He felt his pulse quicken, seeing and hearing her. He kept it under control. Wasn’t her fault, and getting into a mental mode or state where everything she said or did irritated him wouldn’t help any of them. There were bigger things to focus on.

“We have another,” Larue said, arm extended to point at the screen. “It seems to have cascaded, capturing Contessa, possibly altering her or using her as a vector. Flier on the way with a camera. It looks like the city is breaking down and caving in.”

“Civilians?” Armstrong asked.

“We’re guessing a few thousand, tens of thousands,” Eric said, turning to face the man. “A lot of the stubborn types that wouldn’t leave. Maybe some elderly without connections or people to ensure they evacuated. Stragglers.”

“Let’s see about getting some heroes in there. Start by contacting them. See who’s up for it. This is high-hazard. In the meantime, let’s get all the information we can. Cameras, and let’s talk to our thinkers. This is thinker headache territory, so warn them. Eric, would you reach out to them?”

“Yes sir,” Eric said. He took a seat, opening up the laptop, and pressed his keycard to the corner to unlock it and log himself in. He had an earbud and cord with a microphone attached in his pocket, and he plugged it in.

“What the hell is happening?” Armstrong asked, as he leaned over the end of the table, looking like the furthest thing from an interim leader of a hero organization. A belly, a heavy brow, sharp chin, wrinkled forehead and receding hairline. The lab coat was maybe the only thing about him that suited him.

“It’s Gimel’s apocalypse,” Antares said. “Everything the agents were set up to do after Scion won or rounded up this cycle, they’re doing it now. Cast aside the humans, accumulate raw power, then use that power to blow it all up and cast fragments of themselves in every direction.”

“We interrupted that,” Eric said.

“Technically we did,” Citrine said.

Fuck you, Eric thought.

Antares cut in, “Nobody interrupted anything. We disrupted it. They’re staggering forward instead of doing this in a clean way. Processes conflict, they can’t organize, so they’ll just steal energy and materials from us, wiping us out, then destroy what’s left when they try and probably fail to make a coordinated exit. We threw a wrench in the works, but the machine is still trudging forward, smoking and doing a lot of damage in the meantime.”

“Killed the conductor, but the train is still on its tracks?” Armstrong asked, sounding almost wry. Wry tended to go alongside happy, though. This felt more like gallows humor.

Tens of thousands dead, possibly. Buildings falling.

“We have cameras on Contessa, I think,” Larue said.