June 17th, 1983
Nicholas looked over as Wren slowly woke in his bed.
"You've been out for a few hours," he said, running a hand through his already messy hair. "You passed out not long after… everything happened."
Wren pushed herself upright, though every part of her felt heavy.
Her head throbbed.
Her chest felt hollow.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then, quietly—
"What did you do with the body?"
Nicholas's expression shifted.
"I had him sent to the morgue," he said. "With your permission… some of the scientists want to perform an autopsy."
Wren lowered her eyes.
The words stung more than she expected, but she already knew he was right.
"I understand," she said after a long pause. "It has to be done."
Her voice faltered.
"But let me say goodbye before they touch him."
Nicholas gave a small nod.
"I also scheduled a video call with headquarters in about an hour," he said. "Since you're awake, it's probably best if you speak to Alexander yourself."
At the sound of that name, something in Wren hardened.
"You're right," she said, forcing herself to swing her legs over the side of the bed. "Let me handle that bastard."
She stood, though not without effort.
"I need to stay strong now. More than ever."
Nicholas watched her carefully as she steadied herself.
She looked like a woman being held together by nothing but stubbornness and rage.
"You look like you're about two seconds away from collapsing and crying," he muttered under his breath, low enough that Wren wouldn't hear.
Or maybe low enough that he hoped she wouldn't.
Without another word, the two of them began walking toward Wren's office.
Wren sat down in front of the large monitor and took a slow, steadying breath.
Nicholas stood just behind her shoulder, silent for once as the screen flickered to life. Static crawled across the display for a moment before the connection stabilized.
And there he was.
The leader of A.E.G.I.S.
Alexander Jones.
Dragonslayer.
Even through a screen, his presence managed to poison the room.
He was a pale man with sharp features and eyes of cold, unnatural gold. They always reminded Wren of a reptile's—predatory, unreadable, and utterly untrustworthy. Or perhaps that was simply how she had come to see him over the years: less a man, more a serpent draped in human skin.
He wore a black military uniform so immaculate it looked untouched by the world around him. Black gloves covered his hands. A saber rested at his side, polished and ceremonial, as if he were some war hero from another century refusing to die with his era.
And draped over his back was that absurd white cape.
The fur of a polar bear, massive and pristine, its severed head still mounted over his shoulder like some barbaric trophy. Wren knew the story, of course. He had killed it himself. Skinned it himself. As if that was something worth admiring.
To her, it only made him look exactly like what he was.
A man who enjoyed proving he could kill.
"Hello, Wren," Alexander said, his voice smooth with that familiar air of effortless disdain. "What do I owe the displeasure of your company today?"
Wren's jaw tightened.
Even the camera placement had been arranged to favor him. The angle looked slightly up toward Alexander, while Wren's own feed forced her into a lower frame, making it seem as though he were looking down at her from a throne rather than through a monitor.
As if he needed every possible reminder that he believed himself superior in every regard.
"Azathoth has escaped," Wren said, forcing the words out as evenly as she could. "It's loose somewhere in the facility, and we have no idea where it is. We are not equipped to deal with something like this. We've already suffered one…" Her voice caught for just a moment. "One casualty."
Alexander gave a small nod, as though she had just reported a minor scheduling inconvenience.
"Ah, yes. Nicholas mentioned that in his message." He tapped a gloved finger against the arm of his chair, pretending to think. "What was his name again? Aaron, was it? No… Arden, perhaps. These things are so dreadfully hard to keep straight."
Wren's restraint shattered.
"His name was Arlo," she snapped, surging forward in her chair. Her hands slammed against the desk beneath the monitor, fingers curling against the edge as though she could reach through the screen and wrap them around his throat. "He was my husband, you bastard!"
Alexander let out a soft chuckle.
"All ants in the end," he said. "Do such trivial details truly matter?" His golden eyes narrowed faintly. "Especially when none of you exist."
The room went still.
Wren felt her anger falter, just for a second, as something colder slipped into its place.
"What?" she asked, her voice suddenly unsteady. "What do you mean?"
Alexander leaned back slightly, utterly at ease.
"The Erebus Research Facility has never publicly existed," he said. "Officially, it was never built. Even within A.E.G.I.S., its existence was buried so deeply that only I retain full access to its records." His expression did not change. "As far as I am concerned, Erebus never existed at all."
Wren stared at him, unable to speak.
Behind her, Nicholas stepped forward.
"Sir," he said, his voice sharp with disbelief, "what about us? What about the people stationed here?"
Alexander didn't even blink.
"You do not exist either," he said flatly. "According to the records, no woman named Wren Cromwell was ever born. No man named Nicholas Graves was ever born either."
The words hit harder than any scream could have.
Not a threat.
Not a possibility.
A fact.
That was how he said it.
As though their lives, their names, their histories, could be erased with nothing more than a line of ink pulled from a file.
"The strain of work must finally be getting to me," Alexander said coolly. "Here I am, wasting my time speaking to figments of my imagination."
Wren lurched forward in her chair.
"You can't do this to us!" she screamed at the monitor. "Do you have any idea how many people you're sacrificing? You can't just leave us here to die!"
Alexander regarded her for only a moment.
Then his expression flattened into something colder than hatred.
"You know," he said, "I have always despised you."
His golden eyes narrowed faintly.
"So go on. Die here, and be removed from my sight."
The screen went black.
For a full minute, Wren sat frozen, staring at her own dim reflection in the shattered static glow left behind.
Then something inside her snapped.
With a cry of pure rage, she drove her fist into the monitor.
Glass burst outward with a sharp crack, splintering across the desk and floor. The impact jolted up her arm, but the gloves spared her skin from being torn open.
Her breath came in ragged bursts.
Nicholas said nothing.
There was nothing to say.
Wren stood there trembling, staring at the ruined screen as fury burned hotter than grief.
"Somehow," she said, her voice shaking, "some way, I'm getting out of this place."
Her hands clenched into fists.
"And when I do…"
Her eyes darkened.
"I'm going to kill him."
June 17th, 1983
On this date, all records concerning the Erebus Research Facility were buried deep within A.E.G.I.S. archives.
They would remain lost until September 29th, 2000.