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Climbing an 80-story skyscraper on foot could exhaust anyone to death.
Luckily, Roy's stamina was superhuman. Scaling 80 floors wasn't much harder than going a few rounds with twelve won.
At the top floor, in the CEO's office, the ceiling had been torn off, turning it into an open-air room. The lavish decor was mostly destroyed, but you could still tell it used to be a fancy space.
Roy found only a few mangled corpses—no sign of the little girl in the red dress he'd seen in his vision.
"What are you looking for?" a man's voice suddenly asked, right by Roy's ear.
Roy turned to see a withered corpse standing up.
"Who are you?" Roy asked.
The corpse scratched its head, as if trying to recall its na. "Who am I? Oh! My na's Beckett. I'm a Delta Force soldier. But… why am I here?"
Roy could tell Beckett was dead and didn't seem to realize it. He'd also lost so mories.
Another corpse stood up, in a similar state but with slightly clearer mories. "Idiot! We're dead. That woman didn't pick us!"
A woman? Could it be Elise?
Roy pressed the two corpses for answers. "Is the woman you're talking about Elise?"
Beckett looked confused again. "Elise? Sounds familiar. I think I've heard it sowhere."
The other corpse slapped its face, exasperated. "I pity you, Beckett. Your mory's worse than a 90-year-old's! Elise, yeah, that's the one. Her mission turned us into this! Don't you rember?"
Roy locked eyes with the second corpse. Talking to Beckett was too much work—this guy was the better bet. "Sir, can you tell where Elise went?"
Roy had already checked the scene—no female bodies were among the corpses.
That didn't add up. At the very least, Genevieve Aristide should've been here. Why else would Elise and Delta Force co to this place?
Plus, Roy had seen a little girl in a red dress in his vision of the Armacham Building.
Sothing must've happened after the nuke went off.
"My na's Keegan, not 'sir'! Elise and Genevieve Aristide were taken by that woman!" the second corpse snapped.
This guy was clearly hot-tempered, but Roy needed information and let it slide.
So, the question was: if this woman wasn't Elise or Genevieve, who was she?
Was there a third woman at the scene?
"Who's this woman?" Roy asked.
Keegan's withered face took on a dreamy, almost lovesick expression, his eyes practically sparkling. "Ah, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Her face was like an angel's, her body like a devil's—pure temptation. She stole my heart in an instant. I'd do anything for her!"
Roy's expression turned odd. That kind of talk usually ca from soone under a charm spell. Could this third woman be a succubus?
Keegan kept gushing, looking like so lovesick canine. "She told she wanted the perfect baby, so she needed the perfect husband. But she didn't choose to be the father! Why? Why?! WHY?!"
Keegan clutched his head, his emotions spiraling.
It was textbook enchantnt behavior—chard people were hard to reason with. Still, Roy had to keep talking to Keegan. "Uh, Keegan, you still haven't said who she is."
Keegan looked up at Roy. "She said her na was Alma!"
The na seed to jog Beckett's mory. "Oh! Yeah, her na's Alma!"
Alma? Never heard of her.
Roy frowned, trying to piece it together, when Beckett continued. "Her eyes were red, like rubies. Her black hair was so long it almost touched the ground. Sha she was wearing a loose red dress when I saw her—I couldn't get a good look at her killer figure. But I'd guess at least a D-cup!"
"Pfft!" Roy nearly lost it at Beckett's leering description.
What was even harder to stomach was Keegan nodding along enthusiastically, making Roy burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" Beckett and Keegan snapped, looking annoyed.
"Nothing, pfft, nothing! Just rembered sothing funny. So, you said Alma was wearing a red dress? Like a spaghetti-strap nightgown kind?" Roy asked.
Beckett's words reminded Roy of the little girl from his vision.
Visions varied from person to person, but they often shared connections tied to the caster's subconscious.
The black hair and red dress seed like symbolic clues.
If Beckett and Keegan hadn't seen the woman herself but only a vision like Roy's, the little girl in the red dress and this woman might be the sa person.
Beckett didn't catch on, but Keegan's face twisted with suspicion. "You've seen her too? Impossible! Did she choose you?"
Keegan's eyes turned bloodshot, his emotions flaring like he was ready to tear Roy apart.
"I don't know if she chose , but the little girl in the red dress I saw did tell to find her," Roy said.
"No—it's not true! You're lying! I get it now—if I kill you, Alma will choose !" Keegan roared, his voice thick with rage.
Invisible psychic energy lashed out, slicing at Roy like blades. It only tore his clothes, though.
The attack converted ntal energy into physical damage, but it couldn't breach Roy's defenses. Still, Roy was surprised.
Beckett and Keegan were clearly Delta Force soldiers—they shouldn't have had psychic powers. Otherwise, they'd have been reassigned to special units long ago.
Did they awaken these abilities after the nuke?
Keegan's earlier words ca to mind: Alma wanted the perfect child, so she needed the perfect father.
Both Beckett and Keegan seed to have been candidates, but as corpses, they obviously couldn't father anything now.
And it looked like Alma had set her sights on Roy.
"How are you fine?!" Keegan shouted, incredulous, preparing to unleash another psychic blade.
"You're annoying. I'm trying to think here!" Roy snapped.
He pulled out the Leviathan Axe, transford it into a golden double-barreled shotgun (Doom Eternal style), and blasted Keegan's upper body to bits. Finally, so peace.
Even with so psychic talent, Keegan was just a human—now a dead one. No way he could hurt Roy.
Beckett stared curiously at Keegan's lower half, still stumbling around, his brain clearly not catching up.
With so little to go on, Roy turned back to Beckett. "Mr. Beckett, can you walk through the entire mission in detail?"
Beckett scratched his head. "You an the mission to capture Genevieve Aristide? I don't rember much."
"Just tell what you can."
---
anwhile, at a camp outside San Francisco, General Fran Hamr, appointed by the White House, had arrived.
A Navy lieutenant general from the Pacific Fleet, Hamr had handled nurous supernatural projects, rivaling even FEA field agents in experience.
His decisive, no-nonsense style made him the Pentagon's top choice to handle (or take the fall for) the San Francisco ss.
Yup, San Francisco was a ss. Whoever dealt with it was bound to face scrutiny, so most people ducked out—so went abroad, others went off the grid.
Case in point: when California had wildfires, the LA mayor was chilling in Hawaii. Can you believe that?
But Fran Hamr was different. A hardcore patriot, he'd give everything for his country. As soon as the Pentagon's orders ca, he left Fog Island with his fleet and took over the National Guard's operations in the Bay Area.
The National Guard commander breathed a sigh of relief—he'd been on pins and needles for hours.
Hamr wasted no ti imposing his iron-fisted style. The camp's efficiency visibly improved.
After assigning tasks, Hamr sought out Gerald. "Mr. Olin, can you reach Mr. Black?"
"General Hamr, Mr. Black entered downtown San Francisco two hours ago," Gerald replied.
Hamr frowned. "He's already inside?"
"Yes. Based on signal tracking, he's at Armacham's headquarters and has been there for a while."
"But the camp didn't have any complete radiation suits. Did he go in without protection?" Hamr asked.
Gerald nodded.
"That's reckless!" Hamr fud. He actually liked Roy, so he was frustrated by what seed like impulsive behavior.
Hamr didn't know Roy as well as Gerald did. "General, I believe Mr. Black is confident he can handle the radiation. He's not the reckless type."
Hamr nodded, still frowning. "I hope so. Mr. Olin, I have a classified mission that requires FEA cooperation. Within the FEA, I only trust you and Mr. Black. Once we leave this tent, you tell no one."
Gerald's heart skipped a beat. He suspected this was about the nuke. If handled well, it'd be a huge win. If not, the bla would stick like glue.
Rubbing his nearly bald head, Gerald decided to take the gamble. Without political backing, he'd already hit his ceiling as LA's FEA branch chief.
To climb higher, he'd either have to join a shady political group or earn clout through a big win.
The first option wasn't his style—those groups were dirtier than his skin tone.
So, the second option it was. This was his shot, even if it cost him the rest of his hair.
"General Hamr, I'm in. I won't breathe a word," Gerald said.
Hamr, seeing Gerald's resolve, nodded approvingly. He pulled out a military signal jamr to block any potential listening devices in the tent.
You couldn't bla Hamr for being paranoid—so secrets could shake the entire nation.
"The latest investigation found the nuclear sub that launched the nuke. Everyone aboard is dead—upper bodies blown apart. But investigators found a mysterious radio signal. Analysis traced it to Armacham's research campus," Hamr said.
Gerald was floored. "Armacham's behind it?"
Hamr's expression was grim. "We can't confirm yet, but the signal ca from their campus, so they're definitely involved."
"What do you need to do?" Gerald asked.
"Half an hour ago, I sent a Marine squad to check Armacham's research campus. They've all gone dark. Sothing supernatural's at play on that island—even military satellites can't penetrate it. The FEA's better equipped for this. I need your people to investigate the campus alongside us. Ideally, get in touch with Mr. Black. I'd feel better with him there."
Gerald nodded, already forming a plan. "General, FEA reinforcents are almost here. I'll contact Mr. Black and have him head to the campus from downtown. We can rendezvous on the island."
Hamr approved with a nod. "Good. We'll move out once it's fully light."
Just then, Hamr's aide shouted from outside the tent. "Report!"
"Co in!" Hamr called.
The aide rushed in and began his report. "General Hamr, we've got a situation at the camp!"
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