— Flash News Report: LIVE from Pasay City —
TV News Anchor (female, composed but visibly shaken):
"Good evening, this is MJ Herrera reporting for Channel 9 News.
We break into tonight’s programming with an alarming situation unfolding in Pasay City, where a growing number of residents are being rushed to hospitals due to what officials are now calling an ’unknown critical illness’."
Cut to on-site footage:
An ambulance arriving with sirens blaring. For the correct order please visit
Several people vomiting blood into plastic bags.
A nurse is seen restraining a screaming man clutching his stomach.
dical staff in hazmat suits escorting children and adults alike.
News Anchor continues:
"Initial symptoms include intense body aches, high fever, and sudden episodes of vomiting blood.
Within just a few days, patients begin to experience organ failure and an unstoppable progression toward death, with no known cure or effective treatnt so far.
The Departnt of Health has yet to confirm whether this is viral or chemical in origin. However, locals are being advised to stay indoors, report any symptoms imdiately, and avoid close contact with suspected individuals."
On-screen alert banner flashes:
"⚠️ ERGENCY NOTICE: UNKNOWN DEADLY OUTBREAK — Avoid Pasay Area"
---
— Alfie and Loren’s Condo: Reaction Scene —
The TV’s chilling broadcast bathed the living room in a bluish flicker.
Both of them stared blankly at the screen.
Loren slowly set her mug down with trembling hands. "Vomiting blood...?"
Alfie’s eyes narrowed. "No cure... and people dying after just days."
He grabbed the remote and lowered the volu, but the disturbing imagery had already seared itself into their minds.
Loren glanced at him, her voice low. "Do you think... that this has sothing to do with us? Or with—"
"I don’t know," Alfie cut in, rubbing his temples. "But this doesn’t feel random. Not at all."
She looked away, her hand resting over her chest. "Do you think Kevin knows anything about this?"
Alfie didn’t answer. He stood up and walked toward the window, peering out into the quiet cityscape, now laced with paranoia and dread.
A mont of silence passed.
Then Alfie muttered under his breath:
"Whatever this is... it’s not natural."
— Location: Underground Facility, Unknown Coordinates —
Status: Classified / Level 7 Security Clearance Required
The dim hum of fluorescent lights buzzed above Damon’s head as he slowly regained consciousness. His arms were restrained—tal cuffs clamped tightly around his wrists, with strange glowing seals etched into the cold steel.
Across the room, Phoebe lay on a narrow dical cot, also restrained, a tube running into her arm and various electrodes stuck to her temples and chest.
"Phoebe..." Damon’s voice cracked, raw from whatever gas had rendered them unconscious.
She stirred groggily, blinking several tis. "Where... are we?" Her voice was weak. "What happened?"
Before Damon could answer, the loud hiss of hydraulics echoed through the room. A heavy steel door slid open. In walked a man in a white coat, flanked by two heavily ard guards in matte-black armor, their helts expressionless.
The man, balding with thin-rimd glasses, looked more intrigued than sympathetic. He held a clipboard but spoke with the tone of a man used to giving orders.
"Subject D.A. and Subject P.M., welco to Facility 9.
You’ve both caused quite a stir aboveground. But down here, you’re just data."
Damon clenched his fists. "Who the hell are you?"
"That doesn’t matter," the man replied calmly. "What matters is what you are. Arcanas. Anomalies. Subjects of national interest. Your kind has been running loose for far too long."
Phoebe tried to sit up but winced—the restraints didn’t allow movent. "You can’t just keep us here—!"
"You’re already here," he interrupted coldly. "And we intend to learn everything."
He turned and motioned toward a glass observation window above. Several people in suits stood watching. So wore military uniforms. Others, senators. A few had the aura of scientists, but with a disturbing hunger in their eyes.
---
— Inside the Control Room —
Monitors flickered with bio-scans, neurological activity charts, and arcane energy readings.
A female technician leaned in and whispered to the lead researcher:
"Sir, Subject D.A.’s energy patterns are completely off the charts. We’re reading surges even while sedated."
The man in the coat nodded. "Begin Phase 1 of the extraction protocol."
---
— Back Inside the Cell —
Damon and Phoebe’s restraints glowed brighter. Damon’s body tensed involuntarily, his breathing rapid.
Phoebe scread. "What are you doing to him?!"
"Activating response trics," the voice from the speaker said.
"We’ll start with the Fool’s Card signature and move up from there."
Suddenly, a beam of blue light erged from the ceiling and scanned Damon’s chest. His tarot mark pulsed faintly beneath his shirt.
Pain shot through his body like fire.
"Nghhh—stop!" Damon growled, teeth gritted.
Phoebe began to panic, calling out his na again and again—but her cries were ignored.
---
— anwhile, Outside the Observation Glass —
One Big person leaned toward a colleague. "If we can recreate this power and control it... we won’t need foreign weapons anymore. We’ll make our own gods."
Another man in a general’s uniform smirked. "Let’s hope he survives the extraction process."
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