The Windsor Outskirts were rather desolate this dawn. Contrary to the bustling city center holding dozens of facilities and a smattering of pedestrians walking across the blocks, there was an apparent absence of activity throughout the region. It was almost as if travel to and from Windsor had been artificially hampered.

  "Oi, Apollo, that's enough," a man with choppy white hair tugged down his cap and fixed his disguise for a second time, adjusting the clip-on bow tie that clung to his languid neck and stretched over his throat. "Using Dread String any longer might set off potential [Bounded Fields]," His auburn eyes scoured the landscape in search of anyone in the vicinity. Fortunately, all he found were flocks of birds traveling and soaring through the lightless sky in the distance.

  "How are the conditions?" He didn't bother turning around to where his cohorts were as he opted to focus on the barren terrain.

  "All clear," Apollo confirmed with a grunt. "Everyone in a mile's been strung up and pacified."

  "Great. Your arm, by the way, won't be a hindrance, right?" Nemesis asked; whether he actually cared about his subordinate's state wouldn't matter. The concealment of the operation relied on Apollo's ability.

  "3072 elements are tied to my strings right now. Let me die twice over if even a single whisper gets outta here," Apollo spat defiantly, refusing to allow his confidence to waver.

  "Then, Malleus, let's do our part.” his red eyes flickered amidst the blackened dawn as he slipped on a pair of brown contacts, glancing once more at the landscape from their vantage point.

  Malleus approached him leisurely, veiling herself in the visage of an unassuming brunette mail carrier with the cast of an esoteric Wallachian spell.

  And they leaped off the cliff, leaving Apollo behind and accelerating to their destination.

  The two raced along a forest spanning the edge of the outskirts, making several twists and turns before coming into view of their destination—a warehouse complex. Rows upon rows of large, windowless, multi-story buildings surrounded by barbed wire rose before them. Apollo had used his Birthright—Dread String—to offset the traffic of people entering and exiting Windsor. 3072 were being controlled without even realizing it by his to move around in repetition, creating a traffic flow that allowed Nemesis and Malleus to slip through the outskirts without detection. Apollo's strings couldn't extend to reach the warehouse complex, however, as the [Bounded Fields] would surely detect the foreign presence and detect the guards.

  That was precisely why the assassins put on disguises.

  Approaching the complex, they spotted sentries of armed men guarding the gates and stationed on rooftops, monitoring from all angles, keeping their surroundings in their sights, staring into every corner, wary of their surroundings with raised weapons held at the ready. At first glance, it seemed rather "overkill" for so many guards to be present outside a remote warehouse; but it made sense upon realizing that the complex was a telecommunications warehouse. This area functioned as a key reserve system for Windsor while simultaneously being a backup redundant system in case the primary and auxiliary systems failed. In addition, they installed bunkers for guards to rest. This location was crucial for Nemesis' plan, strategically perfect in every way.

  With a parcel clutched in his hand, Nemesis strolled towards the gate, his slight limp adding character to his gait. As he approached the entrance, he waved his arms over his head, demanding the sentry's attention.

  "Halt!" a guard carrying an automatic assault rifle stepped out from a nearby shack near the guardhouse and made his way over to him. "State your business."

  "Ah...well..." Nemesis drawled, maintaining his facade of a distracted and confused young man with no idea of his purpose in the land.

  "Spit it out. You got a package or something?" The guard glared at him, pointing at the parcel with his firearm. It was unusual for anyone aside from assigned couriers, who were alerted beforehand, to enter such a restricted area—especially at the break of dawn.

  "Uh...! Well, y-yeah! S-See, I'm relaying a parcel delivered from Murray Corp in Straiton. You can check the seal if you want. I'm new to this and have to collect a signature..." The disguised assassin responded superbly, his voice laced with fear and anxiety—not that much needed to be embellished for his overall performance. "Oh, yeah, names! My name is Ivan Karalis... Did I already say I'm from Murray Corp?" He laughed nervously, his awkward attempt to lighten the mood coming off as intentionally pitiful.

  "ID." The guard stared at the jittery young man inquisitively. From a cursory inspection, he couldn't see any contradictions in the story—everything fit together perfectly. Nevertheless, a bit of verification was never in vain.

  "O-Of course!" Slowly extracting a small laminated card, Nemesis' fingers trembled as he handed it over to the guard. The man scrutinized the card until he verified its authenticity.

  "Enter, along with the parcel." He practically forced Nemesis to walk with him toward the complex center where a large, square clearing lay.

  "H-hey...um...where are we going? I thought this facility was near the docks..." Nemesis gulped, realizing that many guards with rifles encircled them around the complex clearing.

  "...Did you really think an ID was enough to verify your authenticity?" The guard frowned as he approached Nemesis with a cold stare. "This area receives notices on visitors no less than a month in advance, and nobody has notified us about any sort of parcel coming over from Murray Corporation, much less in Straiton of all places. There are only two answers to this: one, you are a poor infiltrator, or two, this parcel must be so important that it must be delivered without exception. Now, this can all be solved very easily." A callous smile flared along his visage. Then at once, the dozens of guards encircling them aimed their firearms at Nemesis, ready to open fire on his command. Of course, the head guard before the disguised assassin was no exception.

  "Put the parcel on the ground, then open it." He ordered, his eyes lighting up in cruel amusement.

  "U-Um..." Feigning fear, Nemesis placed the parcel on the ground before them. Of course, he had to go embarrassingly on his knees and slowly unwrap it. Underneath the paper wrapping was a brown cardboard box tied together with several strands of tape. Carefully, he cut through each tape, revealing the contents of the package. And it was…

  "What the—"

  "Bang."

  The air ruptured and screeched.

  A flash of orange blasted across the warehouse compound, engulfing it in an expanding incandescent shrapnel sphere. As the initial shockwave dissipated, a trail of smoke and debris rose from the epicenter, scattering across the clearing and disintegrating into the morning air. Proliferating the ground were the mangled and broken bodies of the once-armed guards and even workers strewn across the complex. Somewhat left alive, their moans and groans of agony fell on deaf ears as the culprit emerged unscathed from the blast. Nemesis stood at the center of the explosion, the crater's core, and gazed down at the burning remnants of the parcel that he had prepared. The "parcel" was actually a bomb made from black market material that he'd procured beforehand. Despite the power of the explosive, he barely received a scratch from it.

  "Wh-Wh-Why..." The former gate guard crawled up to the standing "Ivan" and looked at him. "You...were...you..."

  "Did you think I would be affected by my own bomb?" Nemesis cocked his head, and his face twisted in pure delight. "You're free to take a guess, but the answer would never be so simple." He then grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and yanked his head back, allowing him to get a good look at the assassin's face. "But, you know, I've got to thank you for making this easier for us. That was nice, really, really nice," sneering, he threw the man back on the ground.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "[Terra.]"

  As he stomped his foot, the very earth before him and the dozens of men tore apart like a fissure, swallowing them whole until the earth's weight partially muffled their screams. The ground returned to normal as if nothing had ever happened in the first place, as though the bomb had never detonated and no guards ever existed.

  "Oi! You guys are fine! Just get reaaal comfortable down there, will you? Judging by how little I buried you, you won't suffocate until...three more days, tops. I think," he finished with a laugh. "Let's wrap things up, shall we?" he turned to Malleus, who had just recently entered the clearing after the commotion with a coughing fit.

  "W-what the hell, boss?! Why did you use that bomb? It smells like ass!" the auburn witch veiled as a brunette cursed as her eyes teared up. The intense, overwhelming odor of the explosion was a stench she couldn't bear; it was foul, rotten, and reeked of decay. "Ugh! You shouldn't have bought that bomb from those black market scammers!"

  "I'll keep that in mind." Nemesis shrugged, pulling off his disguise and contacts in a swift motion and revealing his natural appearance. "Bombs like that are what my Birthright can continuously handle. I didn't want to use more prana than was necessary. Besides, I'd say that the smell adds to the charm. It's just like you said: it smells like ass."

  "I can't believe you sometimes." Malleus shook her head, deactivating her veiling spell. She glanced around at the carnage surrounding them and sighed. "It's better to just kill them instead of leaving them to suffer underground."

  "Malleus, how would you describe Pandora?"

  "She's one of the strongest Thaumaturges of our generation. A genius who could probably have taken down our entire organization singlehandedly if she hadn't been caught off guard, but now she's just a shell of her former self. Why?" She responded matter-of-factly.

  "Exactly. Dora could have achieved so much more, but her biggest weakness is that she's soft when it matters the most. She's unable to cope with loss and the possibility of such. That's why we'll exploit that," he snickered.

  "...So, what's the plan?"

  Siegfried Eisenberg merely smiled.

  "We'll use all of them as leverage."

  Paperwork, reports, and files swamped the bustling Windsor Investigation Department afternoon. Many officers and investigators scurried about, moving from one cubicle to another. Some were on their phones, some were typing on computational devices, and some were even sleeping on the floor—overworked from their last case. The environment was hectic, to say the least, with the added pressure of handling the recent sighting of the Bloodhounds. Luckily, the news hadn't spread that far, so the IPA had more time to investigate and figure out what was happening.

  Into this maelstrom strode Sirius Trafalgar. His arrival caused a ripple effect through the office—conversations died mid-sentence, fingers froze over keyboards, and every eye tracked the legendary CEO's progress toward the front desk. His presence commanded attention not through intentional intimidation, but through the sheer weight of his reputation.

  "I need to see Pandora Kircheisen immediately. Time is rather precious at the moment."

  The receptionist's fingers trembled slightly as she met his gaze. "High Inquisitor Kircheisen is occupied currently. Perhaps at a more convenient—"

  "I'm afraid convenience isn't a luxury we can afford." Steel now entered his tone, though his expression remained carefully neutral. "This concerns her current investigation. The information I carry could prove critical."

  After a brief telephone consultation that seemed to stretch eternally, Sirius found himself escorted to Pandora's office. She sat behind her desk with her typical calculated casualness as if the department's chaos was a mere fantasy

  "You always know how to make an entrance." Her lips curved in slight amusement as she crossed her legs, golden eyes peering straight at him. "So what's the matter? I don't think I've ever seen you in a rush before."

  "Drop the act, Dora. What game are you playing?" The words emerged sharp as he crossed the space between them, his shadow falling across her desk like an accusation. His tone was laced with frustration and disappointment and his eyes bore into hers with such intensity that would have made her squirm had it been nearly a decade ago.

  "Dora, don't play dumb with me. What are you playing at?" Sirius's brow furrowed, his voice taking on a stern edge as he closed the gap between them—his tall frame casting a shadow over her desk. His tone was laced with frustration and disappointment and his eyes bore into hers with an intensity that would have made her squirm if it had been six years ago.

  "Playing at what? I'm merely weighing my options,” she replied, tone devoid of emotion, but her eyes conveyed a sense of feigned indifference as if she were playing the role of a disinterested spectator watching the events unfold from afar.

  "Twice!" Sirius's palms struck her desk as he leaned forward. "Acacia nearly died twice! You've been using him as bait to draw out Cagliostro and his pet killers. What could possibly justify such a risk? You had options—house arrest, surveillance, protection—yet you left him exposed, waiting for the knife to fall!"

  "And? It worked precisely as intended. Cagliostro took the bait, the Bloodhounds revealed themselves, and we've gained invaluable intelligence about their methods. The operation proceeds exactly as planned."

  Sirius's eyes widened. He simply couldn't fathom how she could justify using a child as bait, let alone a child who had already suffered so much.

  "Consider the alternatives." Pandora leaned forward, refusing to mince words. "How long do you think Windsor's authorities would tolerate a supposed Wallachian refugee under unexplained house arrest? How many questions would arise from constant surveillance? I crafted his cover identity with excruciating care—a displaced youth connected to my adoptive family. Maintaining that fiction required certain risks."

  Her gaze met his unflinching.

  "Every move was measured. Bounded Fields blanket the city, and I have strands of my mercury on him as a contingency. So tell me, Sirius, what would you have done differently?"

  He didn't have a response. He understood her reasoning, but he couldn't bring himself to accept it. The idea of sacrificing a child's safety for the sake of a greater goal was ethically abhorrent, yet he also couldn't argue against her logic.

  But simultaneously…

  "There's more." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper as he studied her face. "There’s another reason you'd risk him as bait, and you’re not telling me. What did Bismarck tell you? What could the Viceroy possibly have said to make you gamble with Acacia's life?"

  A fractional hesitation—so brief most would miss it—crossed Pandora's features. "That information is classified. You understand the necessity of discretion in these matters." Her gaze slid away from his, the first crack in her perfect facade. "I don’t kiss and tell, so let's leave it at that."

  The ginger scratched his head in frustration, searching for flaws in her logic.

  "What about Ocarina?" he ventured. "Even if Cagliostro muzzled the local IPA about his son's murder and Acacia's escape, surely someone would have raised the alarm. One conscience-stricken officer, one witness willing to speak—"

  "And tell what tale? That an Irregular without history, surname, or proper identity somehow escaped execution with aid from the supposed Mercutio—or any other Thaumaturge? The story would die before reaching any authority's ears." She paused, something dark flickering across her features. "Though there was one potential complication."

  "Who?"

  "Jonas Lucius—Gambino Russo's right hand." Detachment masked whatever emotion might have colored her words. "He served two purposes: confirming Gambino's death and verifying Cagliostro's predictable behavioral patterns. He was going to call me sooner or later to inform me of Cagliostro's moves while showing his 'guilt' and 'remorse' for what he and that bastard Gambino did to Acacia. Well, I played along with it—I had to, really—but I had to be sure that he wasn't actually remorseful and rather trying to save his skin. In the end, he just wanted to absolve himself of guilt." Her gaze turned cold and distant.

  "So I fed him hope. I suggested that personal atonement through meeting Acacia in Windsor might cleanse his sins."

  The bespectacled man's blood ran cold.

  "I wonder how Ocarina's IPA, fueled with turmoil and distress, reacted when an 'unknown caller' revealed that Gambino's right-hand man, partially responsible for letting Acacia escape, was wired a suspicious amount of Stella Domina by an 'unknown address' a few days before the execution began, alongside his deceased boss? Add that he would also be leaving that very night. Even if it may sound absurd to a healthy set of officers, a desperate and restless IPA would act on anything at that point. And once they promptly looked at his and Gambino's bank account, with the exact information the unknown caller provided...they called the train station, and there Jonas was, about to get on a train to Windsor."

  She produced a newspaper from her desk drawer, and slid it towards the bespectacled man. The headline screamed its accusation in stark black type:

  FLEEING IPA OFFICER SHOT DEAD AT STATION

  Sirius scanned the article with growing horror.

  Jonas Lucius, 26, killed in a shootout after refusing to surrender. One officer wounded. Investigation ongoing.

  "Dora..." Sirius muttered, utterly disillusioned. "What have you become?"

  She didn't respond immediately, her expression polluted with emotions he couldn't decipher.

  But one thing was certain.

  "I don't leave loose ends, Sirius."

  Swan Song, a rating or comment goes a long way. What do you think of Pandora—monster, mastermind, or something else entirely?