Sean Delgado hadn’t slept more than two hours, yet Chicago felt brighter than it had since the Fold. The Thompson Center’s atrium no longer buzzed like an emergency ward; it murmured like a marketplace at dawn—generators humming, coffee percolating on real electricity, children chalk-drawing wolves on the marble.
He ran a gloved hand along the balustrade and let Whisper-Sense drift. Hundreds of soft green auras flickered below: civilians, cops, refugees, all moving with a little more purpose. Light Alignment’s morale bonus was no myth; you could hear it in the cadence of footsteps.
Status – Sean Delgado
Level 7 (Beast Whisperer E-tier)
HP 93/93?MP 83/83
Strength 18?Agility 14?Endurance 23?Vitality 13
Perception 16 (+1)?Willpower 17?Charisma 22
Free Points 0
Merge Progress 65 % (Base 90 s)
New Perk: Beast-Speech I
Pack Resonance: Active (10 m, +5 % stats)
A tiny pulse acknowledged the stat check, as though the System enjoyed being noticed.
At a long conference table—two dining tables bolted end-to-end—senior staff clustered over printouts and holograms.
“Grid’s holding at seventy-eight percent core capacity,” Mala Patel reported, stylus tapping her tablet. “We can push a Tier-2 upgrade tonight if we divert ten-thousand DP.”
Cho spun his laptop around so everyone could see the new map overlay: faint silver arches blooming far outside city limits.
“Those are Transfer Gates,” he said, tapping each sigil—Detroit, St Louis, Minneapolis. “They’ll stabilize in twelve hours. First forty-eight hours are flagged diplomatic-safe by the System—no PvP, no beast incursions. After that? Wild West.”
Sergeant Ortega folded thick arms. “Which gate do we step through?”
“None—yet,” Marcus answered, leaning on his feather-etched tower shield. “We host. Grant Park’s gate sprouts right on our lawn. Makes defense easier.”
Ruby “Stitch” Gaines sipped actual drip coffee, eyes still red from nanite lab duty. “Defense easier, yes. First impression harder. Whoever walks out that arch decides whether we’re trade partners or lunch.”
Sean inhaled. The air smelled of roasted beans and faint ozone from the core downstairs—a scent he now associated with possibility. “We need a delegation: small, skilled, obviously not pushovers. I’ll lead it. Ruby for medical, Cho for comms. Tasha negotiates.”
Tasha Reed lounged sideways in her chair, twirling an uncapped Sharpie. “I can play ambassador. Depends how much you want me to smile.”
“Enough to keep shooting optional,” Sean said.
Kim raised a hand. “I’ll head the strike reserve with Marcus. If something flares while you’re shaking hands, we cut the fuse.”
No one objected. Light hummed across the holo, stamping APPROVED.
Lunch was jerky soup thickened with protein powder, eaten on loading-dock steps. Carlos the cook ladled seconds; nobody complained they knew exactly what was in it.
Tasha found Sean staring across State Street at the skyline—still a broken chessboard of dark glass and violet cracks.
“You look like someone handed you the bill after dessert,” she said, offering an enamel mug.
He took a sip. Salty, smoky, nourishing. “I keep waiting for the next shoe to drop.”
“Rourke has plenty of shoes.” She pointed south where a brown haze lingered. “Cho’s scanners pick Choir mana coming off that rail yard. Still humming.”
“Marcus and Kim are prepping militia in case the beacon sings again.”
She nudged him with an elbow. “Delegation leaves in—” she checked a wrist chrono scavenged from a boutique—“seven hours. Maybe you should rest.”
“I will.” His eyes tracked Echo across the plaza; the wolf was surrounded by children who took turns tossing a dented softball. Each fetch made Echo’s tail whip and a ripple of warmth pass through the Bond. Loyalty crept upward, one wag at a time.
Near twilight Grant Park looked half carnival, half fortress. Rows of halogen towers—the EMP flash rig—formed a rectangle around the faintly shimmering air where the Gate would manifest. Beyond that, the militia drilled shield walls with Marcus barking cadence. Ruby’s med-tent stood twenty metres back; empty stretchers gleamed beneath fresh linen.
Cho finished bolting an antenna cluster to a lamp post. “Encrypted channel ready,” he told Sean. “If Seattle Hive’s opening handshake goes sideways, I scramble their feed; nobody broadcasts our disaster.”
“Appreciated,” Sean said.
Beast-Speech had been like learning to focus on a second heartbeat. He tested it now, crouching beside Echo. “Night soon. Strangers come.”
Wolf replied with an image: tall figures stepping through light, scent unknown but not hostile, a question mark of tension. Sean patted thick fur. “Stay by my left.”
Footsteps crunched gravel. Ruby joined him, wiping hands on cargo-pants. “Nanites cleared the infected bites,” she said. “First real proof we’re not tricking ourselves.”
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“That’ll impress visitors more than speeches.”
She bumped her shoulder against his. “Save a little wonder for yourself, Delgado.”
Nineteen minutes past ten. Everyone sensed it—static in teeth, hair prickling. The air above the circular plaza condensed, color draining toward a central filament of white. It blossomed outward, folding up like origami until an archway five metres high and two wide glowed—surface undulating like pearl.
System text spooled in every HUD:
Transfer Gate – Chicago □→ Seattle Hive
Diplomatic Window: 48:00:00
No combat permitted inside Gate radius.
An emblem hovered over the threshold: a honeycomb with a stylized eye—Seattle’s faction sigil.
Sean stepped to the invisible line, Echo matching pace. Behind him Ruby adjusted shoulder pack, Cho tested mic levels, Tasha re-tied her silver ponytail into a tighter knot.
From the Gate emerged three people in hex-stitched armor the color of wet stone. Frontmost was a rangy woman maybe forty, hair shaved on one side, carrying a staff whose head whirred with linked drones no bigger than dragonflies. Behind her two sentries in ceramic plate kept hands visible, rifles mag-clamped to backs.
Marcus’s voice rumbled over comm bead. “Shields ready. They’re clean.”
The woman smiled, raising empty palm. “Delegation of the Hive greets the Alliance of the Loop. I am Lia Kershaw, Swarm Speaker.”
Sean inclined head, remembering last-minute etiquette notes. “Sean Delgado, field captain. Welcome to Chicago.”
Lia’s eyes flicked to Echo; the wolf chuffed but stayed. “A bonded alpha already?” she asked, curiosity softening her guarded stance. “Impressive for Day Five.”
“Hard work and luck.”
Ruby stepped forward. “We have potable water, thermal coffee, and first-aid in that tent. No strings attached.”
One of Lia’s aides—a dark-skinned man with shattered glasses fixed by 3-D-printed clips—exhaled relief. The other carried a large metal case; Cho’s HUD labeled it Mana-sealed Cargo.
Tasha’s smile looked purely social, though Sean knew better. “You’ve traveled far. Gifts travel faster than explanations.”
Lia laughed. “Straight to business. Very well.” She gestured; her aide opened the case. Inside lay ten crystalline cylinders swirling amber.
“Compressed Royal Jelly. Synthesized mana food. One vial feeds a squad for a day.”
Murmur rippled among Loop onlookers. Solid protein that required no stove was worth thousands of DP.
Sean nodded to Ruby, who inspected a vial with handheld sensor. Safe.
“We accept,” Sean said. “In exchange we offer blueprint access for medical nanites. Non-exclusive license.”
Cho’s eyes widened—he hadn’t known Sean would reveal that card so soon. Lia’s brows rose, impressed. “My engineers will cheer. We lost too many to blood-rot.”
Trade sealed with a System clang.
Trade Value differential: +Light Reputation (minor)
Behind Lia, the surface inside the Gate rippled; another silhouette appeared, but different—body lanky, clothes flowing like liquid obsidian. A mask of turquoise porcelain hid its face.
Lia hissed, stepping back. “Not part of the plan.”
System flashed yellow:
Unknown Faction override detected – Cerulean Choir Proxy.
Diplomatic immunity pending… ERROR.
The masked figure ignored everyone, raising both arms. Choir glyphs spiraled into the Gate, hijacking its bandwidth. The halo pulsed a sick cobalt—same shade as Rourke’s teleport.
Marcus barked over comms, “Beacon resonance spiking! Choir piggyback confirmed.”
Sean felt Echo bristle. No combat allowed inside Gate radius, but outside?
Ruby cursed. “If that feedback loops, the Gate collapses with us beside it.”
Cho’s fingers danced on wrist-pad. “Trying to firewall—but they’re injecting choir-code.”
Sean’s decision came like a muscle twitch. “Tasha, Ruby—escort Hive guests behind shield wall. Cho, cut the feed. Echo with me.”
He stepped across the boundary—still inside safe radius—calling out, “Proxy! Leave now, or we eject you.”
Masked head tilted. Voice echoed as if through water: “Cerulean Choir sings for Ascension. All gates belong to the Song.”
Within the porcelain eye-slits, blue flame flickered. Rune-lines crawled along proxy’s arms. Combat still barred, but energy buildup looked dangerously weapon-like.
Cho yelled, “Failing! They’ll overload—”
Lia’s drones lifted, whirring like bees. “Let me dampen,” she said, palms out.
“Not inside the circle,” Sean snapped. “We step out; then it’s fair.”
Proxy chuckled, static dissonant. “Very well.”
It glided backward across threshold. The moment its heel touched grass, Sean loosed Merge—muscles thickening, eyes sharpening.
Merge 65 % → 100 %
Timer 90 s. Pack Resonance flared to every ally within ten metres.
Marcus’s shield phalanx advanced; Kim at left flank.
Proxy swept hand; a shard of molten turquoise shot toward Ruby—Aegis intercepted, feathers crackling.
Sean lunged, claws raking mask; porcelain cracked, revealing void of churning script beneath. Proxy shrieked, voice fracturing.
Lia’s drones dispersed sonic counter-chords, canceling the Choir glyphs on Gate surface. Cho shouted, “Firewall up—feedback neutralized!”
Proxy lashed talon-fingers at Sean’s chest; Pack aura absorbed half. Echo bounded, biting masked forearm, Loyalty pump surging.
Marcus bulldozed, shield-bash launching proxy into EMP tower. Flash—proxy convulsed, scripts sputtering.
Kim hurled twin blades; both stuck, pinning entity to post. Choir energy whined, building to detonation. Ruby grabbed Phoenix Down capsule instinctually but held; not yet.
Sean ripped one sword free, stabbed deep into glowing script-heart. Proxy screamed as cobalt flames guttered, then dissolved into shards of glass and echo.
System text hammered everyone’s vision:
Unlawful aggression nullified – Safe-zone upheld.
Loop Alliance + Hive gain joint Reputation + Major.
Loot: Data Core (Cerulean Script, rare).
Breathing hard, Sean watched the shards evaporate into wind. Echo licked blood from his gauntlet—none of it Sean’s.
Tasha exhaled. “So much for less scene-switching excitement.”
Sean chuckled despite adrenaline. “I was told to tone it down.”
Minutes later the Gate stabilized, now free of Choir static. Lia bowed low. “Chicago, you have our respect—and our support. Hive logistics will route a food convoy within the grace window.”
Sean offered his hand; she shook it. “And Chicago will share power-tech schematics. Equal footing.”
Agreement sealed with System chime; both factions’ Light reputation ticked upward.
As Lia’s party departed back through the Gate, Marcus relaxed shield stance. “One down, two gates to go.”
“Cerulean Choir will try again,” Cho muttered, turning the faintly humming Script core in his hands.
Sean looked across the plaza—Loop citizens cheering, militia holding lines, children hugging Echo. Light still reigned, for now.
He allowed himself one slow breath of night air that no longer smelled of panic. The road ahead had widened—to other cities, other worlds, other songs both dark and bright.
And they were still on their legs, ready to walk it.
