CHAPTER 59: THE RED ALERT

WWHHHOOOOOPP!

WWHHHOOOOOPP!

A blaring, facility-wide alarm screamed from every speaker, a sound of pure, unadulterated panic that was a dozen times louder than any drill.

The main screen in the observation booth, which had been showing Michael’s fluctuating vital signs, was now a solid, blood-red wall of text.

[WARNING: RED-CLASS GATE MANIFESTATION DETECTED.]

[LOCATION: CENTRAL PARK // THE GREAT LAWN.]

The easy, awkward, almost-human atmosphere of the last few minutes shattered into a million pieces.

Jinx swore, a single, sharp curse.

Jax’s jaw, which had been hanging open in awe of the ghost puppy, snapped shut.

"Oh," he said, his voice suddenly very small. "That’s not good."

Chloe’s professional mask, which had been cracked and flustered just moments before, slammed back into place with the force of a reinforced steel door.

The flustered, proud analyst was gone.

In her place stood the commander.

"Dispel the revenant, Michael," she commanded, her voice a whip-crack over the intercom, cutting through the blaring alarms. "Everyone to the command center. Now."

The spectral hound dissolved into a wisp of purple smoke, its form receding back into the Void Ledger on Michael’s HUD.

He scrambled to his feet, his own exhaustion forgotten, his heart a frantic, wild drum in his chest.

*A Red Gate.*

His [Void Sense] was screaming. It felt like a raw, open wound had been torn in the fabric of the city, and it was bleeding a torrent of pure, undiluted agony and rage into the world.

He stumbled into the main common area, Jinx and Jax right behind him.

The holographic table was already active, displaying a live satellite feed of Manhattan.

The image was apocalyptic.

A massive, swirling vortex of crimson and black energy dominated the sky over Central Park. It wasn’t a clean tear, like the other Gates. This one was jagged, angry, and it seemed to writhe like a living thing.

From its depths, a swarm of dark, winged creatures was pouring out, their distant, piercing screeches audible even through the news feed’s audio.

"What in the hell are those things?" Jinx asked, her voice a low, grim whisper.

"Gargoyles," Chloe stated, her fingers flying across her console, pulling up DGC threat-assessment files. "Class-C flyers. Fast, aggressive, and their claws can tear through standard-issue DGC armor like wet paper."

"But they’re just the grunts," she added, her face grim.

"A Red Gate isn’t a door, Jax. It’s a beachhead."

"The energy readings are stable, self-sustaining. It’s not a random rift. This indicates an active, intelligent invasion."

An invasion.

The word hung in the air, heavy and cold.

This wasn’t just a monster outbreak. This was a declaration of war.

Great, Michael’s inner monologue drawled, his sarcasm a thin, pathetic shield against the rising tide of pure terror.

We just finished the tutorial, and now they’ve launched the first expansion pack: Wrath of the Lich Gargoyle.

"Every active Hunter in the five boroughs is going to be converging on that park," Jinx said, her survivalist mind already calculating the odds. "The DGC, the big Guilds, every freelance glory-hound with a death wish..."

"It’s not just a monster hunt," she finished, her eyes dark. "It’s a gold rush. And a bloodbath."

"Exactly," Chloe confirmed, her gaze hardening. "Which is why this is no longer just about survival."

"This is about politics."

She pulled up a new screen, showing a live feed of the city’s response.

Armored convoys belonging to the city’s major Guilds were already rolling through the streets.

The gleaming, high-tech trucks of The Vanguard, sponsored by OmniCorp.

The battered, heavy-duty transports of The Ironhearts, the blue-collar veterans’ Guild.

"The first Guild to make a significant impact, to take down the Gate’s primary defenders, will claim the lion’s share of the rewards and, more importantly, the political capital," Chloe explained.

"This is our chance to put Thanatos on the map. To move from a ghost entity to a recognized power."

It was insane.

They were four people and a half-finished warehouse.

And she was talking about competing with armies.

A different scene flashed on the screen.

It was a quiet, sterile room. An apartment.

A man with a tired, weary face was staring at the same news report. His hands, resting on his knees, were clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white.

It was his father.

Marcus Arcana watched the chaos unfold, the old, familiar fire of the S-Rank Hunter burning in his exhausted eyes. He wasn’t a prisoner anymore. He was a caged lion, watching a pack of hyenas invade his territory.

Another feed.

The DGC mobile command center.

Captain Valerius stood in the middle of a storm of controlled panic, barking orders, her face a mask of grim determination.

"Get me a hard perimeter around the park! I want every street south of 110th locked down! And get me a direct line to the Guild Council! This is a city-level threat. We need to coordinate."

"We need to establish ourselves as a legitimate force," Chloe said, her voice pulling Michael’s attention back to their own impossible mission. "And to do that, we need a trophy."

She zoomed the holographic map in, highlighting a single, massive energy signature at the heart of the gargoyle swarm.

"The Gate is being anchored by a commander-class entity," she stated. "A Gatekeeper."

"That is our target."

"We go in, we bypass the main battle, we cut the head off the snake, and we get out."

It was the most reckless, suicidal, and utterly brilliant plan he had ever heard.

It was a classic Chloe special.

"Jax," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. "I need every piece of ordinance you have that can make a very big, very loud noise."

Jax, who had been staring at the Gate with the lovestruck expression of a man seeing the world’s most beautiful explosion for the first time, snapped to attention.

"Boss Lady," he said, his voice full of a sudden, reverent awe. "You are speaking my language."

He sprinted towards his workshop, a wild, joyful grin on his face.

"Jinx," Chloe continued. "Prep the van. And take these."

She tossed a small, lead-lined box onto the table.

Jinx opened it.

Inside, nestled in soft foam, were the four remaining Phase-Disruptor rounds.

Her eyes widened.

"You think we’ll be seeing Ghosts?"

"I think," Chloe said, her voice grim, "that in a chaos-event of this magnitude, every player will have their assassins on the field."

She turned to Michael.

Her cold, gray eyes were burning with a fierce, unwavering intensity.

She didn’t need to give him an order.

He was the key.

He was the weapon.

He was the only one who could get them close enough to the Gatekeeper to land a killing blow.

He just nodded, his own fear solidifying into a cold, hard resolve.

He walked to the weapons locker, his hand closing around the familiar, cold grip of the Reaper’s Fang.

They were geared up and ready in five minutes.

Jinx was a walking arsenal.

Jax was practically vibrating, a bag full of his beautiful, terrible toys slung over his shoulder.

Michael stood by the main bay door, the low thrum of the van’s engine a nervous heartbeat in the quiet of their new home.

Chloe stood before them, not as an analyst, not as a commander, but as a leader.

"This is it," she said, her voice quiet but ringing with a final, absolute authority.

"The DGC is in chaos. Gideon is exposed. The old power structures are crumbling."

"Today, we show them what rises from the ashes."

She looked at each of them in turn, her gaze lingering on Michael for a fraction of a second longer than the others.

"Welcome to the Guild War," she said.

"Try not to die."