Midnight Order: Paine and Temptation (Escape from Club Apophis, 33)

(clink to enlarge)

STORYLINE: The deal was sealed with a handshake. Disgusting.

From her station in the shadows of the greenroom, Nurse Paine watched the transaction with the cold, clinical detachment of a coroner. The handshake between her master, the divine Dr. Lucien Ginerva, and that pink-haired parasite, Romance, wasn’t just a business agreement. It was an infection.

“You look thin. Bring your best face to the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony. Drink ten years,” MasterGin purred, releasing the idol’s hand.

Paine tried to hide her smirk. Ten years. An exquisite insult.

She watched MasterGin sashay away, his tunic dissolving into the clinic light, leaving the room feeling emptier, colder. He didn’t look at her. He never did. He just left her with the mess, as he had for twenty years.

She turned her gaze to Romance. He was preening in the mirror, hair slowly turning pink, and wiping a faint smudge of soul from his lip. Life he had stolen right out on the street, in front of the clinic, under the glare of a thousand cameras.

Reckless. A liability wrapped in velvet and bad decisions. He risked the Great Work. The Monstrum. The Master himself. All for a quick hit of adoration. And for what? To save a broken cyborg girl who was destined for the scrap heap anyway?

Romance caught her staring in the reflection. He didn't look ashamed. He looked bored.

“You are walking on borrowed time, Master Romance,” Paine said, her voice dropping into the quiet, lethal register she usually reserved for uncooperative patients.

He spun the chair slowly, crossing his legs with an elegance that made her want to snap his femur.

“Aren’t we all? That’s why I’m curious.”

He leaned back, studying her with those impossible, mischief-flecked eyes. He looked at her not as a threat, but as a specimen.

“You keep his house clean. His rules intact. His miracles on schedule,” he drawled. “But you’re mortal. Spending your life in service to a monster who barely looks twice at you.”

The words struck her like a scalpel, precise and severing.

Mortal.

The word hung in the air, smelling of rot. She looked down at her white heels. They were scuffed at the toe. Scuffed from running down hallways, kicking open doors, dragging heavy, unconscious bodies into prep rooms. Scuffed from doing the dirty work while he floated above it all in a cloud of clove smoke and opera music.

She forced her head up. She would not let this glitter-covered leech see her bleed.

“My service is not for his vanity,” she lied, the words tasting like ash. “It is for the Great Work. The resurrection of the old ways.”

“The Old Ways?” Romance laughed softly, a sound that grated on her nerves like a bone saw hitting a clamp. “You mean like the Opening of the Mouth? The catering alone must be a nightmare. Let me guess… he handles the guest list, and you handle the carcass?”

Paine flinched. It was a microscopic movement, a twitch of the eyelid, but he saw it.

Carcass. That’s all Jihoon was to him. But to her? He was the clay of her master. She ensured the transition was seamless.

“The High Priestess does not complain of the weight of the knife,” she snapped, her voice rising.

“High Priestess,” Romance mused, standing up. He drifted toward her, invading her sterile field. He smelled of amber musk and freshly baked cinnamon buns. “A grand title for a janitor. You look exhausted, Paine. When was the last time you slept? Or does he keep you running on stimulants and promises?”

He stopped inches from her face. His beauty upclose undeniable.

“He treats you like furniture. Useful. Silent. Easily replaced.”

Rage, hot and white, flared in her chest. Her nails bit into her palm. *Furniture?* She was the foundation! Without her, GIN AESTHETICA™ would crumble into a heap of lawsuits and bio-waste within a week. She managed the supply lines. She silenced the inspectors. She fed the beast. 

She smoothed a wrinkle in her a pristine couture scrubs.

“Be ready,” she hissed, stepping back to put distance between her and his seductive scent. “The camera is waiting.”

She reached for the door panel, desperate to be away from him, to be back in the cold, logical embrace of her lab.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The room washed in a sudden, pulsing crimson light.

Paine froze. Her heart rate didn't spike, it steadied. This was familiar. This was procedure.

She tapped her wrist-console. A holographic grid projected into the air, cutting through the red haze.

Sector 4. Sub-Level Maintenance. The VIP Tunnel.

Grainy night-vision footage flickered to life.

Five figures moving through the shadows. Covered in muck. Moving fast.

She squinted. The tactical gear. The girl with the camera. The boy with the glowing gloves.

The escapees.

The ones from the Pen. The ones who had caused a riot at the auction. They were here. In her house.

“Intruders,” she whispered, the word a curse. “Unauthorized biocodes detected.”

Her fingers flew across the console. This was it. The excuse she needed to vent the fury building in her veins.

“Summoning Enforcer Squad Alpha,” she announced, her thumb hovering over the execution command. “Seal the exits.”

“Wait.”

Romance stepped in front of the hologram, blocking her view.

“Don’t call the dogs yet. Look at them. They’re barely standing. Sewer rats in human clothes.”

“They are breaching the Holy Sanctum. Defiling the clinic where a God performs miracles.” Paine snarled, dodging around him to reach the icon. “Protocol demands—”

He grabbed her wrist.

The contact was electric. A fiery jolt shot through her core, ringing her like a bell.

“Look at me, Paine,” he breathed.

His eyes flared with a hypnotic, neon-pink light. The air suddenly smelled of yearning and first kisses. She felt the warmth brush her skin, syrupy and false, and she did not yield.

“You don’t want to call the guards. You want to let them pass. You’re so tired of fighting. Just... let it go.”

She felt the enchantment wash over her like a warm bath. It tugged at her thumping heart, whispered to her exhausted muscles that it was okay to rest, okay to fail, okay to just... stop.

It was a powerful spell. Against a human, it would have been absolute.

For one treacherous heartbeat, she wanted to let go.

But Paine was not just human. Not anymore.

For decades, she had taken her communion from the Master’s own vein. His blood, ancient and cursed, had rewritten her marrow. It burned like antiseptic fire in her veins, hardened her mind against the soft, sticky fingers of lower magics.

She looked at Romance. She didn't feel love. She felt insulted.

She didn't swoon. She sneered.

And then, she backhanded him.

SMACK.

It was a beautiful sound. Wet. Heavy. Final.

Romance stumbled backward, crashing into the makeup chair. He looked at her with genuine shock, clutching his bleeding lip.

“Do not insult me with your parlor tricks, Idol,” she spat, stepping over him.

She felt the change in her eyes, the iris burning red, legacy of the Master’s blood rising to the surface.

“Did you think I was mere cattle? I have supped from the Master’s own vein. His blood runs in my marrow. Your little love spells have no purchase here.”

Romance touched his lip, checking for blood. “Well,” he wheezed, straightening his jacket with a wince. “That explains the bad attitude.”

Paine ignored him. She turned back to the screen, zooming in on the feed.

Minjo. The robotics girl. She was dismantling a security camera with a multitool. The movements were precise, practiced. Familiar.

Paine’s mind raced. How did they get past the outer sensors? How did they know the tunnel layout?

Romance.

She whirled on him, pressing a scalpel-sharp fingernail into the expensive fabric of his lapel.

“You’re running a ratline,” she accused, her voice a low growl. “The smuggler in the Zone. It was you.”

He opened his mouth, but she silenced him with a look.

“And Sister Sophia,” she whispered, the name tasting bitter. “I will never stop looking for her. Our fellowship is broken without her. Did you make her disappear too?”

Romance slapped her hand away. The playful mask cracked, revealing something sharp and angry underneath.

“She died trying to save the world from monsters like you."

The name hit her like a physical blow. The air left her lungs. Sophia... dead? The possibility had always been a whisper in the back of her mind, a cold dread she refused to acknowledge. Hearing it spoken aloud shattered the fragile hope she’d carried for two years.

He pointed at the screen, at the dirty, desperate kids crawling through the pipes.

“They aren’t assassins, Paine. They’re children. They’re just here for the boy. Jihoon.”

“The Chosen One,” Paine corrected automatically as if it were scripture. “And…,” hurt leaked into her voice, “we were all born under the same star.”

“You mean you’re all born the same year?” Romance laughed softly, “Wow. Evil has aged you.”

She ground her teeth, and looked back at the screen.

The red-haired girl moved with surgical intent. She wiped slime from her face. The boy with the gloves helped the reporter over a pipe. They were terrified. They were filthy.

And they were walking straight into a meat grinder.

The Enforcers were stationed at the end of that corridor. Heavily armed. Hungry. If she let the alarm stand, those kids would be shredded in less than three minutes.

Paine looked at the red button.

If she pressed it, she did her duty. She protected the Master. She upheld the order.

But then... she looked at Romance. The "ratline." He was helping them. undermining the Master right under his nose.

*He treats you like furniture. Useful. Silent. Easily replaced.*

The words echoed in her skull.

Why should she clean up this mess? Why should she call the guards and let them have all the fun?

If these kids were smart enough to break into the Zone, survive the sewers, and breach the Sanctum... perhaps they were interesting. Perhaps they deserved a test.

And if they failed? Well, The Opening of the Mouth always drew hungry guests.

Paine lowered her hand. A thought, cold and calculating, formed in her mind. She watched the live feed collapse into static. She had already purged the archive. The system would remember nothing.

“The Master believes his security is absolute,” she murmured. “He believes no human can touch him.”

She looked at her scuffed heels. Then at the alarm.

“Let’s see if he’s right.”

She tapped the console.

ALARM CANCELED.

She keyed the comms line, her voice shifting instantly into her bored, administrative tone.

“Control, this is Paine. Belay that order. False alarm in Sector 4. Sensors are tripping on sewer rats chewing the power cables again. I will go down and verify the damage personally.”

“Copy that, Nurse Paine,” the radio crackled. “Standing down.”

The red light died.

Romance stared at her, his jaw hanging slightly open. “Why?”

Paine walked to the medical cabinet. She unlocked it with a thumbprint. The heavy, chrome bone-saw gleamed in the light. Beside it, a syringe of paralytic neurotoxin.

She slid them into the deep pockets of her pristine white coat.

“Because if they are competent enough to breach the outer wall, they deserve an audience,” she said, checking the weight of the saw in her pocket. “And if they are not… the ghouls will eat well tonight.”

She walked to the door, pausing to look back at him.

“Get to the studio, Romance. Smile for the camera. Sell the lie. Do what you were bought to do.”

“And you?” he asked.

Paine smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

“I have a mess to clean up.”

She swept out of the room, her heels clicking a sharp, solitary rhythm down the hall. Let the Master play with celebrities and haute couture.

The Master demanded order. But tonight, it was Paine who would become chaos.

Midnight Order is ending soon. Be sure to return for new items added, and if you missed any generious gifts.   ...DJ Romance returns sporting some K-pop Demon awesomeness. His edgy outfit is by Dope+ Mercy. You can use the texture hud in the fatpack for base colors and several cool patterns. The top is mod, so I edited it for a burgundy color with the nice heavy metal looking pattern. The shredded pants also have texture options, I used the worn version.  ...This style of pant look great with big stompers so I paired with the Cult Obsidian boots.   ... Romance is rocking a messy mullet by Dura U136. It comes in several color packs, I used Light. The hair is not rigged so you use the hug to adjust the fit and edit it. I added the hair the U135 for extra Romance style lengh in the back. Perfect match! In the raw image below you can see the hair without the longer lower end.   ...Also in the closeup image below, I included the gold version of the Auto Stellar Nose Chain. It comes in silver, black, and gold. It's mod, so you can adjust the fit.   ...How about that awesome Ghoul Tail by The Deadboy? It automatically BOM fits your skin texture. For me it auto added the Fishnet detail! You can adjust in the hud the transparency of the skin, the cartoon outline colors for the bones and the tail, or hide the parts you don't want to show.  ... Adding his trademark heart theme is the Heart Dermal Piercings by Stoic. They are mod so you can adjust the size and placement by hand.   ....Adding more gothic punk style, are the BOM upper Fishnet by AsteroidBox, and lower an old favorite by Sna@tch that closely matches the style of the upper.

On him, DJ Romance:

Hair: Dura - U136 -ALL-Men's, Light [mesh](Midnight Order)(390L)

Top: Dope+Mercy - Offcut Harness Top, LEGACY [mesh](Midnight Order)(300L)

Pants: Dope+Mercy - Offcut Trousers, LEGACY [mesh](Midnight Order)(350L)

Tail: The DeadBoy - Ghoul Tail [mesh](Midnight Order)(899L)

Nose Chain: AURO - Stellar Nose Chain, BLACK [mesh](Midnight Order)(299L)

Hair lower: Dura - U135-Light [mesh]

Piercings: STOIC - HEART DERMAL PIERCING SILVER [mesh]

Boots: CULT - Obsidian Male - Legacy Male [mesh]

Fishnet upper: AsteroidBox - Shredded Nets - Black Plain [BOM]

Fishnet lower:  Sn@tch - Fishnet Tights Torn [BOM]

Head: LeLUTKA - Kane Evolution [mesh](3990L)

Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shots, hi-res, midday sky :

CYBER FAIR is coming MARCH 3 - 23

CYBER FAIR is coming MARCH 3 - 23

For More information go to:  https://www.access-sl.com/cyberfair

Midnight Order: Martyr of the Underground (Escape from Club Apophis, 32)

(click to enlarge)

STORYLINE: The sewer had gone quiet. Not the usual dripping, echoing quiet. This was curated silence, like a museum after closing. The Ford coupe smoked faintly, frozen mid-disaster, exactly how it had crashed a century ago. No rot. No decay. Just a moment pinned to reality like a butterfly on velvet.

Lisa’s mouth opened, then shut. For the first time, she looked genuinely rattled. Then a slow, predatory smile spread across her face.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Say that again. But slower. Because that is the lead of the century.”

Ghost raised the brass lantern. The light swung in a nauseating arc, illuminating the limestone walls above the wreck.

High on the dripping wall was the seal of the Monstrum Serpent, slashed with a jagged red mark.

“Look up there. Safe Zone,” Kyle looked upwards, wiping blood from his forehead. “Hwan’s mark. He said Monstrum had no power in its boundary.”

They approached the vehicle slowly. As they crossed the invisible threshold, the gloom shifted. The air felt lighter. It tasted different. Less metal. Less wrong.

The low, dangerous hum of the Forbidden Zone died instantly.

It was too still. Too deliberate. As if the room had been waiting for them for over a hundred years. History itself paused, waiting for witnesses.

The trunk of the 1929 Ford Coupe had been cracked open in the impact.

It was not empty. Inside was a cache. Organized. Stockpiled. Not random scavenging. More like a prep bag for the end of the world.

“Over here,” Lisa said, voice unsteady as she pointed to the logo stamped on a silver medical crate. A heart with devil horns. Her eyes widened. “It's Romance,” she realized.

The trunk was a shrine of survival. Cans of peaches. Vacuum-sealed thermal clothes. Bottled water. Medical kits. Bandages still clean enough to look holy. Inside a lead-lined box, translucent batteries glowed with swirling, cursed purple energy.

Zone power. The forbidden kind.

Plague grinned, grabbing a battery like a starving man grabbing bread. “Jackpot.”

Minjo stood near the fender, not looking at the supplies. She stared at a blur of shapes, squinting painfully. To her damaged eyes, the car was just a smudge of shadow against the dark.

“Don’t touch anything,” she snapped, blinking hard, trying to force clarity through irritation alone. Her hands were shaking, so she curled them into fists and hid them in her sleeves.

“Guys,” Echo whispered.

Her voice was so small it barely existed.

They all turned. Echo was peering through the shattered driver’s window.

“There’s someone in here.”

Ghost moved the lantern closer. The light slid across the interior, illuminating mold that bloomed on the leather upholstery like pale veins. The smell of oil and iron hung in the air.

A body was slumped over the wheel. It was draped in the rotted remains of a nun’s habit, the white cloth clinging to the bones as if it had fused there in obedience.

In the skeletal hand was a glass bottle marked Devil's Tongue.

Plague leaned in, sniffing the air near the mummified face.

“Poison,” he whispered, as if not to wake her. “Probably Ricin.”

On the dashboard, preserved in a sealed bag, was a folded note.

The sight of it made the room colder. Not physically. Emotionally. Not just death. Death with intention.

“She… she did this to herself,” Kyle realized, his face paling.

“Someone read it,” Minjo said, frustration cracking her voice as she squinted uselessly at the dash.

Echo reached in, her movements reverent. She retrieved the bag, opening it to release a faint scent of old ink and something sweet. Roses.

Echo’s hands trembled as she unfolded the paper.

“My love…”

The words landed like a whisper in a cathedral. Not romantic. Not cute. A confession written with shaking hands and no future.

Echo read:

My love, 

If you are reading this, I did not betray you. 

I am too weak to burn daylight into night. 

I am sorry I failed. 

Do not punish yourself for my choice. 

This was my last act of disobedience. 

I die with hope the lost one will come and avenge us all. 

My heart belongs to you always. 

Pink is not a sin. 

Pink is a door. 

— S. 

Echo stopped.

She stared at the paper as if it had spoken back.

The cavern didn’t feel like a room anymore. It felt like a tomb.

The skeletal hand suddenly slumped down in the driver’s seat. The empty bottle rolling out of its fingers.

Echo’s mouth opened once, silently. Then the sound came. A strangled sob, ripped out of her chest like a confession.

“No…” she whispered. “No, no, no…”

Kyle moved to her immediately, wrapping his arms around her as she pressed the note to her heart and shook.

“She died in here,” Echo choked. “She… she wrote him a goodbye letter…” Her eyes flicked back to the skeleton. “A Nun of the Zone. She had a face. She had a name. Not a monster. A person,” she whispered, as if to herself.

The words landed like a stone in water.

Even Plague went quiet.

Even Ghost’s hands stilled.

Minjo stared at the skeleton, her bare eyes reflecting the flare like twin knives. Her jaw trembled once before she locked it down. Anger was easier than grief.

Kyle sniffed. “Who even was she? Why would Romance—”

“SHUT IT.” Lisa snapped both hands up like she was stopping traffic.

Everyone froze.

Echo’s sobs hiccuped into silence.

Lisa didn’t look at them. She stood very still, head tilted, like a predator listening for a heartbeat. She looked at the scene. The money. The bullet holes. The trunk stash. The Devil Heart logo.

Like a crime board. A puzzle begging to be solved.

Lisa paced three steps. Then two. Then three again. Boots scraped on stone. She tapped her lip, eyes unfocused, brain chewing.

“Okay…” she whispered.

Then, quieter, like she was speaking to the universe itself:

“Okay, okay, okay…”

She stopped.

For the first time, she hesitated.

“This is insane,” she murmured. Then her eyes sharpened.

Her hand darted toward her pocket. Empty. “Oh my god," she hissed. "I’m about to crack the biggest story in the Neu Seoul with zero footage.”

She whipped toward Ghost. “Do you have a camera?”

Ghost just stared at her, soaked and unreadable.

Lisa exhaled hard. “Fine. I’ll narrate it like a podcast from hell. Do not interrupt me.”

She pointed a finger at the cache of humans supplies in the trunk, then back to the note. “Romance isn't just a smuggler of goods into The Pen. He’s running an extraction team. Smuggling humans out. And this dead nun was his accomplice. Traitors to Monstrum. Both of them."

“Hwan too,” Kyle added quietly, nodding to the Safe Zone mark. "Created for escaping humans. Jihoon." 

“Exactly. And this...” she gestured to the dead nun, “...she clearly wasn’t trying to escape.”

Kyle blinked. “What?”

“Think about it,” Lisa hissed, pacing again. “The recording you saw in the workshop. The Time File. Valentine’s Day, Chicago, 1929. The birth of Monstrum. You thought it was just a history lesson. But how does a file like that exist? Who was holding the camera?”

She pointed at the nun.

“She was.”

Minjo’s head turned, slow and controlled. “Lisa. Explain.”

“The Resistance,” Lisa said, the pieces clicking together like a loading gun. “They knew they couldn’t beat Monstrum in the present. The vampires are too strong. Too entrenched. So they tried to hit them where they were vulnerable.”

“The past,” Echo whispered, looking at the car.

“Exactly.” Lisa’s eyes were manic now. “This isn’t a getaway car. It’s an assassination vehicle. She went back. She tried to sabotage the birth of Monstrum. To kill them in their crib.”

She looked at the skeleton with a terrified respect.

“But she failed. ‘I am too weak to burn daylight into night.’ She couldn’t do it. She barely made it back here to the Safe Zone... and then she drank the poison rather than let them catch her.”

"That’s impossible,” Plague said flatly. “We don't have the technology to time travel.”

"No," Minjo said, her voice cutting through the damp air like a scalpel. "Human tech can't. But Zone tech might."

She stormed toward the coupe, her hands fumbling blindly for the hood latch. “I need to verify the power source,” she muttered, fingers scraping against the cold metal.

Her fingers found the latch. The dented hood groaned as she heaved it up.

“What the hell is that?” Kyle growled.

There was no engine block. No pistons. No carburetor.

Inside was a carbon fiber lattice wrapping a core of matte black ceramic. Obsidian coils spiraled around it like ribs around a heart. Tubes of violet liquid pulsed in slow, deliberate rhythms, syncing with a sound that was less a hum and more a vibration in their teeth.

Minjo froze. She reached out, her fingers hovering inches from the pulsing core. She didn't need to see it clearly. She could feel the cold radiating from it.

“I know this architecture,” she whispered. “I’ve seen fragments. In the mirror. In the snakeskin box.”

She swallowed, her face pale in the violet light.

“This is cursed Zone energy containment. An Entropy Drive.” 

She turned back to them, eyes wide and hollow. “It’s not power from combustion. It’s power from decay. From chaos.” She looked at the machine with terrified awe. “...from unmaking creation. That was Jihoon’s theory. And I cannot debunk it, because it is sitting right here.”

Kyle inched closer, looking between the nun and the machine. “So… she really drove this thing to 1929?”

“Yes,” Minjo whispered. “And the file we watched in the workshop... that was her black box recording. We were watching her failure.”

“She tried to save the world,” Echo sniffled, looking at the skeleton. “And no one ever knew.”

“We know,” Lisa said firmly. “And now we have her engine.”

Minjo was already pulling out her equipment, slamming her kit onto the fender.

“Ghost. Wrist mount. Now.”

She squinted into the pulsing violet core, her fear replaced by the cold calculation of an engineer.

“We’re going to unlock that map,” Minjo said. “And then we’re going to finish what she started."


Happy Valentine's Day, Gothic styled! Our tragic heroine is wearing the MDN Dark Habit Bodysuit pack. It includes multiple pieces and textures, and ability to the turn on and off some parts of the outfit. Its mod too, so I turned off by hand a few sections on the choker to better show the snake necklace.   ....She is drinking from the Ishiku Devil's Tongue Whiskey Bottle and shot glass. It has PBR textures and triggers a hold pose. The bottle top comes with an option of one or off. Its mod, so I tinted the whiskey red for the image.   ... But let's talk about the bloody Valentine! The skin texture by Someone has a dramatic splash down the chest, and mouth area, gorey. It comes in male and female skins, and 10 fantasy skin tones, and fit Legacy and Reborn too. The matching eyes are a gift.   .... Adding an extra element to the blood, is the Artemisia animated add ons, Blood Rivulets. There is non rigged upper section for the mouth, and lower section rigged to the chest. A must have for all vamps.   ....From Sigma is the elegant high fashion snake necklace, Minos. It comes in rigged and unrigged, and a texture hud.  ....From Eudora3D are the RoadRider Boots and kneepad, shown the raw shot below.   ... And from Cabalpier is the Preacher's Lectern. It comes in set with parts of the podium, candle stand, scrolls, book, and base. 

On her, Martyr of the Underground:

Outfit: MDN - Dark Habit Bodysuit Fatpack(Legacy)[mesh](Midnight Order)(2311L)

Necklace: SIGMA - Minos necklace [mesh](Midnight Order)(320L)

Skin: SOMEONE - Bloodbound Maneater Skin - Legacy - Void[mesh](Midnight Order)(1000L)

Eyes: SOMEONE - Bloodhound eyes (Midnight Order)(gift)

Blood effect: Artemisia - )O( Blood Rivulets [mesh](Midnight Order)(450L)

Boots: Eudora3D - RoadRider Boots Legacy, white [mesh](Midnight Order)(499L)

Bottle: ISHIKU - Devils Tung Whiskey Bottle [mesh](Midnight Order)(480L)

Head, eyes: LeLUTKA - lel EvoX LILLY 3.1 [mesh](3990L)

Body: Meshbody - Legacy (f) Special Edition (Basic) 1.2 [mesh]

Setting:

Candles: CABALPIER - Preacher's Lectern [mesh](Midnight Order)(375L)

Scene: Dirty Rat - Sewer [mesh](549L)

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shots, hi-res, midday sky:

 

Midnight Order: Drowning in Surreal (Escape from Club Apophis, 31)

(click to enlarge)

STORYLINE:

1-one thousand, 2-one thousand, 3-one thousand...

“Come on,” Plague growled, pressing down on her chest. “Come on, Minjo... Breathe.”

His palms rose and fell in a steady rhythm, centered and controlled, just enough pressure to wake her heart without cracking her ribs.

Minjo’s skin looked alien and translucent in the faint, sickly glow of the sewer tunnel. She looked terrifyingly small beneath him, and strangely… unfinished. Like there was something missing. He pushed that thought away. The only thing that mattered was the silence of her heart.

4-one thousand...

Breathe.

“Come on, Minjo,” he gritted out, his voice cracking with the ache in his own oxygen-starved lungs. “Don’t you dare do this. You’re the smart one. Don’t die in a sewer.”

A faint green glow pulsed in her throat. He tilted her head and swept the sludge out with trembling fingers, rolling her just enough for the filth to drain. His mind raced, cataloging the gunk coating his hands. Not sewage. Runoff from the Forbidden Zone.

If she didn’t die from cardiac arrest, an infection could finish the job.

5-one thousand...

She risked everything. She lit the fire. She can’t go out like this.

Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in his chest. The freezing slime soaked through his jeans. He wasn’t pressing hard enough. Or was he pressing too hard? He was going to break her ribs.

Screw it.

He pinched her nose, tilted her chin, and leaned down to breathe air into her lungs.

SNAP.

Her eyes flew open.

They weren’t hazy. They weren’t confused. They were wide, dark, and filled with a lethal, laser-focused fury.

She stared at his descending face with an expression that clearly screamed: If your mouth touches mine, I will dismantle you at a cellular level.

Plague froze, hovering inches from her face.

Sludge bubbled past her lips.

She convulsed, rolled onto her side, and retched, coughing up black water and bile. The sound was ragged and wet and absolutely grotesque.

Plague sat back on his heels, his hands hovering uselessly in the air. He let out a hysterical, breathless laugh that bounced off the dark stone walls.

“Oh, thank god,” he wheezed, wiping the toxic slime from his own chin. “I really didn’t want to have to explain to your mom why her little robotics patent manufacturer died in a drainage pipe, and especially not because she was chasing a boy.”

Minjo gasped, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. Water dripped from her choppy bob. She squinted at him through wet lashes, breath hitching between coughs.

“Do not…,” she croaked, “tell my mother about this.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he scoffed. “She’d probably send a drone strike.”

Minjo made a tiny noise that might have been a cough or the ghost of a laugh.

A strangled gasp tore across the chamber. Echo.

Plague looked around the dark, stone shelf where the current had deposited them. They had washed up in a junction where the sewer widened into an overflow catchment.

A few feet away, Kyle Baek, the man who treated joy like a personal insult, was on his knees. He was soaked, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and he was holding Echo.

She was hyperventilating, her hands clawing blindly at Kyle, her eyes squeezed shut as she sobbed, a high, thin sound of pure terror. She was shaking so violently her teeth clicked together audibly.

“I can’t… I can’t breathe… it’s still in my lungs…” she choked out, thrashing as if the water were still pulling her down.

“Hey. Hey, look at me,” Kyle rumbled. His voice was unrecognizable, stripped of its usual venom and replaced by a desperate, rough tenderness.

He didn’t scowl. He didn’t tell her to toughen up. He wrapped his large arms completely around her, pulling her shuddering frame against his chest, rocking her back and forth.

“You’re out,” Kyle whispered, pressing his chin to the top of her wet head. “I got you. I’m not letting go. Just breathe. In… out.”

Echo buried her face in his chest, clutching him like a lifeline. Slowly, the panic attack receded, leaving her limp and trembling in his arms.

Kyle looked up, catching Plague’s wide eyes. His expression was fierce, protective, as if to say, Don’t you dare say a word about this.

Plague nodded solemnly, then scanned the black throat of the tunnel they had just exited. The rope that tied them all together trailed into the dark water.

“Where’s Ghost? And Lisa?”

As if summoned, the safety rope jerked taut.

A hand slapped the slimy stone edge. Then another.

Ghost hauled himself up from the rushing water, his movements heavy but precise. He didn’t climb out immediately. He anchored himself, reached back down, and pulled.

Lisa Liemawr emerged like a drowned rat.

The influencer was gone. Her eyeliner ran in streaks down her face like war paint, and she was coughing violently. She collapsed onto the stone, shivering.

Ghost climbed up after her. He didn’t move away. He knelt beside her, unclipped the safety line, and placed a steadying hand between her shoulder blades. Firm, professional, and anchoring her.

Lisa looked up, her usual manic energy replaced by raw exhaustion. She looked at Ghost, then at the others.

“I…” she coughed, spitting out water. “I officially log out… from physical journalism.”

“Good. We’re all here,” Plague breathed, the adrenaline finally crashing. “We actually made it.”

Ghost unpacked their bundles, casting off his wet clothes. Minjo was already moving. She crawled toward the center of the ledge, where the bioluminescent moss gave off just enough light to be insulting.

“Location,” she demanded, voice rough but commanding. “We need to know where the current dumped us.”

Ghost stood, water streaming from his tactical gear, and tapped his wrist-mount. The stolen chip glowed faintly beneath the cracked casing.

He frowned. Tapped again.

Nothing.

“It’s dead,” Echo whispered. “Zone damping field.”

Plague frowned.

Minjo was blinking hard. Her hands were feeling along the ground. Her posture was wrong.

That was when it clicked.

Her face looked bare.

“Minjo,” Plague said quietly.

“Not now.”

“Your glasses.”

Her hands stopped.

The silence stretched, thin and awful. The sound of rushing water filled it greedily.

“They’re gone,” she said.

The words were small. Almost polite.

Plague’s chest tightened.

“My AR Specs,” she continued, more to herself now. “My second brain. Quad-sealed. Four magnetic redundancies. They weren’t supposed to fail.”

She finally looked up at him. No overlays. No scrolling data. Just her eyes, wide and unshielded.

“Chaos is winning,” she whispered.

Cold dampness crept under their skin, like the tunnel was slowly noticing them.

Water dripped in a slow, patient rhythm.

Kyle sniffed the air. “What the hell is that awful stench?”

Ghost struck a match, lighting an analog brass lantern. He waved the sulfur smoke away.

“Not sewer gas,” Minjo murmured, squinting. “More like death. But also gunsmoke… gasoline…”

Ghost lifted the lantern, the light sweeping a slow arc. What it revealed made their stomachs drop.

It was a crash of two realities.

Part Art Deco sewer, part accident scene from another era.

Pavement over limestone. A bent streetlamp bolted into the underworld like it belonged there.

And a 1929 Ford coupe sat crumpled against it, still dusted in smoke, as if the crash had happened seconds ago. The whole moment looked like it had been plucked out of history and slapped into the sewer’s maintenance corridor.

Dollar bills lay scattered across the stone like dead leaves.

A Tommy gun glinted near the curb.

Plague exhaled, disbelieving. “Please tell me we didn’t just walk onto the set of The Untouchables. If a guy in a black tuxedo pulls a baseball bat, I’m out.”

“I know this,” Echo whispered. She reached down and touched a blood-soaked dollar bill like it might bite her. “We’ve seen this before."

"The Chronal Resonance Viewer…” Minjo nodded, her blurry eyes flicked to the coupe. “The day Monstrum was born.”

Lisa stared at them like they’d all lost their minds. “Excuse me… what?”

Urban legends talk about alligators in the sewer, but a wrecked gangster car from 1929? lol The very cool scene is by Dirty Rat. Wrecked car, bent lightpost, steaming engine, busted headlight, flung bag of money on the ground, Tommy gun, and a newspaper. This is just a wonderful scene. A story in itself. ... I used the Dirty Rat Sewer for the scene too, it was perfect with its Art Deco theme that matched perfectly with the backstory.  ...But let's talk about Ghost's awesome outfit by Voiddrip. He is wearing the Fatpack Bonus, with the open shirt and bonus texture. The armor on the legs and arms are separate ontop of the suit. Corporate Knight Core.   ...Adding a bit of mystery is the Oya fade tattoo by Lilithe. It comes with lots of options, plain and decorative, upper and lower themes.   ....The Lantern is part of the Brassman set from Starlit Endeavor. The lantern projects light, has left and right handed versions, hold aniamtion, and the hud has a wealth of PBR textures.   ...Creating the wet look, I used the Shine appliers from Blaxium wet, with Abyssal's Justice Cybertech with BOM cyber lines. The face wet effect is part of the Lelutka hud. And dripping wet hair is Argrace's Natsume. 

On him, Ghost:

Outfit: VOIDRIP - Obsidian Nightwarden, fatpack bonus [mesh](Midnight Order)(1500L)

Lantern: Starlit Endeavor - Brassman Lantern [mesh](Midnight Order)(600L)

Tattoo: Lilithe - Oya Tattoos set, Lower [BOM](Midnight Order)(350L)

Shine: ABYSSAL - Wet Version Justice Cybertech With 3d Shine [applier][BOM](499L)

Shine: BLAXIUM - Sweaty Body Shine [applier](325L)

Hair: ARGRACE - Natsume [mesh](300L)

Head: LeLUTKA - Logan Evolution [mesh](3990L)

Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

Pose: Poseidon - Ice 3, gacha

Setting:

Car scene: Dirty Rat - The Botched Job [mesh](Midnight Order)(449L)

Scene: Dirty Rat - Sewer [mesh](549L)

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shots, hi-res, midday sky :

 

Midnight Order: GIN AESTHETICA (Escape from Club Apophis, 30)

(click to enlarge)

STORYLINE: Old Seoul looked different from above, like a glowing circuit board designed by a madman and dropped into the dark past.

Romance rested his forehead against the cool, tinted glass of the hovercar. The low, soft rumble of its turbine slipped into his bones. Gangnam slid past in layers of aggressive light and chrome. The streets were cleaner than he remembered, scrubbed of humanity, louder with commerce, hungry for attention. Every surface was a screen; every face on the sidewalk had been polished for an audience that never blinked.

His breath fogged the glass, erasing him. When it thinned, a human face stared back like a ghost from another decade. His hair had gone dark, black as faded ink, longer than it had been minutes ago. Only the tips still clung to pink, like a bad memory refusing to let go. The glamor was not broken. It was exhausted.

He had overextended himself in Kyra’s rescue, enchanting hundreds of Monstrum instead of weak, disposable humans. The cost pressed in now as a dull ache behind his eyes, a weight in his limbs, the city suddenly too loud, too bright, too close.

He had been an idol trainee here. Back when the buildings were shorter. Back when idols still pretended to be human. Back when he believed fame would save him.

It didn’t.

A massive hologram pulsed against the smog-choked skyline.

NEW YEAR. NEW YOU. Designed for the life you deserve.

GIN AESTHETICA™ rose beneath the slogan, pristine and obscene. The headquarters of the monster who had hollowed out his homeland and sold it back, piece by perfect piece.

Romance sighed, fogging the glass again before the climate control erased it.

This was a dangerous game. If his plan was going to work, he needed to pass inspection. He needed a pick-me-up.

He pulled out his halo phone and logged into a burner account.

User: Mira Bio: Club organizer. Devoted fan. Founder of the Romaniacs.

The profile image was perfect. A middle-aged woman with soft cheeks, kind eyes, and a haircut that chose practicality over vanity. Someone you trusted with small complaints and unguarded truths.

Someone safe.

He typed: "Still on for coffee? That café you like, near the giant billboard?"

The reply came almost instantly.

Helga: "Yes, of course. I’m just across the street now. I’m wearing a blue coat."

Romance smiled faintly.

Helga. Loyal. Lonely. Careful with money, careless with hope.

The car descended, settling with a whisper of displaced air and the hum of anti-grav stabilizers.

“We have arrived,” the AI announced, voice empty of anything resembling care.

Romance glanced out through the dark glass. The café glowed warmly at street level. And there she was. Blue coat. Phone in hand. Scanning faces for a friend who didn’t exist.

His reflection stared back at him in the window. Beautiful. Hollow. Ready.

“The things I do for love,” he murmured.

The hermetic seals hissed open. Romance stepped out into the street, his pink hair tips catching city light as it stirred in a breeze that smelled faintly of coffee.

Streetlights kissed the silver embroidery of his formal suit like sparks on cold iron. Burgundy fabric clung and flowed, regal and restless, as if stitched from the memory of applause.

He had taken two steps when sharp heels clicked against cement.

A nurse emerged from the plastic surgery clinic.

Blond. Impeccable. Terrifying.

Her uniform had been reinvented into high-fashion couture. Seams sharp as scalpels. Luminous white fabric cut with authority. A gold serpent brooch pinned at her collar caught the streetlamp glare, its diamond eye unblinking.

Paine. MasterGin’s personal assistant.

“Thank you for coming, Master Romance.”

She bowed deeply. The words carried across the sidewalk, slicing cleanly through the traffic noise.

Helga froze.

She turned, eyes wide. Confusion collapsed into disbelief.

“Did you say… Romance?”

Silence stretched.

Romance glanced from Paine to Helga, pulse skidding. Then he laughed, warm and effortless, the sound of someone who belonged exactly where he stood. He stepped forward, angling his body between the nurse and the woman.

“No,” he said lightly. “The real Romance would be ancient by now, wouldn’t he? I’m just a model," he gestured to the clinic. "A celebrity impersonator. DJ Romance.”

Helga followed the movement. Understanding settled across her face.

“Oh!” Relief bloomed into a smile. “Mira set you up for this, didn’t she? That rascal.”

She laughed, then softened. “You carry his style beautifully. You really do. I always liked him best in the early years. When he sang to rooms, not stadiums.”

Her smile turned wistful. “Before Romance was Romance. You have excellent taste.”

Something sharp flashed behind his eyes and vanished.

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head politely.

She hesitated, cheeks warming, her phone lifting uncertainly. “May I… if it’s not strange… could we take a photo together?”

Romance’s smile deepened. The kind that ruined lives gently.

“Of course,” he purred. “Allow me.”

He took the phone, stepped close, and drew her in with practiced ease. The camera loved him. Loved her more for standing beside him.

She gasped when he showed her the image.

Romance did not release her.

“You know,” he murmured near her ear, voice brushing skin, “we could give your friends something better to talk about. How about a kiss?”

She flushed scarlet, entranced. She shyly offered her cheek.

Romance cupped her chin instead, and drew her in.

Their lips pressed together. A kiss deepened just enough to steal her breath. Her knees weakened before she understood why. The phone flashed again and again. Her life flowed into him. Warm. Bright. Threaded with memory. Her love for the man he had been burned sweetly in his lungs.

Delicious.

A sweet sip to be savored. It hit like a vintage year, bright and reckless. For a fraction of a second, faint blue light bloomed where their mouths met, hidden beneath the camera strobe.

“Enough.”

Paine tore the phone from his hand and deleted the images with surgical precision. Unapproved evidence erased with a click.

Helga swayed, grasping the hovercar for balance. Hands trembling. She looked older all at once. Drained.

Romance exhaled, irritated. A wisp of faint blue smoke curled briefly from his lips. His skin gleamed brighter now. His hair shone. His feral eyes sharpened into smoldering amber. For a moment, the world felt edible again. He could almost believe he was in control. Almost.

He smoothed his cuff. "Do you want a good photoshoot,” he said coolly, “or not?”

Paine snapped her fingers. Two men in lab coats appeared immediately, guiding Helga inside with murmured reassurances. A seat. Water. Monitoring.

Romance watched them go. The fragrance of her life still swirled around him, bright as fruit and just as rotten. For a moment he wanted to run after her, to give something back.

Instead, he swallowed the craving and let it become power. He had to be cold; Paine was watching. If he met her gaze, she might see the desperate animal scratching under the facade.

Her sacrifice will not be wasted, he told himself, the lie tasting like ash. It is fuel for a higher cause.

Mask in place. No guilt. Only resolve.

He shouldered his bag, the one with the devil-horned heart charm, and entered the clinic through doors of quartz and sterile luxury.

Inside, sound vanished into a hush that pressed against the ears. There was no reception desk. No signage.

Glass cases lined the space, displaying garments beneath the Apophis ATELIER mark. Clothing designed not to hide alteration, but to celebrate it.

Jackets cut for shoulders beyond human geometry. Dresses engineered to honor augmentation rather than disguise it. Trousers generous where flesh had been rewritten.

This was not indulgence. This was infrastructure.

“Greenroom,” Paine said sharply, pointing. “Makeup and wardrobe shortly.”

Romance sank into the chair before a smart mirror. The lighting shifted, flattering by force. Micro-corrections flickered across the glass.

ID: Pending.... DJ Romance Acceptable. 27% facial imperfections.

He rolled his eyes. An old ache tugged at his chest. He closed his eyes, breathed, and failed to make the yearning leave.

He pulled out his halo phone. He watched the status dot beside her name until it flickered green again.

Mira: "Hey Helga, did anything exciting happen?"

Her icon lit immediately.

Helga: "Mira OMG you will never believe—"

The phone vanished.

“Pink, cheap, and far past its expiration date.”

Romance froze.

The voice came from behind him, close enough to chill the skin at the nape of his neck.

In the mirror, something pale unfolded into the room.

MasterGin.

Not in a lab coat. He wore a sheer white tunic that clung like fog, open at the throat, draped to frame the sharp line of his collarbone and the cold arrogance of his chest. Gold chains crossed him in deliberate geometry, more jewelry than restraint, each link catching the light like a sinful promise.

He held Romance’s halo phone between two fingers, as if it had offended him personally.

“Bubblegum Relic,” Gin sneered savoring the words.

Then he closed his fist.

Metal shrieked. Glass cracked. The device collapsed like tinfoil, crumpling into a glittering ruin that fell to the floor.

Romance stared at the debris, jaw tight.

MasterGin leaned closer.

In the humming mirror, his smile hovered beside Romance’s reflection, a beautiful predator sharing the frame.

“If you ever feed in front of my clinic again,” Gin said softly, a low, deadly purr, “I will have you recycled into a cheap pink vinyl pressing of the worst music ever recorded. Do I make myself clear?”

Romance kept his gaze on the mirror, locking eyes with MasterGin.

“I wonder what would happen to your empire in Seoul,” Romance said, voice low and controlled, “if the locals learned what really goes on at GIN AESTHETICA™.”

MasterGin leaned in, presence collapsing the space, forcing Romance smaller. Then he straightened abruptly.

“First offense,” Gin said, as if mercy bored him. “You didn’t know the rules. I will allow it.”

A hand slid onto Romance’s shoulder.

Then, without warning, it snapped to his jaw.

MasterGin’s claws hooked under Romance’s chin and yanked his face upward—not toward him, but toward the mirror. Hard.

The chair creaked. Romance’s breath caught. They stared together at the reflection. Two monsters.

Gin tilted Romance’s head left, then right, studying him like an expensive object that had begun to tarnish. His thumb pressed into Romance’s jawline with just enough force to hurt.

“Excellent glow-up,” Gin admitted, the compliment almost an insult. “How much did you take?”

“One year,” Romance said, refusing to flinch. “She won’t miss it. Her last five would have been Alzheimer’s.”

Gin’s eyes narrowed in the mirror.

“You can tell that by looking?”

Romance’s lips curled faintly. Sweet. Poisonous.

“Yes,” he said. “And not just humans.”

Something tightened behind Gin’s gaze. Interest, threat assessment, or both.

He released Romance abruptly, as if bored of the sculpture.

“Feisty,” MasterGin murmured, almost pleased.

He drifted closer behind Romance, close enough that his breath warmed Romance’s neck. In the mirror, their faces aligned, predator and pet.

"Do you know what you are?” he asked softly.

His nails pressed in. A sting. A reminder.

“You are a contagion.”

Romance swallowed. Not fear. Recognition.

“When humans love you,” MasterGin continued, voice velvet over steel, “they do not simply adore. They submit. They volunteer. You make slavery feel like devotion.”

He leaned closer, eyes bright with interest now, almost reverent.

“Proof delivered live on my doorstep. I watched the security feed.”

Romance didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“My kind requires proximity. Physicality.” Gin whispered. “But you... You only need a digital signal.”

Romance met his eyes in the glass, unflinching. “I can turn your brand into a theology. But I need payment.”

MasterGin’s grin widened. “So yes. Your New Year campaign.”

He tapped Romance’s cheekbone, as if testing firmness. “You will pour that curse into the lens until they beg for my scalpel like it is salvation.”

His grip tightened.

“And if you do it perfectly,” he murmured, “I will grant your Kyra an appointment. I will assess what remains of her flesh to see what can be salvaged.”

MasterGin’s eyes narrowed, almost playful.

“Disappoint me… and your one billion won doll stays broken. Forever.”

He extended his hand, the hand that made monsters beautiful and vain humans slaves.

Romance stared at it.

For a moment he saw Kyra as she lay dying. Helpless. Ruined. But beneath the ruin, he saw the outline of forever. Not a victim. Not a doll. A bride. A blade. A beginning.

Then he took the hand.

“Deal.”

MasterGin released him. “You look thin. Bring your best face to the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony. Drink ten years.”

With a sharp click of heels, he sashayed away, his feather-light tunic dissolving into the clinical light.




Midnight Order is open! This round is even larger and packed with all that is dark and awesome. Seriously, look at that image above. Wow. Stunning. It's not to be missed.

On Romance is Pendulum's Illuvion suit. It has lush PBR materials that dazzle. It comes with several texture options. It's an entire outfit including boots. Perfect for formal events, and just being fabulous. Romance's interesting hair change was inspired by the Lorna Hair by Ni.Ju. The wildcard hud includes a texture that is black with pink tips, which gave me the idea that his glamor failed.

On MasterGin, is the stylish 1920s Erte-like gossamer Loana's Gown. The top is semi-transparent. The gown comes in several texture options. Added to his harem-chic is the Justiciar's Livery Chain by Requisition. It's unrigged and has PBR texture hud. From Buffy's is the Galina choker, part of a full outfit with a fit for Legacy Male. From Lex is the Bat of Hell earrings, incase anyone forgets MasterGin is quite a vampire.

On him, DJ Romance:

Suit: PENDULUM - ILLUVION.Suit, Legacy M [mesh](Midnight Order)(1600L)

Hair: NI.JU - Lorna Hair, wildcard [mesh](Midnight Order)(300L)

Tattoos: HISS - PATTERNS FACE ROMANCE [BOM](250L)

Rings: MANDALA - Sinra Rings season-3-HD, Legacy M [mesh]

Brooch: Schelm - 2.Devil Heart Straight Barbell [mesh]

Earring in mirror: RavenBell - Starlit Earrings, Moonlit [mesh](350L)

Hair in mirror: NoMatch - NO_TENDERNESS [mesh]

Head: LeLUTKA - Kane Evolution [mesh](3990L)

Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

On him, MasterGin:

Robe: REBIS - Loane's Gown, Legacy M, white [mesh](Midnight Order)(300L)

Choker: BUFFY'S - Galina Choker - LGM [mesh](Midnight Order)(1333L)

Necklace:  REQUISITION - Justiciar's Livery Chain [mesh](Midnight Order)(350L)

Earring: LEX - Bat of Hell [mesh](Midnight Order)(249L)

Belly Strap, belly ring: Aii - BlackMage, Athletic, Belly Straps, Navel Piercing [mesh]

Claws: L'Emporio&PL - Oblio Vampire Claws male [mesh](350L)

Hair: bonbon - tame hair, naturals [mesh](439L)

Shine: BLAXIUM - Sweaty Body Shine [applier]

Head: LeLUTKA - CAMDEN 4.0 [mesh](3990L)

Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

Pose: 3M - gogogo_A_7

Setting:

Chair: Midwest - Ash Recolor Pack - Armchair Cream [mesh](199L)

House: Fanatik - Sky Tower [mesh] (3800L)

Door PBR: Erfe Design - Medusa Floor PBR  Material, black [PBR]

Room PBR: Erfe Design - Maldives  Marble Material, ivory [PBR]

Chair PBR: ARTSY - Velvet Fabric 0 [PBR]

Skyline: AXON Skybox - Cyberpunk megapolis [mesh](50L)

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shots, hi-res, midday sky :

 

Salvage Station: The Blood Economy (Escape from Club Apophis, 29)

(click to enlarge)

STORYLINE: From their hiding spot in an overturned railway car, Lisa filmed through the cracked lens of her phone, framing the scene like a war correspondent behind enemy lines. Her hands shook, ruining the auto-focus; the camera kept glitching as if it refused to witness this.

It was a grotesque collision of medical theater and decadent luxury. The Master of Ceremonies strutted across the rust-stained stage, cracking jokes to a crowd that shouldn't exist. Below him, the elite of the Forbidden Zone drifted into the plaza like models on a divine runway. Their outfits were pure excess, extravagant silhouettes mixing modern couture with the gleaming opulence.  Every guest styled as if they expected to be worshipped the moment they stepped off their hovercar.

A low, wet chewing sound rose from somewhere in the stands, someone snacking on something that definitely hadn’t come from the buffet tables. Perfume wafted through the air, sweet, expensive, and failed miserably to hide the underlying stench of rot. 

"Welcome, esteemed connoisseurs! Tonight’s vintage comes fresh from the surface, high-adrenaline blood, perfectly seasoned with terror!" The MC gestured to a trembling man with glowing runes on his neck. “Lot 44. Former accountant. High cholesterol, but a rich, buttery finish. Five thousand credits?”

"It's an auction," Kyle realized, his face draining of color. "They're not here to eat the sludge. They're here to eat us."

“Six thousand!” someone bellowed.

“Seven!” chirped another.

Somewhere behind them, something heavy scraped across concrete, slow and deliberate, another monster repositioning for a better view.

When the first auction closed, a hush fell over the crowd. A woman in ritual robes, more elaborate than the hunter Nuns, glided onto the stage. She held tools that gleamed under the harsh lights: silver, precise, terrifying. This wasn’t butchery; it was a medical ceremony.

"Look," Minjo whispered, nudging Lisa. The phone slipped in Lisa’s sweaty palm. "I know that woman. She drugged me at the hospital."

With a motion too fast to track, the woman pricked the arm of the human prize sitting in the chair. A single, perfect line of red flowed down a tube and into a crystal flute lined with gold. A warm draft rolled over them from the stage, carrying the coppery breath of freshly cut veins.  The winner of the bid stepped up, took the glass, and swirled it. He inhaled the bouquet, eyes rolling back in ecstasy, savoring it like a sommelier with a rare vintage.

"Sustainable farming," Plague murmured, horrified. "Why kill the cow when you can milk it?"

Then, movement in the periphery caught Lisa’s eye.

A young man, a fresh arrival still wearing a tattered business suit, broke from the intake line. The rune tattoos on his neck flared with a bio-luminescent warning, but he didn’t stop. He made a desperate beeline for the massive iron gates, which stood open to admit a line of luxury hovercars.

Run, Lisa mouthed, her heart hammering against her ribs. Run.

Beside her, Kyra reached out and squeezed Lisa’s hand, her metal fingers icy. They watched in silent prayer as the man sprinted past the guard post.

"Something's wrong," Lisa whispered, the dread coiling in her stomach. "No one is trying to stop him."

It was true. The Enforcers didn't raise their weapons. They didn't unleash the dogs. They simply watched him go with bored indifference.

"No, stop!" Lisa yelled, the realization hitting her a second too late.

The man crossed the threshold of the Pen. He hit the fog line. He was free.

SCREEECH.

A shadow detached itself from the ruins above the gate. A massive bat, leather wings glistening with oil, swooped down. It didn't strike like a bird; it hit like a falling anvil. Huge talons tore the man in half before he could even scream.

More shapes swarmed from the fog, ghouls and feral things, fighting over the remains. The Enforcers at the gate finally moved, thrusting their electric pikes forward not to capture the man, but to drive the monsters back.

Lisa turned away, bile rising in her throat. She dry-heaved into the dirt.

"They aren't jailers," she choked out, wiping her mouth. "They're bouncers. They aren't keeping us in. They're keeping those things out."

Kyra squeezed her hand tighter, the metal joints creaking. It was rare to see Lisa Liemawr, the queen of spin, truly afraid.

"It's true then," Minjo said, her voice flat, stripped of all scientific skepticism. "They really are vampires."

"And Jihoon," Plague whispered, looking ill. "If the DNA doesn't lie... he's one of them. Maybe he always was."

"Bullshit," Kyle snorted, though his eyes darted nervously toward the shadows.

Ghost didn’t speak. He slashed a sign through the air, and his Halo-gloves flickered to life, spitting out a jittering band of blue text: Escape from below. Only option.

"You're in luck," a smooth voice purred from the dark.

Lisa jumped. Romance stepped out from behind a stack of crates, looking immaculate in his white suit, pink cape, and flashy gold jewelry.

"You happen to know the Zone's best smuggler." He reached into his breast pocket and produced a small data chip emblazoned with a heart and devil horns. "This map is current. I promise." He held it out to Ghost, winking. "If you survive this, I could use a pickpocket with your skills."

Kyra's arm shot out, blocking Romance. "Why? Why do you keep helping us? Why are we treated differently from the others?"

Romance paused. He glanced nervously at the flickering lights of the perimeter. The playful mask slipped, just for a second, revealing something tired underneath.

"Let's just say..." He looked at Kyra's damaged leg, his gaze softening. "I have my reasons."

Ghost stared at the Idol, face unreadable, before snatching the chip and slotting it into his wrist-mount.

Lisa didn't know the silent boy well, but the way his eyes scanned the perimeter gave her hope. "Running water," she blurted out, her reporter brain connecting the dots. "Vampires can't cross it, right? Folklore basics."

Kyra looked at Lisa, puzzled. She knew that tone. That was Lisa's "I have a terrible idea" tone.

Lisa smirked, "We just need a river that leads out of the Zone." 

Romance looked worried. He pointed to the Wellhouse. "Go. Before the wind changes."

Then, in a puff of pink smoke and holographic hearts, he disappeared.

Lisa looked at Kyra, smiled a jagged, terrified smile, and squeezed her hand. "Just like old times, Me and You against the world. We're gonna break this news first."

She raised her phone, hitting record on the auction below once more. If they were going to die, the world was going to see why.

For a moment, it seemed they might slip away unnoticed. Then, the auctioneer’s gavel fell silent. The laughter stopped. Every head in the plaza, hundreds of them, snapped toward their hiding spot.

Panic, cold and sharp, gripped Lisa. What happened?

She looked around. Echo was trembling against the crate wall. A tiny bead of blood bloomed on her lower lip where she had bitten it in fear.

The scent hit the air like a gunshot.

"Fuck," Lisa groaned.

Ghost was already moving. RUN! he signed, gesturing violently toward the stone structure of the Wellhouse.

The students bolted. Mud slicked under their boots as they scrambled toward the heavy wooden doors.

But Kyra wasn't keeping up.

Lisa stopped, skidding in the dirt. Her lifelong friend, the head cheerleader, the girl who could outrun anyone, was dragging her leg. Her heavy cybernetic chassis was sparking, a dead weight.

"Go!" Kyra screamed.

Lisa ran back, grabbing Kyra’s arm. She pulled, but it was like trying to move a statue. Her palms slipped on cold alloy; the weight wrenched her shoulder with a bright, tearing pain. 

"Wild Stock!" someone roared. "Unmarked!" 

The vampires were surging toward them, a wave of silk and fangs. The crowd inhaled as one, a predatory hiss rolling through the arena like a cold wind. 

Lisa looked at the Wellhouse. Even if she dragged Kyra there... the water. Kyra would sink like a stone.

"Fuck," Lisa cursed, tears stinging her eyes as she pulled harder. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She hooked her arms under Kyra’s and felt the deadened weight of steel, an anchor masquerading as a girl.

"Save yourself!" Kyra sobbed, pushing her away. "It's too late! You have to tell them, Lisa! Tell the world!"

"No can do," Lisa panted, refusing to let go.

This was her fault. Kyra had followed her into hell because Lisa wanted a scoop. And now, they were both going to die for it.

Suddenly, a high-pitched feedback whine pierced the air.

The vampires halted, covering their ears. On the stage, Romance had seized the microphone.

"Run, you idiot!" Kyra shoved Lisa hard enough to knock her back.

Lisa stumbled but shook her head.

Romance's sweet voice surged through the air, weaponized perfection impossible to ignore.

     Oooo, in all the ways I am so undeserving, 

     I saw the curse I deserved start reversing. 

     On the first day, I saw your face...

He pointed a manicured finger toward Kyra. Stage tech scrambled to follow his gesture. The spotlight swung wildly across the mud, missing Lisa by inches and landing squarely on the fallen cyborg.

Kyra froze, bathed in the blinding white beam, exposed to a thousand monsters.

"You're the one for me!" Romance sang, his voice amplified by magic. Then he roared, shaking the speakers. "...ONE BILLION WON! FOR THE CYBORG!"

The auctioneer lunged for the mic. "Too much! Her blood is spoiled with oil and lithium! It is worthless!"

"To you!" Romance shoved him back, his voice dripping with arrogant disdain. "But I don't drink the blood. It's her soul I want! One Billion Won! She moves to the Gold VIP section, and no one touches her but me!"

The mob hesitated. They looked at Kyra, smelling the hydraulic fluid leaking from her leg. Tainted. They pulled back, noses wrinkling.

"SOLD!" the Auctioneer shouted, slamming the gavel down in terror.

Romance vanished in a puff of pink smoke and reappeared instantly beside Kyra. He scooped her heavy frame into his arms as if she were made of paper. He looked down at her, smiling like a knight in shining, hot-pink armor.

The rest of the team was already at the Wellhouse, stripping off heavy jackets. Echo was hysterical. But Lisa stood frozen just inside the door, staring through the grate.

Romance turned, carrying Kyra toward the VIP gate. Kyra looked back over his shoulder. Her face was streaked with dirt, and a single tear cut a clean line through the grime.

Lisa gripped the iron bars of the Wellhouse, her knuckles white. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't believe this was goodbye.

BOOM.

The ground quaked. Outside, Hwan was roaring, swinging his massive hammer to hold back the tide of rejects who hadn't accepted the auction result.

"LISA!" Minjo bellowed. "NOW!"

Kyle, the strongest of them, had already splashed into the black water with Echo, Minjo, and their bundled clothes tied to his back.

Lisa wiped her face, smearing the tears into the mud. She grabbed Ghost. "Help me! Quickly!"

The Wellhouse reeked of sulfur and old sins. Grit crunched under her boots, and cold condensation dripped from the ceiling.

Lisa propped the phone against the rusty wall. Her hands shook, not from cold, but from the adrenaline of what she was about to say.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice raw. "One take. No edits. Don't vomit."

She hit record. The battery indicator, fueled by the tiny residual charge, blinked red.

"Hey," she said. No catchy intro. No Dragonlets. "If you're watching this... I'm probably dead. My name is Lisa Liemawr. I’m at The Pen, Sector 4. The Forbidden Zone isn't a quarantine. It's a farm. And we humans? We're the livestock. The government knows. The police know. They're letting it happen."

She held up the soiled teddy bear. "This belonged to a kid. They're all here. Send the army. Send anyone."

She hit Stop.

Ghost moved fast. He raised his hands, halo-gloves buzzing with cursed Zone electricity. Lisa marveled at his speed; his fingers flew across the screen, bypassing security protocols, linking it to one of his own transmitters. He coded the burst: Auto-upload once outside the barrier. Hexa Herald. Police bands. Everyone.

He shoved the phone into the giant, scavenged 2-liter Rad-Cola bottle and stuffed the small teddy bear in around it for padding. He screwed the cap tight and sealed it with a weak electric charge.

He handed it back to her and nodded.

Lisa took the bottle. It felt light. Too light to carry so much weight.

The walls of the Wellhouse vibrated as claws tore at the wood outside, the smell of burnt plastic wafting in the air.

Lisa's hands trembled as she hovered over the water’s edge. The fumes made her eyes water. The tunnel mouth loomed ahead, a black throat swallowing the filth of the camp. "Go home, Teddy," she sniffled. "Tell them all. Tell them the truth."

And she tossed it.

Splash.

The bottle bobbed in the black sludge, spinning slowly as the current caught it, carrying it into the dark throat of the tunnel.

The door splintered. A gray hand reached through.

Ghost grabbed Lisa without another second delay. They were the last two out. He tied the rope around her waist, secured it to himself, and looked at her once.

They jumped.

The plunge crushed her ribs; the black water wrapped around her like cold stone, pressure swallowing her scream before it could break the surface.

On him, Romance:

Headdress: floro - Morvan's Shroud [mesh](Salvage Station)(375L)

Bracelet: ::Static:: Twine Hand Bracelet [mesh](Salvage Station)(295L)

Bottle and shot glass: Ishiku Revenge Vodka Dispenser  [mesh](Salvage Station)(470L)

Earrings: RavenBell Starlit Earrings, Moonlit [mesh](350L)

Hands: {Aii} Demonic Touch - bom/all parts, Legacy M [mesh](800L)

Hair: Dura B137 Light [mesh]

Cape: ANTINATURAL[+] Potestas Capelet / PINK EMBROIDERY [mesh]

Outfit: CURELESS[+] Nepenthes Cassock Skirt / LEGACY M [mesh]

Gauntlets: CURELESS[+] Nepenthes Gauntlets / LEGACY M [mesh]

Bellychain: Tealeaf Treasures TT - Pearl Belly Chain [Legacy M]

Heart Gemstone: RAWR! Diamond Heart Septum [mesh]

Tattoos: HISS PATTERNS FACE ROMANCE [BOM]

Setting:

Wellhouse: Candle & Cauldron C&C - The Wellspring [mesh](Salvage Station)(459L)

BONUS IMAGES: character shots, inworld raw shot, hi-res, midday sky.