[h1][CENTER][color=#7D5CB3]C[/color][color=#7D59AD]o[/color][color=#7D56A8]m[/color][color=#7D53A2]m[/color][color=#7D519D]a[/color][color=#7D4E98]n[/color][color=#7E4B92]d[/color][color=#7E498D]e[/color][color=#7E4687]r[/color] [color=#7E417D]D[/color][color=#7F3E77]a[/color][color=#7F3B72]n[/color][color=#7F396D]e[/color] [color=#7F3362]V[/color][color=#80315C]e[/color][color=#802E57]r[/color][color=#802B52]r[/color][color=#80294C]e[/color][color=#802647]n[/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/8hewqRG.png[/img][/CENTER][/h1] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] [center][color=#812442][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Bastion: War Room • [color=#812442][b]Time:[/b][/color] Dusk [/center] [center][color=#812442][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] None [color=#812442][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] [@jj doe] Reed, [@Funnyguy] Stone, [@sadie] Sable, [@Apex Sunburn] Wendall, [@Ctenoid Soul] Wulde [/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] The War Room wasn’t built for comfort—it was built for war. Cool neon light glowed from circuit-threaded walls, casting the steel chamber in shades of ultraviolet and electric blue. Holographic maps hovered mid-air, flickering with static as red pulses marked trouble zones like arterial bleeds across the city. Above, thick cables ran like black veins through the ceiling, and a low thrum of power vibrated the floor like a predator breathing in its sleep. This was The Bastion’s nerve center. If Halcyon had a soul, it was buried somewhere beneath this chrome-laced bunker—and it had long since been hardened into metal and silence. Commander Dane Verren stood like a sentinel at the center of it all, shoulders squared, back to the doors, outlined in the pale glow of the command holos. His silhouette looked carved from rust and shadow. At 6’2” and built like a tank that forgot how to break down, he wore his battle gear loose over a black ribbed exosuit—chest plate half-buckled, sleeves rolled to the elbows to expose forearms lined with old burns and surgical scars. A jagged line of scar tissue crawled along his jaw, and his expression was carved into stone. The cybernetic implant behind his right eye blinked once, reading data lines scrolling too fast for most humans to process. Smoke curled from a cigar clenched between two fingers—half-burned, entirely forgotten. The war room door hissed open. Hydraulic locks disengaged with a quiet shunk. Lieutenant Crowe stepped inside, eyes squinting slightly against the neon. Mid-thirties, lean and wiry, his uniform was sharp but battle-worn—like everything in this damn place. A flicker of a retinal HUD danced across his irises as he pulled up a data tablet, already bracing for what he had to say. Verren didn’t turn. [color=#1E90FF]“Status on Warden Reed.”[/color] Crowe’s boots clicked across the floor panels. [color=gray]“Still missing, Commander. He has been listed as a Code 3, MIA. Last ping placed him outside The Club in Sector Six. Civilian cover intact. No signs of conflict, but the signal cut the moment he stepped inside.”[/color] Verren’s jaw flexed, slow and tight. He reached for the console, fingers tapping in a brutal rhythm. A 3D map of Halcyon unfolded in the air, buildings rising in wireframe as red markers blinked across the industrial zone—Dock 12, where a dead Lycan had been reported. Three blocks down, a vampire nest turned charnel house. Reeds marker at the Club had flashed And then… nothing. No link to Reed. No trail. Just a silence that felt intentional. It had been days with no word. [color=#1E90FF]“I want a full sweep of Sector Six. Scrape surveillance. Tap traffic drones, sewer grids, nightclub optics—if a rat twitched in that district, I want to see it die on playback.”[/color] Crowe nodded and slid his fingers across the screen, dispatching orders to field agents with practiced efficiency. Verren didn’t stop. His voice was low, sharp, and unrelenting. [color=#1E90FF]“Warden Stone — still tracking intel?”[/color] [color=gray]“Yes, sir. Still active. Running silent, but on grid.”[/color] [color=#1E90FF]“Warden Riddenhouse, Investigation status?”[/color] [color=gray]“Active investigation Sir. Running silent aswell, but also on grid.”[/color] [color=#1E90FF]“Warden Tilman?”[/color] Crowe paused. [color=gray]“…No contact. Last message was a loose check-in. Since then—nothing.”[/color] Now Verren turned. Slowly. The left lens of his cybernetic eye clicked and shifted focus, scanning Crowe’s face like it was waiting for a lie. [color=#1E90FF]“Then send her a signal. I want her voice on comms, or I want her corpse in a bag. With a missing Warden, I went a check in.”[/color] Crowe hesitated. [color=gray]“Yes, Commander.”[/color] Another blink. Another name. Another ghost on the screen Wendall. No movement. No report. A flatline too quiet to be a glitch. [color=#1E90FF]“Check Wendall. Personally. If he’s off-grid, I want to know why. If he’s compromised, I want to know by who.”[/color] Then, with a final command swipe, Verren pulled up the last file. A face appeared in brilliant high-res—a young woman with chaos in her eyes, Dark hair and a smirk like she knew where all your knives were hidden and liked the thought of them at your throat. Lexi “Jinx” Vox. Status: UNTRACKED Last Seen: Twelve days ago Risk Level: Escalating Verren’s stare hardened. His voice dropped, rough as shattered glass. [color=#1E90FF]“Find Jinx, too.”[/color] His jaw clenched. [color=#1E90FF]“She’s been gone far too fucking long. I want her found. And I want her put back on her leash.”[/color] The room went still again. No alarms. No shots fired. Just the hum of neon and the crackling breath of a city that didn’t know it was already bleeding. Commander Verren looked out across the glowing map, cybernetic eye zooming in on blinking lights—each one a soldier, a name, a life barely clinging to protocol. [color=#1E90FF]“This city’s unraveling. One Warden at a time.”[/color] A long drag from the cigar. Ash fell like snow across the console. [color=#1E90FF]“If we fall…”[/color] He said it like a vow. Like a warning. Like a line no monster would survive crossing. [color=#1E90FF]“…Humanity follows.”[/color] [hr] All across Halcyon, Warden-issued comms flared to life at once—pockets, gauntlets, and holsters pulsing with cold blue light like a heartbeat synced to war drums. The Bastion's command code override had gone out. No ringtones. No voices. Just a single urgent vibration and a flashing symbol on every screen: the Warden crest—cracked down the middle. [b]URGENT[/b] CODE 3 - Last location Nightclub in Sector 6 ALL WARDENS REQUIRED TO DO A STATUS CHECK. End Transmission