The air was thick with static.
Lightning shimmered at Ronnie's fingertips as he stood at the front of Neoterra's Strike Division, a hand-picked unit armored in reinforced exo-gear. Drones hovered in the rafters. Their target had been confirmed.
Inside the decrepit theater, Harlekin waited.
The stage lights flickered on with a screech.
A slow, haunting chuckle echoed through the room.
Harlekin (playfully): "Bravo, Mister Ronnie. Took you long enough…"
Ronnie's fist sparked violently.
Ronnie (commanding): "Harlekin. Surrender. Or I'll rip your soul through your spine."
The clown stepped from the shadows.
His white harlequin outfit was clean and pristine. His mask hung low, two holes glowing red in the dim light. He dragged a bloodied knife across his chest, painting a crooked smile over his heart.
Harlekin (tilting his head): "Funny thing about orders… I stopped taking them the day your golden boy vanished."
Ronnie's eyes flared.
Ronnie (muttering): "Elion…"
Then it happened.
In a blink, the lights shattered. The room was swallowed by abyssal darkness, and with it—chaos.
From the ceiling, walls, and even under their feet, shadow limbs exploded outward, grabbing strike team members and twisting their bodies unnaturally. Screams were cut short by wet cracks.
Harlekin danced between them, his blade flashing, humming with energy.
Each movement was a ballet of madness—elegant, lethal, and insane.
Operative Z (screaming): "He's in the walls! HE'S IN THE—"
A gray hand silenced her, pulling her into the darkness.
Ronnie roared and raised both arms.
With a deafening CRACK, a bolt of pure blue lightning surged through the room, shattering chairs, melting curtains, and striking Harlekin mid-spin.
The clown flew back, slamming into the balcony wall.
Smoke rose from his shoulders.
He laughed.
Harlekin (giddy): "Oooh, that tingled. You are fun, old man!"
Ronnie dashed forward with a burst of lightning speed—not as fast as Manu, but more explosive—and brought his fist down like thunder.
Harlekin vanished in a swirl of black petals.
A whisper tickled Ronnie's ear:
Harlekin (from the shadows): "But if you want him back… You'll need more than sparks and speeches."
The theater erupted as more traps triggered—a final wave of shadowy illusions and glyphs scattering the survivors. Only three of Ronnie's team crawled out alive.
The clown was gone.
The night still hadn't broken.
Harlekin moved like a shadow made flesh, leaping across rooftops, his long coat fluttering behind him like a torn flag. His pace was manic—yet precise.
He was headed to her.
Emilia.
Harlekin (to himself, soft and twisted): "Little fog princess… The Syndicate wants your silence. But I wonder… Will you still scream like you used to when the missions went bad?"
Behind him, a boom echoed across the skyline.
Lightning exploded.
Ronnie was gaining.
Bounding between towers like a living thunderclap, Ronnie's aura surged with focused rage. His coat flared, eyes locked on the trail of smoke and laughter Harlekin left in his wake.
Ronnie (low, growling): "I won't let you leave…"
Ronnie threw his hand forward—a blue bolt of lightning streaked through the sky like a javelin.
Harlekin twisted mid-air, letting the bolt miss by inches, cackling as he tumbled down to a lower rooftop and rolled into the shadows of a derelict warehouse district.
Harlekin (mocking): "You're good, old man. But I know where he really is."
Ronnie's aura cracked the air, a storm building with each step.
Ronnie (shouting): "Where is he!"
Harlekin laughs. He stands on the edge of the building.
Harlekin (laughing): "You have to catch me first!"
He lets himself fall down into the misty depths of the streets. What's left behind? An echoing maniacal laugh.
Ronnie jumps right away.
The sky was a steel-gray canvas, brushed with fading stars.
The hoverjet sat inside the rusted hangar, its panels open, tools scattered around it like shed armor. The group had worked all day—Jack's knuckles covered in oil, Ichiro half-asleep on a toolkit, Lenny passed out holding a datapad, and Henry finally allowing himself to rest.
But Emilia was awake.
She sat on a cracked concrete step just outside, arms resting on her knees, wrapped in a black jacket too large for her. Her eyes stared at the industrial skyline of Neoterra, half-shrouded in fog—or was it hers?
A faint hiss of cold air crawled around her feet.
She hadn't slept. Couldn't.
Not after what Ichiro said.
Not after what Varik had become.
Not after what she used to be.
Her past was a scent the night never stopped carrying.
Then—a sound.
Not footsteps. Laughter.
High-pitched. Twisted. Echoing like broken glass bouncing down a hallway.
Harlekin emerged from the fog like a figure from a child's nightmare.
Harlekin (singing, mock-soft): "Old bones, old debts, old ghosts in the snow… I wonder, Emilia, how deep your fog will go."
Emilia stood, not backing away. Her body tense, fog already curling at her fingertips.
Emilia (coldly): "The Clown, I never thought I would see you with my own two eyes. You came to finish what the Syndicate started."
Harlekin tilted his head.
Harlekin: "No, no. I came because you ran. And running makes shadows curious. They sent me to end you, yes… But I also wanted to see you. The famous Fog Princess of the Underworld."
Emilia clenched her fists.
The fog thickened.
But just as Harlekin stepped forward—CRACK.
A burst of lightning shattered the silence.
He paused. His smile froze.
From a rooftop not far away… stood Ronnie.
His eyes burned with electricity.
Ronnie (shouting): "Clown! Where is my boy!"
Harlekin didn't even flinch. He slowly turned his head toward Ronnie—and gave a mock bow.
Harlekin (grinning): "Ohhh, the thunder himself… Here to collect broken toys or just trying to play hero again?"
Ronnie leapt down, lightning flashing across his hands.
Ronnie: "You're not leaving this district."
Harlekin (whispering, to Emilia): "Isn't this fun? Let's make a mess like the old days."
He disappeared into fog just as Ronnie landed beside Emilia, the ground cracking under his weight.
Ronnie (to Emilia, sternly): "Get back inside the hangar. This isn't over."
Emilia turned back, heart racing—but not out of fear.