The discovery in the bunker shifted the atmosphere from one of cautious relief to cold, dawning horror. The Vulture team wasn't just dead; they had been repurposed. Their bodies were merely the soil for a new, terrible crop.
"What are those things?" Maria asked, her voice a low growl. She took a step toward the pulsing pods, her axe held ready.
"Don't touch them!" Dr. Thorne and Leo said in perfect unison.
Thorne stepped forward, his data-tablet already out, his scientific curiosity overriding his fear. "Extraordinary. It's a form of parasitic reproduction utilizing psychic resonance to sustain the larval state. The host bodies provide the raw biological energy, while the parent creature's ambient fear-field... it acts as an amniotic fluid."
"In English, doc?" Grunt rumbled, his face a mask of disgust. "What are they?"
"They are eggs," Sarah finished grimly, her medical mind grasping the horrifying symbiosis. "And the fear the Night-Stalker generates is what keeps them growing."
The pieces clicked into place for Leo. The Mnemonic Zone around the library wasn't just a hunting ground; it was a massive, city-block-sized incubator. The Night-Stalker was using the ambient dread to fuel the gestation of its young. These pods were just a remote hatchery.
His gaze fell on the pile of pink dust by the vent. The soporific agent. The monster had gassed the room, put the Vultures into a deep, permanent sleep, and then implanted these larval pods. It was an act of silent, efficient, horrifying violation.
"So, we burn them, right?" Maria said, looking at Leo. "Burn the whole bunker."
"Negative," a new voice said. It was Rostova, her voice crackling over Grunt's comms unit, which was patched into the command frequency. She had been monitoring the entire situation. "Those larval specimens are an invaluable research asset. They represent a unique stage in a Class-4 entity's life cycle. You are to secure them for transport."
A wave of protests erupted from the team.
"Commander, you can't be serious!" Sarah argued. "We don't know what they are, what they can do!"
"That is precisely why they must be studied, Doctor," Rostova's cold voice replied. "All knowledge is a weapon. The more we understand our enemy's life cycle, the better we can learn to disrupt it. This is a scientific imperative."
"They're abominations," Grunt snarled. "They should be destroyed." For once, he and Sarah were in perfect agreement.
"Your opinion is noted, Berserker," Rostova said dismissively. "Custodian Miller, your primary mission was to secure medical supplies. You have done so. Your new secondary mission is to secure those specimens. Use your 'specialist' skills to devise a non-destructive containment and transport solution. That is an order." The comm-link went dead.
The team stood in the silent bunker, the soft, rhythmic pulsing of the larval pods the only sound. They were caught in an impossible position, ordered by their commander to bring a nest of nascent horrors back to their home.
"I'm not doing it," Maria stated flatly. "I'll take a jackhammer to this whole place before I help load those things onto the Badger."
Leo held up a hand, calling for silence. His mind was already working. He looked at the pods, at their connection to the wall, at the faint purple haze his [Sense Contamination] skill showed him clinging to them. He understood what Rostova didn't. These things weren't just biological specimens. They were psychic parasites, still tethered, however faintly, to their parent. Moving them would be like transporting unexploded bombs.
But orders were orders. And disobeying a direct command from Rostova was a sure way to end up on the wrong side of The Foundry's wall. He had to find a third option. A janitor's option. A way to follow the letter of the law while completely subverting its spirit.
"We will secure the specimens," Leo said, his voice quiet and firm.
"Leo, no!" Sarah protested.
"We will secure them," he repeated, looking her in the eye. "Rostova ordered us to bring back the 'specimens'. She didn't say they had to be viable."
A slow understanding dawned on Maria's and Grunt's faces.
Leo walked over to one of the pods. It was a crystalline structure, but its surface was porous, almost like coral. He could feel the weak, nascent consciousness inside, a tiny echo of the Night-Stalker's larger malice.
"Thorne," Leo said. "These larvae are sustained by a psychic field, right? If that field were to be… neutralized, what would happen?"
Thorne's eyes lit up with understanding. "Without the resonant psychic energy to sustain their development, their cellular structure would fail. They would suffer a cascading biological collapse. They would effectively… miscarry. But their physical forms would remain intact for a short while. We would be left with a collection of inert, non-viable biological samples."
"Perfect," Leo said. He looked at the others. "We need to perform a psychic abortion."
He had no grand [Deep Clean] ready. He had no reality-warping tools. But he had [Scrub Clean], a skill that was getting stronger with every level, and he had the fundamental principle of his Class.
"Everyone out," he commanded. "Seal the door behind me."
"What are you going to do?" Sarah asked, her voice laced with worry.
"I'm going to do my job," Leo replied, a grim smile on his face. "I'm going to sterilize the nursery."
The team filed out, Grunt giving Leo one last, long, appraising look before pulling the heavy steel door shut, plunging him into darkness, alone with the four pulsing, parasitic eggs.
Leo took a deep breath. He didn't focus on all four pods at once. That would be too much. He focused on the first one. He placed his hand on its crystalline shell. He didn't try to smash it or destroy it. He simply activated his skill, channeling his intent. He imagined pouring a powerful, conceptual bleach into the 'amniotic fluid' of fear that surrounded the larva. He wasn't just scrubbing a surface. He was scrubbing a soul.
He whispered the word. "[Scrub Clean]."
The pod flared with a furious purple light as the tiny creature within fought back, lashing out with waves of infant terror. But against the focused, orderly power of the Janitor, it stood no chance. The purple light sputtered, flickered, and died, replaced by a clean, neutral gray. The soft pulsing stopped.
One down. Three to go. This was going to be a long, dirty clean-up.