EXT. SECURITY HQ PERIMETER – NIGHT
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Smoke drifts across flood‑lights. Emergency barricades ring the plaza; med‑drones whisk the wounded away. Jason’s squad jogs out of a breached doorway, armor splattered with black alloy.
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Commander Nine‑2’s mobile command crawler looms nearby—antennae bristling. Multiple patrols converge, tossing quick salutes.
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Field Briefing Circle
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SERGEANT‑BOT
“Team Epsilon reporting. Interior’s a nightmare—walls alive, staff infected. Samples acquired.”
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SCIENCE‑OFFICER DR‑412 (holds vial of glittering purple crystal)
“This matches parasitic alloy but incorporates an information lattice. It records and re‑broadcasts stimuli. Heat disrupts filament cohesion.”
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JASON
“So cook it till it stops screaming.”
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DR‑412
“Precisely. Plasma or sustained lasers reach disassociation threshold.”
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Commander Nine‑2 swivels his rectangular head.
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COMMANDER NINE‑2
“New directive: Form plasma strike teams. Purge interior growth, secure path to core.”
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He points to a pallet where engineers unload fresh gear: plasma lances, thermal rifles, portable incinerators.
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JASON (grabbing a thermal rifle, checks the mag)
“Looks like toaster season.”
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TROOPER #2
“Citizens are fully evacuated; S.R.S. cleared five‑block radius. Collateral risk minimal.”
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DR‑412
“Caution: Extreme heat may destabilize HQ structure. Aim for vines, not load‑bearing steel.”
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Strike Team Alpha
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Jason’s new roster:
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Jason Gearman – thermal rifle & rail‑axe.
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Sergeant‑Bot R8 – plasma lance.
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Scout D3‑Mini – micro‑drone pilot for corridor mapping.
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Heavy F2 – backpack incinerator with dual nozzles.
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Medic O7 – cryo‑foam patches (just in case).
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They sync HUD frequencies—target glyphs glow red over the spire silhouette.
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SERGEANT R8
“Objective: carve a trench through north executive wing, torch any growth, rendezvous at elevator shaft.”
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JASON
“And if the shaft’s a giant esophagus?”
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R8
“Then we give it heartburn.”
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Teams slap power couplings; weapons hiss as capacitors charge, blue‑white plasma licking muzzles.
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Moving Out
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Jason shoulders his rifle. Overhead, the spire throbs—distant roar like metal trees bending in wind. Lights across the plaza flicker red as power reroutes to defense grids.
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JASON (V.O.)
“Round two. Hot guns, hotter tempers. Let’s see if fire really cleanses.”
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They advance toward the gash in HQ, heat‑weapons glowing—ready to re‑enter the living labyrinth.
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FADE OUT.
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