25.2

*ACT YoE 4,171/LT April 22, 2070, at 0000*

Corporate Lab #8

Arasaka Headquarters

R&D Underground Satellite Hive#2 

Arasaka Lab #8, or the eighth circle of hell as the slavish researchers inside called it, stood as a stark anomaly within the otherwise sterile corporate complex of headquarters. Tucked deep below the labyrinth of the Arasaka Tower's lower levels, it was cloaked in secrecy known only to the Board of Directors and their direct in-line replacements. The lab, converted specifically by Michiko to summon the Silver Witch, combined cutting-edge technology with arcane ritualistic elements. Michiko always thought the lab technicians here were a bit odd. They had an almost uncanny ability to puzzle out the new mana technologies, but they also had the highest caffeine intake in headquarters.

Even higher than the secretary pool.

Something like that would generally raise all sorts of red flags with Finance, but nothing ever seemed to be done. Taking Lab #8 under her control several years back had been astonishingly easy. Michiko had been paranoid for months, awaiting attempts to re-allocate it away, but it never happened. Kei’s investigation revealed that the lab wasn’t even listed on official channels, although it somehow received funding from Budget. The line item in the budget for Lab#8 was Relic Studies-Pending, something that wouldn’t even get a second glance unless someone already knew the other oddities as she did.

The room Michiko had selected for summoning the Silver Witch was a vast, circular chamber with dim lighting that cast long, flickering shadows. A hexagonal grid of blood-red LED lights pulses faintly beneath the glass floor, when viewed from the upper box the entire setup formed an elaborate summoning sigil designed to align with ancient esoteric geometries. Michiko had attempted to have an AI calculate the sigil, but they were still wiping the gibbering machine intelligence. After listening to the AI as it described the beauty of dismembering organic meat bags, she hadn’t hesitated a second before ordering the AI sanitized. Research into the sigil was immediately classified under a new label of Mana Induced Insanity (MII). Looking around the room, Michiko’s optics examined the solid alloy walls lined with advanced monitoring equipment and holographic interfaces, each displaying cryptic symbols alongside biometric and metaphysical readouts. After questioning the researchers, they informed Saburo’s granddaughter that the symbols were mentally soothing.

It was a strange enough response, and she decided not to question it.

A central platform rose slightly above the floor in the lab’s center, its surface covered in etched silver runes filled with a dark, viscous material—likely a combination of nanite-infused ink and demonically charged blood. The Silver Witch had provided the exact recipe. The runes shimmered faintly, their glow seeming to defy the room's lighting as if they drew their energy from another realm entirely.

Michiko no longer looked at the runes directly. The last time she had, Kei had woken her almost eighteen hours later after she missed a meal. Even now, she still had the strange compulsion to look at the glowing runes. Her iron will easily ignored it to calculate the result of just over five weeks of collecting ingredients. The preparation for the summoning was a chilling fusion of science and occultism.

On one side of the ritual circle, a team of Arasaka technomancers, the new label coined for mana researchers, calibrated an array of devices known as Resonance Amplifiers—black, obelisk-like machines inscribed with both corporate logos and sigils of binding. These machines hummed ominously, their purpose to stabilize the dimensional breach necessary to draw the Silver Witch into this plane. It was barely understood tech but functioned on logical principles. Essentially, the amplifiers would create a dissonance that tore a ‘hole’ in space. The tear would widen under the other side's influence until it was large enough to allow passage.

Opposite the Resonance Amplifiers, ritualists in robes of synthetic fiber interwoven with data-laced threads chant in low, synchronized tones while holding large mugs of fresh Brazilian coffee. The expense of each mug alone had been a large portion of the ritual’s cost. Hoods obscured the ritualist’s faces, save for the glowing, augmented eyes in red hues, tuned to perceive fluctuations in magical energy, a new Kiroshi prototype. Each ritualist carried a polished bone wand in the opposite hand, its surface carved with runes that ripple as if alive, likely artifacts of otherworld origin. The wand wielders wove in synchronicity like a bevy of conductors or a score of magical wizards practicing fighting.

Even through the filtration system, Michiko could smell the ritual’s tainted myrrh, an intoxicating mix of scents—burning incense crafted from rare herbs mingled with the metallic tang of bloodborne aerosols. A table near the northern edge of the room held the ritual offerings: a silver chalice filled with a swirling, iridescent mercury liquid; shards of obsidian engraved with intricate glyphs; and a lock of silver hair, an effigy directly tied to the Silver Witch's essence by the Law of Sympathy.

Holographic displays floated around the observation window Michiko was looking out from, strange graphs visualizing the merging dimensions—a chaotic twisted swirl of shimmering numbered fractals punctuated by bursts of static and digital distortion. Engineers who were safe in another room continuously monitored these displays to ensure the ritual’s mana load remained within calculated tolerances. It was one thing to open a door and another to be unable to close it. Fail-safes were primed, but whispered rumors suggest these contingencies are theoretical at best, and the cost of failure was unacceptable. A failed summoning would see Michiko hauled in front of the Board for questioning. It would end her pre-emptive rise, relegating her to shadows to be quietly removed.

Overhead above the ritual’s raised platform, a network of drone-like mechanisms whirs quietly, their lenses trained on the platform. These drones carry reservoirs of liquid silver and enchanted ink, ready to reinforce the runes if the summoning were to be destabilized. Another set of drones on the ceiling and floor, along with many vents, carried a carefully molten blend of silver alloy to drench unwanted guests.

Michiko’s personality editor dumped calming drugs into her bloodstream as the chanting intensified. Without warning, the temperature in the summoning room plummeted. Frost began to form on the walls, ceiling, and floor while the Resonance Amplifiers emitted an almost subsonic growl. The platform's runes blazed brighter; their glow now accompanied by an unsettling sound like the keening of distant, tortured souls.

Michiko’s fists tightened in a crushing grip as a tear began forming above the platform, its edges jagged and sparking with unholy energy. Within the tear, a faint silhouette began to coalesce—a small coffin barely the height of the room.

No, it’s not the coffin that’s small. It’s us. Michiko thought as she realized the coffin was sealed with multiple chains pulsing in ethereal light. It appeared small because of the massive distance from the spatial tear. A small fragment of what appeared to be dust around the coffin separated, heading towards the tear.

A single speck enlarged, growing, even as it sped towards the hole in reality that led to the unknown domain of the Silver Witch. At first, the form was indistinct, but that quickly changed. Michiko could make out a small nail-sized coffin that grew to finger, palm, and arm-sized rapidly. Before long, a coffin the height of a full-grown male was visible.

Its presence was not fully formed yet, but the pressure in the ritual room became suffocating, and every screen and monitor glitched violently, displaying cryptic phrases in dead languages. Michiko ignored the clear signs and focused entirely on the arriving coffin. So, even something like the Silver Witch can’t travel without a ship? Or is that something she wants us to think? Michiko pondered as the coffin grew closer. It passed through the portal in seconds, and more details became immediately apparent. The coffin’s arrival seemed to echo in the silence of the ritual room, the portal collapsing behind it with a thunderclap reverberating through the walls. What had appeared to be a slight blemish on the coffin transport was now revealed to be a rapidly growing black ooze. Tendrils, tiny at first, grew more significant as they tasted the moisture-rich air in the ritual room’s biome. The black ooze continued proliferating, spreading across the coffin’s surface like a living stain. As it moved, its tendrils pulsed and writhed. The humidity in the room seemed to feed them, and the ritual glyphs on the walls flickered as if straining under the unnatural presence. The cryptic symbols on the glitched monitors shifted more violently now, the dead languages mutating into a disjointed cacophony of warnings, pleas, and proclamations of doom.

Michiko’s expression remained inscrutable; her gloved hands relaxed now that the coffin had arrived. The coffin was both a prison and a vessel, though anyone's guess was whether it had been forged to contain or protect. The ooze was unexpected, a complication Michiko had already decided to deal with decisively. When the molten silver rained down, it was beautiful and terrible. It cascaded from drones and hidden vents in the ceiling, bubbling up from the floor in accelerated geysers, shimmering like a liquid mirror, coating every surface in the room.

The researchers screamed; their voices cut off as the silver engulfed them. The ooze also shrieked, a sound that wasn’t truly heard but felt, a psychic resonance stabbing into the mind. For a moment, it seemed as though the purge had succeeded. The ooze rapidly dissolved, its tendrils retracting as the silver scalded their essence. But then, the impossible happened. Small pockets of ooze began to resist, their forms hardening against the molten assault. The tendrils that survived became darker and denser, and their movements took on a purposeful quality. They weren’t just growing—they were adapting.

Kei entered the room and immediately moved to Michiko's side, his master's eyes glued to the observation window. “It is regenerating,” he said quietly, the calm in his voice masking the chilling alarm it invoked. If something like this escaped containment, it wouldn’t bode well at all.

Michiko glanced at her erstwhile attendant, her composure unbroken. “Not regenerating,” she corrected. “Evolving.” Her mind raced, calculating the implications. The Silver Witch’s transport was more than a simple container. The scanners continued working overtime to understand the most basic outer layer’s composition. The fact that the ooze had been unable to breach it even with the visible adaptability spoke volumes.

“Shall I initiate the secondary purge?” Kei asked, his hand hovering over the console. The secondary purge would flood the room with mana-enriched null matter, erasing everything within its confines from existence in theory. The cost would be catastrophic—not just in credits but in resources and the trust of those who had funded the project, who had backed her bid for becoming a Board member.

Michiko shook her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied the coffin. “No. This is a test, Kei. Someone or something wanted to see how we’d respond. They want us to panic. But we’re not amateurs.”

Kei awaited her orders in silent acquiescence. Michiko’s focus returned to the growing ooze, which was now spreading across the ritual room with almost deliberate intent. The molten silver had slowed it, but it was clear the substance’s limits had been reached. The ooze crept toward the room's edges, testing the biome's barriers. The containment fields flickered, straining under the pressure.

“Deploy our biohazard, send in Patient Zero,” Michiko commanded.

Kei interfaced directly with the lab's systems and sent the order. The room’s glyphs flared brighter, and a deep hum resonated through the walls. Patient Zero, a last-resort type of containment measure, was activated. From the northern wall, a door opened, and a singular male humanoid walked in. Michiko watched as blind eyes looked sightlessly at her before an ooze tendril attacked the man, distracting his attention. The pressure in the room grew heavier, a palpable force that pressed against their chests. Gravity, a physical king, was being manipulated.

The ooze reacted violently, tendrils lashing against the lattice of gravity that began to encase it ferociously. Sparks flew as the ooze fought, the graviton containment field absorbing the impact, but cracks started to form in the glowing lines. Kei’s voice wavered. “Patient Zero won’t hold for long.”

Michiko smiled faintly, her confidence unshaken. “It doesn’t need to hold forever. Just long enough. There is no point to a test if failure is guaranteed.”

As if prophecy, the coffin, unnoticed until now, cracked open with a hiss as a pale hand encased in silver runes reached out from within its depths.