Chapter 134: Panic!!!

USA, White House

The newsrooms had been running on a single loop all day. On every channel the same headline crawled along the bottom: ATROPOS DEADLINE — HOURS LEFT. The anchor’s voice came through bright and brittle.

“The Atropos deadline approaches. Only a few hours remain. What will the governments do? Is Atropos really capable of killing people with a single word?” she asked, leaning into the camera. Clips rolled behind her: the masked figure smiling into the lens, frozen frames of the prison feeds, the headlines flashing like sparks.

Clerics and pundits filled the next segment. One religious leader, speaking with the fervor of someone trying to tame panic, called her a demon. Another pleaded for prayer and calm. Social feeds overflowed with conspiracy, with prayers, with people yelling for answers. The studio cut to crowds outside embassies, to markets where shoppers kept looking up as if the sky might fall.

“What is the truth?” the anchor said, voice softer now. “We will know in a while.”

She closed the folder. The screen in the Oval Office went dark.

“Mr. President, it’s time for the meeting,” the secretary said.

The conference room glowed. The long table sat beneath the big screen, and the world filled the wall in neat boxes: heads of state, prime ministers, defense ministers, each with their flags and emblems. The mood was taut. People in the boxes looked like men holding their breath.

“Before we come to any point,” the NATO representative began, “let me share the investigation details.”

He clicked, and a sequence of slides filled the screen. “Autopsies found a rare compound in the victims’ organs,” he said. “It appears to dilute after it performs its effect, which delayed detection. That raised the first question: how did the compound get into their systems?”

The virtual room leaned in.

“We tested everyone in the facility who was not harmed,” he continued. “The surprising fact: everyone there carried traces of the same compound.”

A murmur rose across the video grid. One leader’s face went pale. “Then how are they alive until now?” someone asked.

The NATO man switched the slide. A magnified image filled the screen: what looked like the body of a common housefly, but up close it was wrong. Tiny seams, an exposed battery compartment, engineering where nature should have been.

“This was recovered in a cell,” he said. “It is an artificial device, a robotic fly. Its battery was dead when found. At first glance, inert. But when the fly was taken to the lab and a scientist replaced the battery to run diagnostics, the scientist collapsed and died in the same way the prisoners did.”

The room hummed with whispers. “So they were bitten?” one leader asked.

“Not exactly.” The representative’s tone stayed even. “Our tests show the fly did not inject or secrete the compound in a conventional sense. The Scientist was tested after samples showed the compound in his system. The fly appears to have triggered a compound already present in the host.”

A cold quiet settled. People scrolled through the slides: chromatography results, tissue samples, the tiny metal carcass of the device.

“How widespread is it?” another voice demanded.

The representative brought up global sampling maps. Points lit up across continents. “NATO collected samples worldwide. Preliminary analysis suggests a significant portion of the population carries traces of this compound. Current estimates put it above fifty percent of tested samples.”

The President’s face hardened. He looked at the map, then at the other leaders. “We were tested as well,” he said. “Yesterday.”

“Yes, sir,” the representative replied. “Samples from several government offices were positive. The White House provided a sample yesterday that tested positive.”

The noise rose to near panic. Phones lit up in the conference room. Some leaders pressed their hands to their mouths. “If the compound is already present in people,” one minister said, “then activation could happen anywhere, at any time.”

“We do not yet understand the activation mechanism,” the NATO representative said. “The fly is one activator. It appears to trigger the compound already dormant in a host. Crucially, the fly does not transmit the compound itself. Tests indicate the agent can be present in air and water samples. It can be carried in a body before any outward signs. We are treating it as an engineered virus with a trigger-dependent activation.”

Whispers turned into a low chorus of urgent questions. “How did this spread? Is it in our water supplies? Can filtration remove it? Can we test everyone quickly enough?”

One of the leaders finally broke the silence, his voice sharp and nervous. “So what if we stay behind closed doors? Keep away from insects, from flies—would that keep us safe?”

The NATO representative shook his head. “That won’t do. Atropos used the flies because she wanted to target individuals at that time. Those devices emit specific frequencies that activate the compound. But if she doesn’t want to choose targets… she could trigger mass activation with another kind of machine. She could kill everyone at once.”

The words dropped like stones. Whispers filled the channel, fear crawling into every square on the screen. Some lowered their voices, others argued in harsh tones, but the terror was the same.

“So what do we do now?” another leader demanded.

The President of the United States leaned forward, his voice steady but tight. “We don’t have enough time. Atropos gave us a voice link—at the deadline, it will open. We will try to negotiate. We cannot comply to her demands immediately, but if we can buy more time, we can close in on her.”

Several heads nodded on the screen. “Our agencies are with you,” one of the European leaders said.

But not everyone agreed. A handful of delegates shouted back, angry, calling negotiation weakness, demanding immediate retaliation. The arguments spiraled, but when the vote was called, the outcome was clear.

The majority stood with negotiation.

The President gave a grim nod. “Then it’s decided. We negotiate at the deadline.”

The meeting ended. Screens winked out one by one until the conference room dimmed, leaving the weight of silence heavier than the voices that had filled it.

…

Star Harbor

Monica’s voice came sharp through the secure line. “We are all ready, boss.”

Miles stood by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other steady on the phone. “Well done. Double-check everything. There should be no mistakes this time.”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Monica replied with a trace of confidence. “Our best people are on this. Everything will go smoothly.”

Miles paused for a second, then exhaled softly. “Alright.”

The call ended. He let the phone drop to the desk and kept staring at the glass in front of him. The city lights flickered back in his eyes, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Dad… wish us luck.

Outside, the night was deceptively calm.

The deadline was almost there.

And then the broadcast started. Every screen in every home, market, and hall lit up at once.

Atropos appeared, the smiling mask filling the feed. Her voice spilled out with the confidence of someone who owned the moment.

“Hello, world. The deadline is only minutes away. Now it’s up to the leaders you voted for… to decide whether you live or not.”

On the corner of the feed, a timer appeared. T-300 seconds. Each second flashed down in harsh red numbers.

Atropos held up a simple phone, waving it like a toy. “And this—this is the phone I want to ring. When the timer hits zero, I expect a call. If the timer goes past thirty seconds…” She tilted her head, letting the silence stretch before a shrill, maniac laugh cut through. “You’ll see.”

Across the world, people clutched their screens. In homes and streets, in cafes and train stations, silence broke into whispers, into cries, into hurried prayers. Some still insisted it was a bluff, a performance. Others packed into temples, mosques, churches, desperate for comfort. News anchors filled the air with tense voices, cutting between security experts and live shots of crowds who stared at the countdown like it was the end of the world.

In the virtual conference chamber, world leaders sat locked on the same timer, their faces pale in the glow of their screens. The negotiator from NATO leaned forward, fingers hovering over the control that would open the line. His face was drawn, his lips tight, but he was the one chosen to speak.

Atropos’s voice returned. “Before the fun starts, let me show you something.”

The feed shifted, the masked figure now standing beside a new screen. A shaky live video filled it: a bustling street market in India, the world’s most populous country.

Vendors called out prices, children ran between stalls, bright clothes. People had no idea their lives were being broadcast to the world as a bargaining chip.

“Look at them,” Atropos cooed, tilting her head. “The colors. The noise. The chaos. Beautiful, isn’t it? Now imagine the most colorful country in the world… turning red. And everyone will watch it happen.”

Another laugh ripped through the speakers, too loud, too sharp.

T-0.

The negotiator slammed the link button.

For a moment, silence.

The masked figure didn’t move. The timer on the screen kept ticking—past zero.

T +5.

The negotiator’s hands flew. “It’s not working!” He jabbed at the console again. “Request timeout error!”

The President’s voice thundered across the call. “Click the damn link!”

“I’m trying, sir—it doesn’t connect!”

The chamber erupted into chaos. Ministers shouted, aides rushed in with tablets, everyone talking over one another as the timer kept running upward.

T +10.

Atropos’s voice slid back in, calm and amused. “It seems your leaders don’t care about you.” A soft, mocking laugh followed.

T +15.

The President’s jaw clenched. “We’re being played. The link was never real.”

The panic spread. Screens flickered with the faces of leaders who now looked less like politicians and more like cornered prey. Some shouted for immediate retaliation. Others whispered desperate prayers.

T +20.

The world outside the chambers was already unraveling. Crowds knelt in the streets, hands clasped. Some fled markets, others froze, staring at the red numbers climbing. Social media flooded with hashtags for mercy.

T +25.

Sweat beaded on the negotiator’s temple. The NATO representative tried to bark orders for calm, but his voice drowned in the tide of panic.

T +30.

The masked face leaned closer to the camera, the smile wider than ever. “Goodbye… colorful people.”

Her hand dropped onto a small device.

Click.

The sound echoed, sharp and final, before the feed cut into static.

To be continued…

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep