Project:Imagine

“Since the only survivor from the Gamma facility is now dead, Bookkeeper, please explain what occurred there,” Alexander requested, his icy blue eyes locking on the enigmatic figure at the far end of the table.

The Bookkeeper leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eye as he stroked the edge of his cloak. “Will I be compensated for this? I don’t recall attending meetings or giving status reports being part of our agreement,” he replied, his tone light, but his intention clear.

Alexander sighed, already anticipating the negotiation to follow. “What do you want, you greedy bastard?”

The Bookkeeper's smile widened. “Oh, I don’t know… how about we keep it simple—an ‘I owe you’ from you, Alexander.” His voice carried an eerie, almost playful undercurrent, like a cat toying with a mouse. The room shifted uneasily at the proposal.

“Absolutely not,” Alexander shot back. “That’s an incredibly dangerous deal to make.” He rubbed his temples, his patience visibly thinning.

The Bookkeeper chuckled, evidently enjoying the tension. “Fine, fine. I’ll settle for something less dramatic. How about you restock the manga section in my library? I’ve run out of new volumes to read. The nonfiction may be infinite, but the fiction section—now that, is a bit lacking.”

Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You’re unbelievable. Fine. Just get on with it.”

The room exhaled as the Bookkeeper began, his usual flair giving way to a more somber tone.

“The Gamma facility, as many of you know, was a prison housing death row inmates,” he explained, his fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air as he spoke, almost as if he were recounting a bedtime story. “It was more than just a prison, though. It served as an experimentation site, where we fused their bodies with alien parasites, augmenting their abilities—creating monsters that skirt the line between human and something far worse.”

Eyes widened across the table. Even the seasoned members of the Council knew little about what truly happened in Gamma’s deepest chambers.

“Only two survivors fully mastered their symbiosis with the parasites,” the Bookkeeper continued. “The first, as you’re well aware, is Frank.” He gestured toward Frank, who grunted but said nothing, his eyes smoldering with a quiet rage. “The second,” the Bookkeeper said, his voice lowering, “is an arsonist by the codename Lovecraft. Before the experiments, he had the gift of pyrokinesis. Now, combined with the parasites he controls, he is a walking inferno—a force of pure destruction. And as of yesterday, he is Nikolai’s new ally.”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. “Nikolai’s new ally?” The tension in his voice was palpable. “How much of a threat are we talking about here?”

“Enough to rival Eliza on a good day,” the Bookkeeper replied smoothly. “Combine fire manipulation with parasitic control, and you’ve got a man capable of turning entire facilities into smoldering ruins, all while commanding an army of mutated parasites.”

“And the other inmates?” Eliza asked, leaning forward despite her weariness.

The Bookkeeper nodded. “The rest of the prisoners housed there were released. While most of them are mentally unstable, they are still dangerous. Fused with parasites but lacking full control, they are unpredictable and deadly, especially when cornered.”

Eliza’s eyes darkened as she processed the gravity of the situation. She was already nursing the wounds from the previous battle, and now, there was a new threat on the horizon—one they hadn’t prepared for. Her severed arm pulsed in phantom pain, reminding her of her own limits.

“I see,” Alexander said, his voice returning to its cold, calculating tone. “Nikolai’s gathered a new force to replace his losses. And now, we’re dealing with a rogue arsonist with parasites and a pack of deranged prisoners on the loose. This complicates things.”

Baal lounged lazily in Jeremiah’s old seat, an air of smug satisfaction radiating from him as he chuckled under his breath. “This is getting interesting. What a colorful little group we’re up against,” he drawled, resting his head on his hand with a gleam of excitement in his sharp, predatory eyes.

The Council remained tense, their attention focused on The Bookkeeper, who had been providing crucial insights. “While they've suffered greater losses than we have, their gains far outweigh ours,” The Bookkeeper explained, his tone as measured and enigmatic as ever. “Their recent acquisitions may very well tip the scales in their favor.”

Celeste’s voice cut through the uneasy murmur. “We need to find their base. We can’t keep letting them ambush us.”

The Bookkeeper sighed, adjusting his glasses with a deliberate slowness that set everyone on edge. “Unfortunately, the location of their base is something I am… not allowed to give you.”

The room fell silent, the tension ratcheting up as they processed his words. Markus leaned forward, scowling. “How is that? Before, you were more than willing to feed us information. Now you're holding back. I’m still pissed about that whole Applecrest debacle. A warning that we’d face Nikolai would’ve been nice.” His voice was a low growl, barely containing his fury.

The Bookkeeper remained unfazed, his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry, but going forward, there will be restrictions.”

Eve narrowed her eyes. “Care to explain why? If our one advantage is being choked off, it’s going to make things difficult for us.”

The Bookkeeper’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “That explanation will require payment. If Wallace agrees, I’ll charge you a second ‘I owe you’”

Wallace groaned, rolling his eyes in frustration. “Yeah, fine. I’m already stuck with you anyway,” he muttered.

“Good,” the Bookkeeper said, his smile deepening. “You see, anything related to the gods, I am forbidden to reveal. The same goes for any warnings about when the Seven Sins will appear.”

Baal perked up at this, a dark glint in his eyes. “For those curious about the Sins,” he began, stretching lazily, “they’re fragments of the original Demon King. If someone manages to combine all seven, the King is revived—or the collector becomes the new Demon King, depending on the circumstances.” He grinned, sharp and menacing, enjoying the look of unease that passed over the Council.

Lazarus, always one to prod deeper, raised a brow. “Is that how you lost your throne as Demon King?”

Baal’s grin widened, though it was tinged with bitterness. “No, no. My successor trapped me in an infinite death loop until I simply gave up. It was… creative.” His tone, though light, carried a shadow of old grudges.

Markus, impatient and clearly still suspicious, pressed on. “So what about the gods is related to Nikolai… and Iris?”

The Bookkeeper tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ah, for that, Wallace will owe me two more ‘I owe you’s.’”

Wallace’s eyes widened in outrage. “What the hell, why me?!”

The Bookkeeper shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You agreed to the first. Will you agree to this?”

Wallace clenched his fists, biting back a string of curses. “Fine… asshole,” he muttered under his breath.

The Bookkeeper chuckled softly before continuing. “Well, I refuse to tell you anything about Iris, so you'll only owe me a third favor. But as for Nikolai…” He paused dramatically, savoring the tension in the air. “Nikolai has a connection with the God of Death and Disorder—Pandora.”

A collective gasp filled the room. The Council had suspected that dark forces were at play, but even they hadn’t anticipated a direct tie to one of the gods.

Eliza’s brow furrowed as she absorbed the revelation. “Pandora… the God of Death and Disorder,” she muttered under her breath. The words felt heavy, like they carried a history she wasn’t ready to confront.

Baal leaned back in his chair, his dark chuckle reverberating through the room as the tension mounted. “Oh, for those curious, the title of Demon King also comes with the lovely bonus of being the God of the Moon and Madness,” he announced, his voice dripping with twisted amusement. His laughter, low and rumbling, sent a palpable shiver through the Council, as if the room itself recoiled at the weight of his words.

Sabrina, her voice hesitant but filled with curiosity, asked the question on everyone's mind. “Why would a god be interested in Nikolai?”

Before anyone else could speak, The Bookkeeper, ever opportunistic, chimed in smoothly, “Wallace, that will cost another ‘I owe you.’”

Wallace groaned, slumping in his chair, his face pale with exasperation. “Please, for the love of all that is sacred, stop asking him questions! I’m drowning in debt here. Fine… I agree, just no more.” His tone was defeated, a man worn down by the relentless toll of The Bookkeeper's deals.

But instead of an answer, The Bookkeeper smiled mischievously, tilting his head. “Kidding. I refuse to answer that one—not because I can’t, but because I choose not to.”

Wallace, now thoroughly broken, slammed his forehead onto the table with a resounding thud. He left it there, defeated, muttering something under his breath as the room erupted into a mix of chuckles and awkward silence.

Jonathan, always pragmatic, turned to Sabrina with a raised brow. “Hey, Sabrina, can’t you just read his mind? That would save us a world of trouble.”

Sabrina, however, merely sighed, a faint, wistful smile on her lips. “I’d love to fulfill your request, but if I tried, I’d cry blood and be driven to the edge of madness,” she replied, staring at Jonathan with an unnerving intensity that made him shift uncomfortably.

Jonathan recoiled slightly, unnerved by her affectionate gaze. “Please don’t look at me like that. And care to explain why reading his mind would do that?”

Sabrina, looking momentarily serious, nodded. “It’s happened before. When I tried looking into the minds of certain members here, like Harvester, the experience physically hurt me. There’s something in their minds—an incomprehensible depth—that nearly broke me.” Her eyes flicked toward Harvester, who remained silent and still.

“So, you’ve been peeking into our minds, then?” Jonathan asked, his tone cold and accusatory.

“No! No, no, I swear I haven’t!” Sabrina protested, her voice pleading as she waved her hands in a panic. “I wouldn’t dare! I promise!”

Jonathan’s eyes darkened, his expression becoming dangerously cold. “Good. Because if you had, I’d have to kill you.”

Sabrina shivered with excitement, her breath quickening as she whispered to Eliza, “Oh, I love that cold look in his eyes. It’s so… thrilling.”

Eliza, leaning back and rolling her eyes, muttered under her breath, “You have issues. Major, major issues.”

Sabrina just giggled, clearly unfazed by the judgment.

“I've been thinking,” Alexander began, his voice calm yet authoritative, “both facilities need greater protection. So, I’m authorizing Markus to have his seals temporarily removed.”

A wave of shock rippled through the Council, eyes widening in disbelief.

“Wait, sir, you can't be serious!” Lazarus blurted out, his usual composure breaking as the tension surged.

“He’s right, that’s insane, sir,” Celeste added, her tone laced with worry, glancing at Markus, who remained stone-faced but visibly tensed at the mention of his seals.

Alexander’s gaze swept the room, unyielding in the face of their protests. “You’re right. It would be insane. That’s why only Wallace will be allowed to unseal him. I’ll provide him the key.” His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, as if daring anyone to challenge him further.

A collective sigh of relief escaped the room as the Council exchanged nervous glances. Wallace was known for his restraint, and if anyone could be trusted with such power, it was him. Yet the mere thought of Markus unleashed was enough to unsettle even the most hardened members.

But before the tension could dissipate, Alexander dropped his second bombshell.

“However, my other suggestion might scare you all,” Alexander continued, leaning back in his chair with unnerving calm. “Frank, I will be providing you with a grade-1 artifact of your choice.”

The room erupted in panic. Fear flashed across the faces of the Council members as their gazes darted between Alexander and Frank, who, for the first time, looked genuinely intrigued.

“Sir, while my brother is one thing—at least his reckless behavior I can manage—but this is too much,” Wallace protested, his voice tight with concern. Even as the council's most level-headed member, he couldn’t hide his alarm at the idea of Frank wielding such a powerful artifact.

“I have to agree,” Frank said casually, but with a twisted grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I fully plan to kill you with it.”

His words sent a chill through the room, the dangerous glint in his eyes making it clear he wasn’t entirely joking. Frank, a volatile force in his own right, being handed something as dangerous as a grade-1 artifact was like giving a match to a pyromaniac in a room full of gasoline.

Alexander, however, remained unfazed. “Trust me, it’s fine. I suggest you choose Mjölnir—it will work well with your abilities, and with the lightning rods you’ve already constructed.”

The mention of Mjölnir was enough to send another wave of shock through the room. The legendary hammer, imbued with the power of immense thunder, was an incredibly powerful artifact. And now it would be in Frank’s hands.

The Council exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether to trust their leader’s judgment or fear the chaos that might unfold. Frank simply chuckled, clearly pleased with the suggestion, his fingers twitching as if already feeling the crackle of lightning at his command.

“Sir,” Wallace began again, his voice softer but no less urgent, “are you certain this is the right course of action?”

“I am,” Alexander said firmly, his eyes locking with Wallace’s, as if daring him to object further.

The room fell silent once more, the tension thick as fog. There was no more room for debate. They all had their orders, and despite their fears, the Council chose to trust their leader. But the unspoken question hung heavy in the air, had Alexander just set something unstoppable in motion?

The conversation shifted, as Celeste, her brow furrowed, finally voiced the question that had been lingering in the background. “Speaking of Nikolai, I’ve been wondering… why did he ever leave A.E.G.I.S? He was a guaranteed council member—a brilliant agent. With all the empty seats we’ve had, he was an obvious choice.”

The room fell quiet, all eyes turning to Jonathan, who exhaled deeply before responding. “I can answer that. He didn’t trust our bosses’ motives during the Invidia raid. His fiancée was killed then, and it left him with a lot of unresolved anger and suspicion. I don’t trust our superiors’ motivations from that time either.

Jonathan’s gaze then turned sharp, locking onto Alexander.

Alexander met his glare without flinching, his expression calm but cold. “Is there something you wish to say, Jonathan? Or is that why you've been going through my files recently?”

The accusation hung in the air like a bomb waiting to detonate. Jonathan’s lips curled into a sneer, his composure fracturing as he leaped onto the table, drawing a of thorn, and rose from the air. The blade pulsed with a dark, crimson energy as he aimed it directly at Alexander, his voice filled with venom.

“Fine. Let’s stop dancing around the issue. How about you explain yourself? You’ve known for a while that I’ve been digging. You’ve had time to come up with excuses. So let’s hear it—start with Project: Dark Sun. Or should I call it by its other name?”

A ripple of shock passed through the room at the mention of Dark Sun, the tension thickening as every member of the Council shifted uncomfortably. Even Baal, usually detached and amused, sat up slightly, his interest piqued.

Alexander’s eyes narrowed, his calm facade cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of irritation. The room felt like it was teetering on the edge of violence, the weight of Jonathan’s accusation threatening to shatter the fragile equilibrium the Council maintained.

The room felt like it was holding its breath, each second ticking by with agonizing slowness as Jonathan's accusation hung heavy in the air. Everyone waited for Alexander's response, but none expected the cold, measured threat that followed.

“Would you believe the lie that I have no idea what you’re talking about, and end it here before things get dangerous for you?” Alexander’s voice was calm, almost too calm, as if daring Jonathan to push him further.

Jonathan smirked, unfazed. “Let me jog your memory. It’s the Reaper replacement project.”

Markus shot up from his seat at the mention of this, his eyes wide with shock. “Sir, what is this about?” His voice was strained, filled with a mix of confusion and growing alarm.

But before anyone could react further, a blur of light sliced through the room, cutting clean across Jonathan’s cheek. Blood flowed freely down his face as he staggered back, barely registering the speed of the attack. Alexander hadn’t even moved from his seat, but the message was clear—he was not to be trifled with.

“I believe I ordered you to stop this,” Alexander's voice sharpened with authority, his gaze fixed on Jonathan. “So stop it. Now.”

Jonathan’s response was immediate. With a defiant roar, he brought his sword of thorn and rose down in a swift, deadly arc aimed straight at Alexander. But the blade shattered on impact as it collided with a shimmering barrier—Alexander’s impenetrable defense. Sparks flew as the force of the strike reverberated through the chamber, the energy between them crackling like a storm ready to break.

A blinding light began to coalesce in Alexander’s hand, the intensity of it enough to make the others shield their eyes. The air grew thick with the oppressive weight of his power, threatening to tear the room apart. But just as the situation reached its breaking point, The Bookkeeper intervened. With a snap of his fingers, a translucent barrier appeared between the two men, halting the clash.

“I believe it was your order for them to stop killing each other, sir,” The Bookkeeper remarked with a hint of dry amusement, his eyes glinting behind his spectacles.

Alexander’s light flickered for a moment before dissipating, though the tension in his posture remained. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, still staring Jonathan down. “If you must know, it’s simply a plan to create someone stronger than Markus. That’s all you need to concern yourself with.”

Markus stiffened at the revelation, the weight of those words hitting him like a punch to the gut. Stronger than him? The thought churned in his mind, but he remained silent, eyes locked on Alexander, searching for answers.

Jonathan, however, wasn’t finished. His voice, though measured, carried a seething fury as he pressed on. “Fine then, tell me this—what is your goal for hunting the sins? What’s the real reason you've been hiding from us? What’s the goal you've been sending us to die for?”

The question reverberated through the room, the accusation slicing through the Council’s lingering uncertainty. Even Baal, who had been lounging lazily in his chair, sat up slightly, intrigued by the sudden shift in conversation.

Alexander’s eyes flicked toward Jonathan, a flash of irritation crossing his face. But his voice remained steady as he answered, “The Sins are the cause of the corruption in our world. Slay them all, and the corruption ends. It’s as simple as that. With each Blood Moon, the corruption spreads further, and soon, there won’t be anything left to save.”

Jonathan stared at him, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “You expect us to keep risking our lives, chasing shadows for some vague promise that slaying the Sins will magically fix everything?”

“It’s the only way,” Alexander replied, his tone cold and resolute. “We don’t have the luxury of doubt anymore.”

Jonathan clenched his jaw, fists tightening around the remnants of his shattered sword. “Fine,” he said, at last, turning on his heel. “Wallace, Markus, let’s go. We have work to do.”

Markus hesitated for a moment, glancing between Jonathan and Alexander before silently following Jonathan out the door. Wallace, however, paused, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he looked back.

“It seems our meeting is over,” The Bookkeeper said smoothly, cutting through the tension. His gaze shifted to Wallace, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “However, Wallace, I will need you to cash in that favor now. Stay here.”

Wallace groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course you do,” he muttered, slumping back into his chair as the others left the room. “I should’ve seen this coming…”

The room settled into a thick, oppressive quiet as the other council members filed out, leaving Wallace alone with the weight of the tension that had simmered throughout the meeting. His mind churned with lingering doubts, questions gnawing at the edges of his composure. He let out a breath as the door clicked shut behind the last of them.

The Bookkeeper moved with a graceful fluidity, gesturing for Wallace to follow him out into the vast, maze-like library. The ancient smell of parchment and ink hung in the air, the towering shelves of books casting long shadows. The library was an endless labyrinth of knowledge, both mundane and forbidden, but tonight it felt more like a cage—one that Wallace was slowly being drawn deeper into.

The Bookkeeper, ever the cryptic figure, wore a faint smile as he took his usual seat behind an ornately carved desk that seemed as ancient as time itself. Wallace stood before him, his arms crossed, his gaze sharp.

“So,” Wallace began, voice low but with a hint of weariness creeping in, “what is it you want?” His tone was measured, but the underlying frustration from the night's revelations was palpable.

The Bookkeeper didn’t respond immediately, instead leafing through a small stack of papers, seemingly in no rush. Wallace’s patience was thin, and the pause only heightened his sense of unease. Finally, the Bookkeeper looked up, his eyes twinkling with something unspoken.

“I want you to bring Iris Blackwell and Alice West here,” the Bookkeeper requested, his voice calm but filled with a gravity that set Wallace on edge.

“Why them?” Wallace's voice was cool, calculated. He wasn't one to be easily manipulated, especially not by the Bookkeeper, whose motives were always shrouded in layers of riddles.

The Bookkeeper’s smile widened, a glint of something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “I have a book for them,” he said softly, his voice laced with a sinister undertone that sent a shiver through Wallace. “Don't worry,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “the debt has already been paid.”