Moments later, the entire Crisis Control (C.C) group thoroughly searched the area the Psycho was last seen but it was a fruitless endeavor. The rogue Esper had already escaped from the vicinity. Thankfully, there was no casualties but the environment damage was certainly an issue. However, the more pressing issue was the fact that they had allowed a Level 4 Psycho to escape.
What a headache. Oh, my head hurts so much already.
Blackbird rubbed her throbbing temple. The task agents under the Crisis Containment Agency (CCA) had already arrived on the scene. CCA was a secret organization that detains and controls Shifters. Formerly part of the Global Incident Federation (GIF), it's now led by another organization known as Syndicate, the intelligence department of Dyspar.
In the first place, the scene of the incident was located somewhere within the West District of Dyspar, the modern industrial and entertainment district. More precisely, it was a labyrinthine cluster of narrow alleyways, shipping yards, and aging warehouses that had long since been repurposed into a patchwork of neon-lit clubs, electronics markets, and clandestine workshops. The air was thick with the smell of oil, burnt wiring, and the faint tang of ozone, a residual testament to the Psycho's reckless display of psychokinetic force. Rusted shipping containers leaned at odd angles along cracked asphalt with their corrugated surfaces dented and scorched by falling debris. The concrete walls lining the alleyways were marred with scorched streaks, gouges, and splintered masonry, and several street lamps lay broken, their once-bright LEDs flickering weakly, casting erratic shadows across the debris-strewn ground.
She surveyed the scene with the practiced detachment of someone who had seen countless crises, though this one gnawed at the edges of her composure. Small fires burned at the edges of overturned crates, sending tendrils of smoke curling into the night sky. Broken shards of glass glittered in the pale moonlight, interspersed with pools of water reflecting the jagged neon of billboards overhead.
CCA agents moved methodically through the wreckage, wearing exoskeletal harnesses and tactical visors that glinted under the fractured neon lights. They cataloged structural damage, taking note of reinforced steel beams warped by unseen forces and machinery mangled beyond recognition. Drone units hovered above, scanning the area with infrared and electromagnetic sensors, picking up the faint residual traces of the Psycho's unusual energy signature. Each agent communicated in clipped bursts over encrypted channels, updating Blackbird on structural hazards, potential civilian presence, along withsome anomalous readings.
"..."
Eventually, Blackbird noticed something and turned her head.
A group of CCA operatives arrived shortly afterward, clad in dark uniforms with the Syndicate insignia embroidered in subtle crimson thread. Their expressions were carefully neutral, but the tension in their shoulders betrayed the urgency of the situation. They carried specialized containment equipment, including electromagnetic dampening fields and portable energy restraints designed to neutralize Shifters' abilities.
With a forced smile, the leader of Crisis Control approached them.
"How strange. It's rare for the Syndicate to make an appearance. Not that I'm not happy to see you or anything like that but this old me already have the situation under control."
One of them, who she assumed was the leader of the group, stepped forward. He was a tall young man, his dirty blonde hair slicked back neatly, and he wore black sunglasses for some reason, even at this late hour.
He cleared his throat before speaking.
"Good evening, Officer Blackbird. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Christopher Pryce, and I lead this division. We were sent by the Chief of the CCA herself."
"You were sent by the Chief?"
"Yes, that is correct."
So they were sent here by that woman? Blackbird thought to herself, frowning while deep in thought.
The 10th Chief of the Crisis Containment Agency.
She went by the codename Nightingale.
No one knew her true name or origins. The only thing anyone knew was that she was the overall commander of the secret organization responsible for monitoring individuals who developed abnormal brain activity and as a result, acquired Esper-like Abilities. Even Crisis Control was just a sub-branch of the Crisis Containment Agency, established two years ago with her at the helm, leading a team of quite unique Shifters.
In other words, the Chief was practically Blackbird's superior as well. But the question was why had Syndicate come here under her command?
Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around, or was something else at play that she hadn't yet realized?
Before Blackbird could speak, Christopher intervened, stopping her mid-motion.
"Please, don't be alarmed. We are not here to interfere with your operations. I trust you have everything under control. Somewhat… at least," his tone betrayed a lack of conviction, as if he already knew more than he let on. He glanced around briefly, surveying the scene with casual detachment before continuing. "Can we speak somewhere private? The matter I wish to discuss is rather sensitive."
"Ah," Blackbird murmured, a hint of understanding in her voice.
"Fine. There's a safe room not far from here. Follow me."
Christopher nodded and gestured for his team to fall in behind him.
The path to the safe room led them through a narrow corridor, flanked by the skeletal remains of warehouses and shattered glass that crunched underfoot. Neon signs flickered overhead, their fractured glow reflecting off the puddles of water and scattered debris. Finally, they reached the reinforced steel door marked with a discreet insignia: C.C Secure Facility – Restricted Access. Blackbird keyed in a passcode, and the door slid open with a soft hiss. Inside, the room was sparsely furnished: a long table, several chairs, and a bank of monitors displaying satellite feeds, structural schematics, and energy readings from the surrounding area.
"Take a seat," Blackbird motioned toward the chairs. She remained standing with a rigid posture, her eyes never leaving Christopher.
He settled into a chair opposite her, folding his hands calmly on the table. "Thank you. I'll get straight to the point. The Psycho you encountered today isn't just another rogue Esper. He's part of something far larger, something the Chief has been tracking for months. We believe he may be linked to an underground network of enhanced individuals, those whose abilities far exceed what normal Esper training can produce."
Blackbird's brow furrowed. "You're saying he's not acting alone?"
Christopher's expression was unflinching. "Not entirely. At the very least, he's being guided. Or at the most, he's an initial test subject for something much more dangerous. Worst case scenario, he's a unique type of psycho that possesses an absurd fast development. The Chief wants us to assess the situation carefully before it escalates."
"And the Syndicate's presence here… that's why you were sent directly under her command?"
"Yes. The Chief considers this incident critical. She wanted someone who can operate independently, someone she can trust implicitly. That's why we're here: to capture and contain the Psycho, gather intel, and ensure the situation doesn't spiral out of control. You, Blackbird, are pivotal to that effort."
Blackbird's eyes narrowed, the corner of her mouth twitching in a brief, almost imperceptible smile.
"Pivotal, huh? So I'm the bait and you're here to clean up the mess if things go south?"
Christopher's lips twitched in a subtle acknowledgment.
"Think of it as mutual benefit. You've already engaged him, so you know the immediate threat better than any of us. We handle the bigger picture."
The sound of distant sirens and the faint hum of drones outside reminded her just how fragile control over the area truly was. She leaned back slightly, her gaze settling on the monitors.
A few moments passed before Blackbird shrugged and casually popped a lollipop into her mouth.
"Guess that can't be helped. More hands will probably be useful anyway. Though I already know how you operate, and you might not be directly involved in handling Psychos on the front lines, any kind of support is still support. But that's not the whole reason you're here. There's something else you want to say, isn't there? And I'm guessing it's important, otherwise, you wouldn't have worried about outsiders eavesdropping on our little conversation." She paused briefly, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "So… how did I do? Was my analysis good or bad? C'mon, don't leave a girl hanging. That's not very nice~"
Christopher regarded her with a complicated expression before letting out a resigned sigh.
"Your reputation truly precedes you."
Her smile widened slightly, and she tilted her head playfully. "Oh, is that so? I didn't know I was that popular. What kind of things do you hear about me?"
"I hear both the good and the bad. You should already be aware of them," he replied evenly.
Blackbird grimaced. "Perhaps you're right there. In any case, what is it that you want to show me?"
Christopher paused for a moment before signaling one of his men to hand him a folder. He rifled through the documents, then slid one forward across the table toward Blackbird.
She picked it up, scanning the contents, and raised an eyebrow. "Okay… what exactly am I supposed to be looking at here?"
"Have you ever heard of a Singularity Effect?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"Well, you're looking at the aftermath of a Singularity Effect."
"I don't understand. There's nothing there."
"Exactly. That was a former city in Russia called Saint Petersburg, with a total population of approximately 5,652,922 people. Now it's nothing but a giant wasteland, with only one tenth of that population emerging as survivors after a Shifter lost control and transformed into a Plague. Luckily, they were only a Level 4. If they had been any higher, the damage would have been far worse."
"…"
Blackbird fell silent. The document in her hands displayed a photograph devoid of landmarks or recognizable structures. There was no skyline, ruins, fire or smoke. It was just a vast, colorless expanse stretching to the horizon, the ground scorched into smooth, uneven plains as if reality itself had been scrubbed clean. The edges of the image blurred slightly, warped by residual distortion that even the camera had failed to fully capture.
It was not destruction in the conventional sense.
It was complete erasure.
And this was only done by a Level 4 Shifter? Not a Level 5?
Studying her dumbfounded reaction, Christopher decided an explanation was necessary.
"As you already know, every Shifter develops a form of abnormality within their brain. What most people don't know is that this abnormality is measured in stages." He raised three fingers calmly. "The first stage is 'Esper.' At this level, the individual manifests one of the three power categories and retains full cognitive stability."
He lowered one finger.
"The second stage is 'Psycho.' At that point, the abnormality has progressed far enough to disrupt emotional regulation and impulse control. Aggression spikes. Empathy degrades. In exchange, their abilities grow stronger and more volatile."
Upon lowering the other finger, his expression hardened.
"And then there is the third and final stage. 'Plague.'"
The word alone felt heavy.
"At this stage, the individual's mental state collapses exponentially. Identity fragments. Reason ceases to function as an anchor. Their Absolute Resonance Field no longer remains bound to their body. It expands. Violently. Unrestrained. The AR Field floods outward, overriding the surrounding environment instead of diffusing into it. Matter, energy, and local reality structures are forced to resonate with the Shifter's Imaginary World." He paused, letting the weight of it settle. "When that happens, the field condenses into what we classify as White Stars."
Blackbird blinked several times and raised a hand.
"Wait. Hold on... you completely lost me. What do you mean their A.R Fields turn into White Stars?"
Christopher let out a sigh as though already expecting such a question. He leaned back slightly, folding his hands together as if organizing his thoughts.
"Think of a White Star as the end state of an Absolute Resonance Field that has lost its host. Under normal circumstances, a Shifter's AR Field is the invisible energy that they unconsciously emit from their bodies. Similar to how living beings radiate body heat, this energy emanates from the Shifter's body into their surroundings and forms a diffusion field around them. Additionally, it resonates with other diffusion field of Shifters in close proximity. In other words, an A.R Field basically behaves like a pressure gradient. It leaks outward, interferes with nearby Imaginary Worlds, then dissipates harmlessly into the background resonance."
He tapped the document lightly with one finger.
"A Plague breaks that rule."
Blackbird remained silent, completely fixed on him.
"When a Shifter reaches the Plague stage, their cognitive abnormality no longer merely generates resonance. It becomes a self-reinforcing system. Their brain stops regulating output and instead acts as a catalyst, forcing their Imaginary World to overwrite baseline reality." Christopher paused briefly before continuing.
"At first, the Absolute Resonance Field expands like a shockwave. But expansion is not the true danger."
"What is, then?" Blackbird asked quietly.
"Compression."
He gestured toward the image again.
"As the Plague's identity fragments, their Personal World loses coherence. Contradictory rules, emotions, and concepts collapse inward. The AR Field follows suit. It stops spreading and begins to fold back onto itself, dragging everything it has overwritten along with it."
Blackbird felt a chill creep up her spine.
"That compression creates a resonance singularity. Not a gravitational one, but a cognitive and electromagnetic convergence point. We call the result a White Star."
She frowned. "Why that name?"
"Because from a distance, that is exactly what it resembles. A blinding, uniform emission of energy with no distinguishable structure, shadows or even texture. Just pure resonance output."
He spoke more slowly now.
"A White Star is not an explosion. It does not burn or shatter things. It forces everything within its effective radius to resonate at the same frequency as the Plague's collapsed Personal Reality. Matter loses definition. Information loses distinction. Eventually, reality fails to differentiate between what should exist and what should not."
"So you're saying Saint Petersburg was erazed by forced synchronization."
"Correct."
"What about the survivors?"
"They were outside the final compression zone. Far enough away that the AR Field weakened before full convergence. Even so, most suffered irreversible neurological damage like memory loss, reality disassociation and even mutations. Many never recovered."
Silence filled the room.
Blackbird exhaled slowly. "And this happened because a Level 4 lost control."
Christopher nodded grimly.
"Yes. Level classifications measure output under stable conditions. Plague stages ignore stability entirely. Once the Absolute Resonance Field decouples from the host, raw level becomes secondary to resonance density."
He met her gaze directly.
"That is why the Chief intervenes personally whenever Plague indicators appear. A single unchecked Psycho can become a city-ending event."
Blackbird leaned back with the lollipop casually forgotten between her fingers. It was as though it had suddenly lost its sweetness.
"And the rogue Psycho we fought today. He's already heading in that direction?"
Christopher shook his head.
"No. Not him. His rate of development is certainly alarming, I won't deny that. But he isn't our primary concern."
Blackbird's gaze sharpened.
"What? Then...who?"
"I'm referring to someone else," Christopher continued, his voice lowering by a fraction. "An individual with the potential to become a Plague far more catastrophic than the one that erased Saint Petersburg from the world map."
He reached into his coat, withdrew another folder, and slid it across the table toward her with deliberate care.
"Special Grade Abnormality: ANGEL," he said. "A walking disaster that awakened eight years ago."