpel clutched tightly in her hand. The blade glinted as it sliced through the air, but it missed its mark. She swung again, more desperately this time, but the masked stranger blocked the strike with his armored forearm, the sound of metal-on-metal ringing through the room. 

Alan lifted her leg and drove a hard kick into his stomach. The impact sent him staggering backward, just enough to create a moment of breathing room. But he regained his balance fast. In a flash, he was on her again, his hand locking onto her wrist.

Alan fought back. She twisted and shoved, and suddenly they were head to head, their bodies tangled in a struggle. They spun together in a violent dance of survival knocking over the rows of blob tanks that lined the room. Glass shattered everywhere, and water flooded the floor.  

The blobs stirred. From the broken tanks, they awoke, their gelatinous forms convulsing with life. Long, pulsating stringy appendages slithered out, growing longer and longer as they writhed through the air, searching blindly for something—anything—to latch onto. They wrapped themselves around metal pipes, furniture, and broken shards of glass. 

Ziggy was already in the thick of it, clawing at the appendages. He fought them off, tearing at them, thwarting their attempts to ensnare him. But they kept coming, multiplying, stretching farther. 

I held on tight, atop the cylindrical tank. My claws dug into the tube that connected to his mask, and I tore at it, desperate to sever whatever kept this monstrous figure moving. The tube was taut, resistant. But then, with a sudden snap, it gave way, hissing. The strap around the mask tore loose, and the mask itself dangled limply from his face.

What I saw beneath wasn’t the hardened monster I expected, but the face of a young man, pale and smooth like porcelain. But then, the moment the sea air of Floating City touched his skin, everything changed. Blood rushed to the surface, reddening his face as if the air itself was poison. 

His features warped; his cheeks swelled, his flesh bubbling like it was being burned from the inside out. Thick ropes of saliva oozed from his lips, which bloated and thickened into a sickly pink mass. 

His eyes bulged in their sockets, straining to stay within the shape of a face that was no longer human, no longer anything recognizable. The more he breathed, the worse it became.

I jumped off his back just as he collapsed onto the floor. Landing beside Alan, I rushed to help her fend off the tendrils that sought to ensnare her legs. She slashed at them with the scalpel. But as the blade sliced through the blobs’ appendages, a shower of acidic spray erupted into the air, hissing. 

The mist burned our skin. Alan screamed. I could see the pain flash across her face.

“There are too many of them!” Ziggy shouted, his voice choked as the blobs’ tendrils wrapped around him, their slick forms pushing against his lips, desperate to breach his mouth.

Alan didn’t hesitate. She brought her boot down hard on one of the gelatinous creatures, the impact causing it to burst into a pool of hissing acid. The puddle spread quickly, but before a single drop could reach Ziggy, she grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up, securing him under her arm.

Flynn managed to unlock his brother’s cage, but what came out wasn’t Wynn—at least, not anymore. Slithering, rope-like appendages spilled from his brother’s mouth as Wynn rushed at him. Startled, Flynn staggered backward, falling off the table, and crashed to the ground, Wynn falling with him in a tangle of writhing limbs.

“Wynn! It’s me Flynn! Please, wake up!” Flynn cried.

Perhaps his brother's desperate pleas reached deep into him as Wynn seemed to snap out of the trance, if only for a heartbeat. He pushed Flynn away, growling at him to leave. His eyes then locked onto the masked stranger, now staggering to his feet. Wynn’s body jerked into motion, charging. 

The rat leapt first, landing on the man’s face with a squeal, sending him crashing back to the ground. Before he could recover, Wynn’s tendrils seized the moment, forcing the man's mouth wide. Then, from Wynn’s throat, a pale wet blob emerged. It tore through his jaws, splitting them wide open, before launching itself onto the man’s face with a sickening splatter. 

He clawed at the creature, desperate to tear it off, but the tendrils tightened their grip, wrapping his face in a suffocating embrace. Slowly, relentlessly, it forced its way into his mouth. 

With a final shudder, his body buckled then slammed against the floor with a heavy thud. His throat bulged, distending as the creature slithered further inside, making its way down toward his organs, where it would infuse itself and take control. Then, he went still. 

“Wynn! No, Wynn!” Flynn sobbed and ran to his brother's body but stopped when the man sat up with a sudden jerk. 

Something far from human stared back at us. The man groaned, staggering upright, then violently slammed himself against the wall, as if wrestling some inner demon. For a second, he thrashed, and then, with sudden clarity, he turned to the white tablet on the table. Its green lights flashed and danced across the surface. Whatever command he entered triggered a mechanical voice: “Countdown to destruction. Fifteen seconds.”

My whiskers bristled. "We need to leave—NOW!"

As if she understood what I had said, Alan scooped me up and tucked me under her other arm, and started sprinting toward the stairs. Just as the front door came into view and we neared the brink of escape, I was suddenly airborne. 

A fiery inferno exploded behind me, its roar as deafening as thunder. The scorching heat licked my fur, the tips of my whiskers curling in the blaze.