12:35 AM — Ascension Gala, Third Floor — Shirley's POV
Nobody spoke. Not Shirley, EBS, not even Michonne.
The three simply stood beneath the newly activated lights as thousands of faces stared back at them.
Some lit with hope, some in deep terror, and some were just… empty.
The cargo hold stretched farther than Shirley could see. Rows upon rows of cages filled every corner of the massive chamber. Men, women, children. Entire families separated by bars and chains.
For the first time since waking up, Shirley felt small. Very small.
A little girl no older than six sat near the front of a nearby cell.
She stared directly at him, "…Mister?"
Shirley's head slowly turned. The girl gripped the bars, "Are we going home?"
His stomach twisted. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
The girl waited, then slowly lowered her head. Around them, the silence began breaking.
Not into chanting this time. Into voices. Hundreds of voices, thousands. Questions, begging, prayers.
"Please help us."
"My son is on the other side."
"I haven't seen my wife."
"Get me out!"
"Please."
"I'll do anything."
The words crashed together until they became impossible to separate.
EBS looked away. Michonne clenched the hilt of her katana. Shirley just stood there.
Every voice sounded different. Every voice belonged to someone. Not cargo, people.
Finally, Michonne broke the silence, "We don't have enough time."
Shirley looked at her immediately, "What?"
Michonne's eyes remained on the cages, "We can't free everyone."
The words hit harder than Shirley expected, "What do you mean we can't?"
"There are thousands of prisoners."
"Then we'll get thousands out." Shirley protested.
Michonne shook her head, "No." Her voice was calm, "If we start opening cages randomly, this place becomes a stampede."
EBS nodded reluctantly, "She's right."
Shirley looked between them, "So what? We leave them?"
"No." Michonne finally turned toward him, "We find a way off this plane first."
The surrounding prisoners listened carefully now.
Every word mattered.
"Then we come back for everyone."
But before Shirley could argue further, the entire cargo hold shook.
Several prisoners screamed, chains rattled. The lights flickered, a second impact followed.
This one was stronger.
Dust drifted from the ceiling.
Shirley's hand immediately moved to his cleavers, "What was that?"
Nobody answered. Even Michonne looked uncertain. Far above them, metal groaned.
EBS's eyes widened, "Wait… but aren't we on the third floor? How is there noise coming from above us?!"
12:38 AM — Ascension Gala, Second Floor: Sovereign District — August's Office
"No need to be hostile, Diamond."
August leaned sideways just as her kick tore through the air where his head had been.
The impact landed instead on the marble floor.
The entire office shook. Cracks spiderwebbed outward.
Diamond clicked her tongue as she pulled her leg back, the crystal sheen fading from her limb as blood circulation returned. She rolled her ankle once like it meant nothing.
August straightened his suit slowly.
"…Diamond, Diamond."
He exhaled.
"Who would've thought a Playing Card would make it onto my plane."
"You knew I was here," she said flatly.
August smiled.
"I did."
That answer made her eyes narrow.
He stepped over shattered furniture, calmly brushing dust off his sleeve.
"You really didn't have to kill all my Smileys, though."
Diamond glanced around the room.
Bodies. Everywhere. Men in identical black suits and glasses, frozen mid-expression. Smiling even in death.
She scoffed, "Smileys?"
"Yes," August said lightly. "My personal guards. Always smiling. Always loyal. Always obedient."
He tapped the side of his head, "Conditioning helps."
Diamond's expression hardened, "I don't care."
She moved. Her fist turned to diamond mid-motion, Absolute Presence flared.
August tilted his head, the punch shattered the wall behind him instead.
Marble exploded outward, August had already stepped aside. He sighed, "You're emotional."
Diamond didn't respond.
She kicked upward.
The floor cracked again as her leg transformed mid-swing.
August hopped back over his broken desk.
"You know," he continued casually, "I always imagined a Playing Card would have more discipline."
Diamond landed. The entire room dipped under the force.
"What's your motive?" August asked, watching her closely. "Why protect cargo you don't even know?"
Diamond's jaw tightened, "You talk too much."
She lunged again, this time she didn't aim for the floor.
She aimed for him. Her fist passed inches from his face, August ducked under it. Behind him, a bookshelf exploded into dust.
He didn't even look back.
"How is Hearts, by the way?" he asked lightly.
That stopped her for half a second. Just half, but it was enough.
Diamond's Strength Presence spiked, "You don't say her name."
She moved instantly. Behind him now. Her legs wrapped around his torso in a violent twist, pinning him.
Her right arm crystallized completely.
Absolute Presence condensed into a blade-like density around her forearm.
It pressed against his neck.
"Don't you ever talk about Hearts like that."
August's breathing slowed, but his voice stayed calm, "Careful." His hands lifted slightly, "I'm fragile, remember?"
Diamond pressed harder.
"I'll kill you."
"I know," Then August tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting, "And what would King think of that?"
Silence.
That name landed heavier than any strike. Diamond's grip tightened instinctively.
August felt it the grip intensifying, but he still smiled, "There it is."
His hand slipped into his coat.
Diamond's eyes widened, a golden revolver. Pointed directly at her crystallized arm.
"…Now," August said softly, "basic knowledge."
He exhaled.
"Diamonds are strong."
"But brittle."
Diamond's pupils sharpened, "You wouldn't."
August's smile didn't move, "I would."
A pause. Then quieter: "Even if it takes my eye."
The tension snapped tight between them. Neither moved, the entire room held its breath.
12:44 AM — Ascension Gala, Third Floor — Shirley's POV
The noise above them hadn't stopped.
Even now, distant impacts echoed through the ceiling, metal groaning, explosions rolling through the structure like something massive was moving overhead.
Shirley finally broke first.
"We can't just sit here," he said. "Whatever's happening up there, we need to get involved."
EBS blinked. "What?"
Michonne exhaled, already tired of translating. "He means we go up and stop it."
EBS immediately straightened. "Exactly, up! That's the point! How is there even an 'up' when we're on the Third Floor?"
Michonne didn't respond right away.
She looked around instead.
At the air. At the temperature.
At the scale of the space stretching further than it should.
Then she spoke, "I don't think we're on a floor."
Shirley frowned, "What does that even mean?"
Michonne's expression hardened slightly. "Look at this place. The cold. The size. The way the lights work."
She nodded toward the strange wall mechanism in the distance.
"That wasn't a floor control. That was cargo lighting."
Silence followed.
The prisoners nearby went quiet too, listening.
Michonne continued, "This isn't a level of a building. It's a cargo hold."
A ripple of confusion spread through the cells.
"Cargo hold?" Shirley repeated.
EBS leaned forward, her bright pink hair catching the faint cargo-hold lighting. The maroon outfit she wore, jacket, shirt, skirt, looked completely out of place in the cold, industrial darkness. Even here, she looked like she belonged on a screen more than inside a prison.
Michonne sighed. "It's the storage section of a plane, bottom level. Where luggage goes. Where cargo goes."
"And where people go, apparently."
Shirley slowly processed that.
"So… we're not on a floor."
"No," Michonne said.
"We're in the belly of a plane."
That landed heavier than anything else so far.
Shirley scratched his head. "Okay… that explains one of our objectives."
EBS frowned. "One thing?"
Shirley nodded. "Tucker."
At the mention of the name, he straightened slightly.
"I hope he's okay."
Michonne's eyes flicked to him. "Tucker?"
"My best friend," Shirley said quickly, a grin returning for a second. "You'll probably meet him when we get out. He's… actually pretty strong, and he's funny!"
Michonne gave him a long look.
"…If we get out."
EBS raised a hand. "We are getting out."
Michonne ignored that, "We need an exit plan. Now. And we need a way to move all of them."
She gestured to the endless cages around them.
The prisoners reacted instantly, some hopeful, some terrified, some skeptical.
Then EBS suddenly lit up.
"I can help with that!"
Both Shirley and Michonne turned.
EBS continued, excited now, "If I had my phone I could map everything, make lists, coordinate resources, maybe even—"
"Yeah… no," Shirley said immediately.
Michonne didn't even hesitate. "Absolutely not."
EBS froze.
"…Why?"
"Because that sounds like you'd make it worse," Shirley added.
EBS pouted hard, "This is discrimination against technology users."
Michonne pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Okay."
Her voice dropped into something more controlled.
"Enough."
Both of them went quiet.
Michonne stepped forward slightly, eyes scanning the dark rows again.
"We're not improvising anymore."
A pause.
"Here's the plan."