Cherubim and Seraphim
A
Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons Multiverse Challenge Story
By
Tiger Jackson
The Angels, all five of them, were dead.
Dead twice over.
The roots of the tragedy had been planted almost three years ago when the Mysteronised Captain Scarlet had kidnapped World President Younger. Captain Blue had tried to save the President when he was trapped, along with his kidnapper, atop the teetering London Car-Vu. Blue had shot the Mysteron, causing him to lose his grip on the structure and fall to his death. But it was too late. Before Captain Blue could reach Younger, the tower had lurched, then broken and fallen to pieces, taking its victim down with it.
After the World President’s death, the flaws in the World Government’s
organization had immediately become apparent. The government was based on
traditional forms, so the World Vice-Presidency was an office of high honour
and relatively little power, used to reward someone who had given long, if
undistinguished, service or to render someone powerless. And, in keeping with
tradition, the vice-president was first-in-line to become World President if
anything should happen to the incumbent. Critics of the system suggested that
element was meant to be a form of insurance against a leader’s assassination,
as few rational people would want to see an unqualified successor in charge of
the world. But the model was not foolproof, they warned, and had failed repeatedly
throughout history on national levels. Nonetheless, the designers of the World
Government had adopted the flawed model, trusting that nothing would ever
happen to its president.
So the inept Augustus Pemberton, the World Vice-President, was poorly
prepared for the responsibilities of his new office. No one, of course, had
ever imagined that he would be called upon to serve as World President. But
when the worst had happened, Pemberton had become the most powerful man on the
planet and commander-in-chief over all the world’s protective forces, including
Spectrum. But Pemberton had not revealed any unexpected gift for command. Not
even some small ability. Worse, he was an egotist who would not acknowledge his
inexperience and shortcomings and rarely sought or accepted advice or input,
preferring to trust in his own judgement.
He didn’t learn from his many mistakes. When the Mysterons had
threatened to destroy the World President within twelve hours, Pemberton had
accepted Spectrum’s offer of protection. But when Spectrum had deciphered the
riddle’s true meaning and tried to send agents to the colossal ship scheduled
to be christened The World President, Pemberton refused to believe he
wasn’t the Mysterons’ intended target. In his mind, he was far more important
than the ship, and if the ship was damaged, it could be repaired. Angered by
Colonel White’s objections and arguments that an attack by the Mysterons would
go far beyond merely damaging the ship, Pemberton exerted his power as
commander-in-chief and ordered Spectrum to stay away from the launch, declaring
that the security force’s presence would cause unnecessary panic. When the ship
was christened with an undiscovered bottle of explosives, the force of the
blast destroyed the ship and damaged structures for a half kilometre around it.
Many important people in the reviewing stand were killed, including the newly
installed World Vice-President and the British Crown’s representative, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward Tracy.
Thousands of spectators suffered injuries. But even that catastrophe had not
convinced Pemberton that Spectrum’s counsel was wise.
The President learned nothing from two more years of attacks by the
Mysterons. And a slight majority of the world’s voters were not convinced that
a change in leadership was called for. By the narrowest of margins, President
Pemberton was elected to his inherited office in 2069. Soon after, his
supporters, anxious to keep the malleable puppet in office and themselves in
hidden positions of power, managed to persuade an increasingly divided World
Legislature to amend the government’s charter and extend the world president’s
term of office from two years to “however long the world’s state of emergency
lasts.”
*********
When Pemberton had first contacted Colonel White and ordered him to send
the Angels, all five of them, to the Air Mach Conference in Chicago, the
Colonel had refused. He knew that Pemberton not only had no true grasp of the
Angels’ role in Spectrum, he didn’t care about it. That they were Spectrum’s
elite pilots, valuable fighters in the War of Nerves, and would serve as
ambassadors for the organisation was only a minor consideration. White was
aware that the President, notorious for his roving eye, wanted the Angels to go
to the Conference because they were beautiful women; Pemberton expected them to
charm the foreign dignitaries who would attend and sway them to support
Pemberton’s goals.
Colonel White had argued against sending his pilots — any of them — to the
Conference to serve in such a degrading capacity. But Pemberton threatened to
relieve White of his command for
disobeying an order from the Supreme Commander-in-Chief and replace him. White
knew that anyone who replaced him would have only political patronage as his or
her chief qualification for leading Spectrum. White had had no real choice but
to yield and give the order for the Angels to attend the Conference.
They were en route to Chicago from Cloudbase when the Mysterons issued
their cryptic threat: ANGELS WILL MEET DEATH IN THE AIR AND BE GROUNDED
FOREVER. THE FALLEN ANGELS WILL GRIEVE MANY.
Spectrum had scrambled to decipher the riddle. The obvious meaning was
that the SPJ carrying the Angels would be attacked while in flight so it made
an emergency landing in Quebec. Captain Ochre suggested that the Mysterons’
message could also apply to bridges that were high in the air, so the Angels
began making their way slowly overland from Montreal, uncomfortably packed with
their luggage into a maximum-security vehicle, hours away from their rendevous
with a mini-submarine that would carry them across Lake Michigan to Chicago.
“The Angels have just left the city, sir.”
“Thank you, lieutenant.” He turned to his four senior officers, seated
on stools before his desk.
“Colonel, now that the Angels are safely on the ground and will be
staying there, how can they be in any more danger?” asked Captain Grey.
“I’m not convinced they were ever the Mysterons’ target,” put in Captain
Scarlet.
Colonel White raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”
“Spectrum Moscow reported a possible sighting of Captain Black in the
heart of the city yesterday. We know that he’s often been spotted near places
that were attacked by the Mysterons.”
“That’s true. So you think the target is somewhere in Moscow?” asked
Captain Blue. “What’s the connection with angels?”
“There’s the Cathedral of St
Michael the Archangel Cathedral in the Kremlin: the Archangelsky for short. Besides
being decorated with frescos featuring angels, it’s a major museum now. And
it’s currently hosting an exhibition of icons featuring angels. The cathedral
is an important site in Russian church and secular history, and an attack would
destroy centuries of irreplaceable religious art and architecture.”
Captain Ochre nodded. “That certainly fits the Mysterons’ promise that
the angels’ fall would ‘grieve many’. But what about meeting ‘death in the
air’?”
“Probably a metaphor for the means of attack,” suggested Grey. “Maybe a
missile of some sort, or a bomb carried by a radio-controlled drone.”
“The cathedral is very vulnerable to such attacks. It stands in the open
with nothing to impede an aerial attack. I’m certain it’s the answer to the
Mysterons’ riddle. They intend to destroy the Archangelsky Cathedral,” declared
Captain Scarlet.
“Lieutenant Green, contact Spectrum Moscow and tell them what Captain Scarlet has deduced. They are to
begin securing the area and presume that Captain Black is in the city. Captain
Scarlet, Captain Blue, you will prepare to leave for Moscow immediately.”
“S.I.G.,” the two captains replied in unison as they rose to leave the
Control Room.
“Captain Ochre, Captain Grey, I want the two of you to proceed to Chicago
and the Air Mach Conference. Double-check the security arrangements.”
“Sir?” Ochre was puzzled.
“I’m confident that Scarlet is right, that the Mysterons will attack the
Archangelsky Cathedral. But the Conference must also be a tempting target to
the Mysterons. We must be prepared for any possibility.”
********
The Angels had been exhausted by the time they reached the Driskill
Hotel, where the Air Mach Conference would begin in the morning. All they wanted
to do was check into their rooms and get some rest before they had to appear at
the Conference’s exclusive VIP breakfast reception. They were shocked when the
hotel’s desk clerk informed them that the hotel had been overbooked and they
would all have to share a room.
“That’s ridiculous!” gasped Symphony. “You can’t pack five of us and all
our bags into one room! We’ve already spent an entire day being treated like
sardines.”
Rhapsody tried to reason with the clerk. “We are here at World
President Pemberton’s request,” she told him. “Can’t you split us up into two
rooms, at least?”
The clerk shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. We haven’t got as much as a
broom closet to spare.”
Symphony snorted in exasperation. “Maybe three of us should try to find
another place to spend the night and take a taxi back here in the morning.”
“I’m afraid you won’t find anything else in Chicago,” said the clerk.
“Everything’s been booked for weeks.”
A tired and cross Melody had had enough. All she wanted was a shower and
a soft chair all to herself. She insisted the clerk call around and find them
other accommodation. He demured, which made Melody even angrier. While she was
arguing with him, she heard a man’s familiar, boisterous laughter.
“It’s all right,” Captain Ochre said, grinning from ear to ear as he
stepped up to the registration desk. “I think they’ve had enough. Give them
their keys.”
The clerk smiled and beckoned to the bellboys, giving them instructions to
start loading the Angels’ luggage and convey it to their rooms. Swiftly, he
produced the keys to five private suites.
“You!” roared Melody. “You set this up!”
Ochre, still grinning, raised his hands in surrender. “It was just a
joke. No need to get so upset about it, Mags!”
Melody stalked up to the dark-yellow-vested captain and stood inches
from his face. “We have been through hell today, Captain,” she
snarled. “We’ve had our lives threatened. Then we had to ride hundreds of miles
in an MSV. Did you know its passenger compartment was meant for only four
people, not six, and there isn’t enough trunk space for five women’s luggage
and helmets? And I just want to forget the ride in the mini-sub. We
couldn’t even get into the hotel without having guards paw through our bags and
check us repeatedly with the Mysteron detector because someone wasn’t
supervising them to see that they handled it right. I am NOT in the mood
to put up with one of your stupid schoolboy pranks.”
Ochre made a futile attempt to rally her good humour. “I suppose this
means a late dinner with me is out of the question?”
Melody turned on her heel and marched away. “Just you wait, Captain
Ochre!” snapped Rhapsody, in a Cockney accent. “Just you wait!” The other four
Angels shot daggers at Ochre before following their comrade.
Ochre released the breath he’d been holding. He recalled that when Liza
Doolittle had said something similar to Professor Higgins, she’d been
visualising a firing squad. “Well, I’m in for it now,” he muttered. “It was
just a joke!”
Despite their exhaustion, none of the Angels slept well in Chicago that
night. Captain Ochre saw Melody walking through the lobby. He started towards
her, hoping to apologise, but she tossed him a cold look that said clearly she
was still furiously angry with him. He decided to leave her alone for now.
At various times during the
night, several Spectrum security agents saw Melody and the other Angels on the
hotel’s ground floor. One female agent noticed that each one was carrying a
handbag. She’d assumed that the handbags contained the sort of personal
articles every woman carries at all times, things that are too bulky to slip
into pockets. While it seemed a bit odd to see the Angels wandering around, none
of the agents felt any concern. The Angels, like everyone else at the hotel,
had been checked with Mysteron detectors when they arrived, and besides they
were Spectrum personnel. If they were restless, they were also harmless. No one
paid particular attention to where the Angels went or what they did that night.
In the morning, all five Angels arrived for the VIP breakfast reception
wearing their Spectrum flight suits. As President Pemberton had instructed,
they were flirtatious and charming. They quickly attached themselves to the
highest-ranking Conference attendees, engaging them in chat and steering them
with their laden plates to tables in the centre of the room.
When the bombs beneath those tables went off, many of the VIPs were among
the first to die.
Spectrum immediately went into action. Some of the security agents set
about effecting an orderly evacuation of the hotel while others went directly
to the aid of victims.
The reception room had been largely destroyed within but its outer walls
were intact. One inner wall, a thin partition that had been used to reduce a
ballroom to a suitable size for the breakfast gathering, had buckled and
warped, although it still stood. Most of the screams and cries came from there,
where the force of the blast had been weakest.
On hearing the blasts, Sergeant Meikko had hurried to be the first on
the scene. He had been disappointed when, on graduating from the Spectrum
academy, he had not been made a colour-coded lieutenant. As a sergeant attached
to Spectrum Security, Meikko had hoped for an opportunity to be present at a
disaster, to show his mettle and win advancement. Now was his chance. He
ordered his team to follow him.
They tried the main door into the Driskill’s ballroom, but discovered it
opened inwards. Sergeant Meikko guessed that the door was blocked by debris; it
took the combined efforts of himself and Corporal Edwards to shove it open
barely enough for one person to slip through. It wasn’t totally dark inside,
but the emergency lighting was weak and diffused.
“I’ll go in with the flashlight, Corporal Edwards. We’ll need more
people with flashlights, first-aid kits, the whole nine yards. Serrante, Jones,
you go with him.”
“Are you sure you should be going in alone?” Edwards asked hesitantly,
as the other security guards started off. “What if there’re terrorists waiting
in there?”
“Don’t question my orders, Corporal,” growled Meikko. He frowned at
Edwards’ retreating back before stepping inside the breakfast room.
Part of the ceiling had fallen in, raising a cloud of chalky dust.
Meikko coughed twice as he futilely tried to wave it away. Even with the
emergency lighting and his torch, he couldn’t see too well. He shone his light
around the room a few times before seeing a table lying against the far wall
begin to move as someone trapped beneath it pushed upward.
“Hey, wait, let me help you!” he shouted
Meikko stumbled gingerly but eagerly over the debris, anxious to make
the first rescue of a survivor. He hoped Edwards would send someone else in
shortly with a powerful torch to witness his heroism. With a grunt, he tipped
the heavy table up and thrust it away, then turned back to see who had been
beneath it. It was one of the Angels; he thought her name was Symphony, although
he wasn’t certain. She tried to stand, but reeled and fell forward, catching
the sergeant around the waist. He caught and held her briefly, trying to steady
her.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” He felt an upwelling of pride
in his ability to use a calm, comforting tone with the undoubtedly frightened
woman.
To his surprise, she pushed him away with an unexpected show of
strength. He had only a few seconds to register that she was holding his gun
and pressing it against his stomach.
“Thank you, Earthman.” Symphony shot Meikko before he could react. The
sound was muffled by his body.
On some level, Meikko knew he was horribly injured. He knew he should
call for help, shout a warning. His lips moved as he tried to speak, but it was
suddenly too much effort. The Angel showed no emotion, not even an academic
interest, as the Spectrum sergeant fell dead.
Rhapsody emerged from the debris as Symphony rolled her victim’s body
out of sight behind a pile of rubble. Together, she and Symphony found Harmony.
Unlike the other two, who had been standing by the buffet against the partition
wall, Harmony had been heading for the door to leave the room and thus been
closer to the tables when the bombs had exploded prematurely. She’d sustained a
compound fracture of her femur and could not stand. Destiny and Melody were
nowhere to be seen.
There was no time to look for the missing Angels. They could hear other
people beyond the partially open doorway. With a nod to Symphony, Rhapsody went
to meet the young grey-and-white clad man forcing his way past the door.
“Meikko! Meikko!” he shouted before the Angel appeared. “Thank God,
you’re alive!” gushed the young Spectrum security guard. “More help is coming.
Captain Grey will be —” He gasped as the Angel seized him around the throat,
cutting off his flow of words and air. She yanked him into the room before
breaking his neck and taking his pistol. Casually, she tossed his body aside
against the far wall, out of sight to the next person who came through the
door. She then slammed it shut and, with Symphony’s help, leaned a table
against it to hold it closed.
Many of the bombing’s survivors had begun moaning or crying weakly for
help. Harmony listened for them and pointed to where they were. The two armed
Angels quickly began methodically killing all the survivors they could locate,
making the most efficient use of every bullet.
Someone hammered on the door. “Meikko! Edwards! What’s going on in
there?” a muffled voice shouted. The hammering became the steady rhythmic
pounding of some heavy object. The door, already weakened by the blast, began
to splinter.
“Take your places, ladies,” said Rhapsody grimly. “They’ll break through
any second.” Harmony carefully arranged herself where she lay near the door,
her obviously injured leg outstretched. Symphony lifted a table and slid behind
it. Rhapsody took cover behind a large section of the fallen ceiling.
The broken table they had propped up to wedge the door shut split and fell
to pieces, throwing up a cloud of dust. A woman clad in the distinctive
grey-and-white of Spectrum security was the first one through the opening this
time.
Before she could look around for her colleagues, Harmony cried out, her
voice filled with pain, “Help us! Please, help us!”
“I’ve found one of the Angels!” the woman called to whoever else was
outside the door and made her way carefully through the dust and debris toward
the Angel. There were no signs of life in any of the other victims she
encountered.
“Please, help me,” moaned Harmony as the rescuer bent over her.
“Easy, now. We’ll get you out. My name’s Corporal Davies.” Davies knelt
to examine Harmony’s leg as the Angel reached up with one hand, accidentally
slicing it on a shard of wood. Davies gently seized Harmony’s wrist.
“Just lie still now, you’ll just hurt yourself more if you keep moving
about,” Davies soothed the injured woman, but her words trailed off as she
stared at the wound, momentarily unable to believe she was seeing it begin to
close and heal. For a long moment, her eyes locked with Harmony’s.
“Mysterons!” Davies shouted. “The Angel’s a Mysteron!”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Harmony’s free hand cutting sideways
towards her neck. Instinctively, she moved but not nearly fast enough. There
was a loud crack; Davies felt her collarbone shatter as time seemed to slow
down. There was no pain at first. I hope someone heard me, she thought
before the excruciating pain began and shock overwhelmed her consciousness.
Her leg almost healed, Harmony rose to her knees and prepared to
dispatch Corporal Davies with another karate blow.
A blue bolt of energy flew in through the door and struck Harmony
squarely in the chest. She screamed horribly before collapsing, smoke rising
from her body.
Still crouched in their hiding places, the two surviving Mysterons
exchanged glances. Spectrum had brought up a Mysteron rifle. Symphony nodded.
Together, the two Angels assumed stances and trained their guns on the doorway.
It was like a foretaste of Armageddon. A Spectrum security guard dived
through the partly open door, his automatic rifle spraying bullets across the
room, forcing the Mysterons to take cover. Another guard followed and another.
The Angels tried to keep the doorway secure, anticipating what was coming, but
the growing number of Spectrum guards kept them pinned down with steady
gunfire. Eventually, Rhapsody fell before the barrage, then Symphony. The
attackers waited a long time, straining to hear the smallest sound of an
enemy’s movements. Eventually, they approached slowly, suspecting a trick, but
there was none. Both of the Angels had sustained multiple wounds, too many for
a human to survive. But they were healing as the Spectrum agents watched,
healing unnaturally rapidly. Rhapsody drew a deep breath and opened her eyes.
“Captain Grey? What happened? What are you doing here?” She sounded
puzzled.
Grey took a step back as Rhapsody sat up. He saw a pistol not far from
her hand. It wouldn’t take much effort on the Angel’s part to grab it. He
raised the Mysteron gun.
Rhapsody gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. Not the one near the
gun, Grey noticed. “Brad, no! You’re making a mistake! Please, don’t kill me!
Don’t kill me!” Her face became a mask of terror and tears spilled out of her
huge, beautiful eyes. She wiped at them with one hand, smearing dust over her
cheeks. “Please, Brad, put the gun down.” She began to shift to a kneeling
position. Her free hand moved over the gun.
Captain Grey had to make a decision. “God forgive me,” he whispered as
he raised the Mysteron gun and fired. He wished he could close his ears against
her dying scream.
“Captain! Behind you!” shouted one of the security guards.
A woman moaned. Grey turned to her. It was Symphony Angel.
“What have you done?” Symphony made an attempt to creep toward her
friend. One hand closed around a broken table leg big enough to wield as a
club.
The club would have been too heavy for the human Symphony, Grey knew.
But he had witnessed the unnatural speed and strength that a Mysteronised woman
could have. Thinking he saw her hand tightening, he raised the Mysteron gun
again. Catching his motion from the side of her eye, Symphony turned her head
towards him. Grey saw her eyes narrow and her mouth twist for a moment before
her face settled into an expression of shock. “But I’m... Tell Adam, I...” A
muscle in her arm jerked. The club shifted slightly.
Grey had no time to decide if Symphony had just flinched or if it was
something else. He fired.
Unlike the other two, Symphony folded up without a sound and lay still.
With the death of the last Mysteron, the Spectrum agents realised how
very quiet the room was. Focussed on destroying the Mysteronised women, they had
been only peripherally aware that they were climbing over and around human
bodies. Now, they were all too conscious of the silence of death. No one felt
anything but empathy for the young sergeant who staggered for the door,
retching. Captain Grey wished he could lift the Mysteron gun off his shoulders
and follow.
A bead of sweat ran down into Grey’s right eye. He blinked and swallowed
hard. He realised that he was shaking and his knuckles had gone white. Grey
loosened his grip on the Mysteron rifle and felt an uncomfortable tingling in
his hands.
His epaulets flashed and his mic lowered. “Go ahead, Ochre.”
“What’s happening in there? Why’s it gotten so quiet?”
“It’s over. We need medics in here and others to help find the wounded.”
Grey reported. He was glad to find that his voice was steady. “Ochre, I don’t
know how, but the Mysterons got to at least three of the Angels. I had to kill
them.”
“Who?”
“Harmony. Symphony. Rhapsody. There’s no sign of the others. I’m sure
they both came in here this morning.”
“I’ll assign Security teams to start hunting for them. I’m going to
check the Angels’ suites.”
“S.I.G.”
While the hunt for survivors got underway in the ground-floor ballroom, Captain
Ochre tapped one of the female lieutenants. “Lieutenant Olive, you’re with me.
You’re going to chaperon me while I barge into ladies’ rooms.” His words were
light but he wasn’t smiling. Olive heard the tension in his voice.
They reached Destiny’s suite first. Using a passkey, Ochre immediately
discovered that the door was locked but unbolted. He opened it cautiously. A
soft, sweet odour of flowers drifted out. No lights were on, but the curtains
had not been drawn and the outer room was flooded with sunlight.
“Destiny!” he shouted. “Destiny! It’s Captain Ochre!”
The captain and the lieutenant strained their ears, but there was no
reply, no sound at all.
“She could be sleeping, sir,” suggested the young lieutenant, trying
hard not to let doubt creep into her voice. “I understand the Angels arrived
late and were very tired.”
“It’s also possible she’s in the shower. Destiny’s famous for being
fashionably late to fancy dos.” The lieutenant glanced at Ochre as he spoke.
She couldn’t hear water running, and she was certain he didn’t either.
“Maybe I should go in alone, sir, just in case. She could be towelling
off.” At a nod from the captain, Olive entered the room, alert to any sound or
movement.
It was a beautifully decorated room but the large fresh-flower
arrangement had for some reason been more or less neatly removed from its vase
and left scattered on the table. Olive hardly glanced at the flowers before
moving to the bedroom door. Standing to one side, she opened it with care and
waited before looking in, then entering. Again, Olive discovered that someone
had maltreated the fresh flowers. But that didn’t matter. She was more
concerned with the blonde woman lying motionless on the bed. Destiny Angel
looked so relaxed, so serene, that Olive first thought she was only deeply
asleep. But on looking closer, she saw the Angel’s waxen pallor, and the slight
sinking of her features that said she had died hours before. She felt for a
pulse anyway and was not surprised to find that Destiny’s skin was cold.
Lieutenant Olive felt her throat tighten. At least the Angel apparently
hadn’t suffered. She could see no signs of trauma. But it was the first time
Olive had seen death up close and the shock was making her dizzy. She tried to
take a deep breath to clear her head. And discovered she couldn’t. The air
seemed too heavy for her lungs to force in and out. Her vision began to swim as
the room spun faster. Turning, she stumbled blindly, groping for the door. She
knocked over a chair and kicked a rubbish basket before she ran up against a
glass wall. Vaguely, she recalled that glass walls were usually sliding doors.
Stretching her arms out, she felt for the edges and ran her hands down along
them. She found a handle and pulled. As it slid open, she lost her balance and
fell through the opening onto a small balcony.
“Olive! What’s wrong in there!” shouted Ochre. “Why are you bashing
about?”
Unable to shout back, Olive activated her radio cap. “Angel . . . dead,”
she gasped. “Can’t . . . breathe . . .don’t . . .come in . . . yet . . . close
. . . door.” She quit speaking as she tried to gulp the fresh, lighter air.
Feeling as if something was slowly squeezing her chest, she forced herself to
consciously think of drawing each breath in and pushing it out again. She could
smell the room’s air flowing out past her as the automatic air-circulation unit
kicked on, and dragged herself out of the stream. Olive concentrated on
breathing the fresh air. The constriction in her lungs seemed to ease as she
did so. Her epaulets flashed ochre.
“Olive, are you all right? Do you need help?”
“Yes, but . . . can wait,” she croaked. “’m on . . . balcony. The room .
. . the air . . .” Her voice failed again.
“Understood. Stay where you are!” Ochre signed off.
Even as he called for a medical team’s assistance, Ochre felt a
tightness in his chest. Neither Destiny nor Melody had been seen in the
wreckage of the breakfast room. He didn’t realise until now what he had hoped,
that their absences meant they had survived, maybe even that they had not been
Mysteronised. But now he knew that even though Destiny had been seen entering
the breakfast room only hours ago, she had never left her suite. Four of the
Angels were dead, then. Only Melody’s status was still uncertain. Ochre pushed
his growing fear aside. He had work to do.
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