THE EPOCH CHRONICLES | ✔

seventeen

"HOW IS a breach even possible?" Dr Samson questioned, her voice quietly — but unmistakably — furious.

Someone had to pay for the attack on PAST's most secure operation quarters, and it damn well wasn't gonna be her. This was made clear in her glare, which traveled around the packed room of people deemed too important to die in the crossfire.

It sickened her. Hierarchy. People of power had rejected them in the first place, and now they stood like lambs, knock-kneed as gunfire echoed through the institution. In another place, and another time, she would've found it ironic. And laughable.

That was not one of those times, and only a frown creased her face, already creased enough for a woman of her age.

"We're not sure," a young woman of Asian origins responded, looking slightly less formal and more scruffy than the others in the bunker. Her face was lit up by the blue of her PortScreen, which she tapped desperately. "It looks like they used Maverick explosives — Molotov cocktails on steroids — on the northern fence. But I cannot explain the short-circuiting of the electric grid in the first place."

This did not make Dr Samson feel any better, and she curled her fists in rage. "Does this mean we have a mole in ERAA?" The very notion lit dots across her vision. A mole started our very first mission. Now another will end it. This, again, did not strike as ironic to her. But not if I can allow it.

"It is highly likely, Doctor," the woman replied, her voice subdued. Dr Samson nodded in thanks for showing her absolutely nothing that would help them — Courtesy, Helen, courtesy — before turning to her dithering comrades.

"We have a situation," she announced over the din of idiotic talk by idiots. A man snorted.

"We've had a situation for well over two hours now, Dr Samson. But thank you for stating the obvious —" his words were cut off by her hand against his throat, and this time she didn't hold back her anger.

"I did not come here to be back-chatted by insolent children," Dr Samson hissed into his face, relishing his look of terror for a moment, before withdrawing and centering herself. Only the slightest twinge of guilt nicked the storm of anger and betray whirling inside of her; her face, however, was calm.

Which was not to be said about her fellows, who eyed her with undisguised wariness. Especially the worm who had dared to quip her in such a tense situation. A situation that needed her calm and ready to issue orders. She thanked the God her mother had prayed to before she died of cancer that the breach hadn't come at a time when she would've been a thousand miles away, and unable to offer advice.

At least now, she could make sure things were done right.

"Alright." She put her hands down on the white table that was placed in the middle of the room, presumably for maps and diagrams for discussions that would not take place. "I want the institute secured A-S-A-P. Magic up some weapons that'll make these buggers vanish off the face of the earth, for all I care," (and she really didn't), "and then I want the mission to get started. Immediately."

The mutters at her orders increased tenfold, but her mind was set firm. "Robert, your son is ready?"

"Of course," Quillan responded, though she noted that he was fiddling nervously with his cufflinks. She had respect for the man — he had been among the first to invest in PAST, and that was thus immediately a part of the bargain. But she trusted him about as far as she could throw him.

Dr Samson also noticed that Robert's son, Ichabod, wasn't among the protected in the bunker. She chose not to comment; it wasn't her business. Besides, she had more pressing matters to attend to than a lost sheep. Ichabod was a big boy. He could take care of himself, or so she hoped.

"Then we shall begin." Dr Samson's green eyes traveled around the gathered, pausing on the form of the brains of ERAA — Dr Shane Wilham. His balding head was dotted with sweat, but he met her gaze resolutely. Finally, someone she could count on to not mess up.

"Two days," she announced, and she saw it hit her audience like a sledgehammer. Preparation, perfectly meticulous, and effort, ever so crucial, put to waste. She could see their anger and confusion building up like a volcanic explosion.

But she knew what she knew. And their enemies — the traitor, the men and women fighting against bettering the world — would not stop, even if they were chased off that day. They would just come again. And again. Ferocious, like locusts.

Dr Samson felt a single bead of sweat slide down her neck. It was getting too hot, trapped with all the other panicking men and women who were supposed to be in charge of a mission that could — no, she corrected herself, would — oversee the saviors of humanity. She imagined that they would barely be able to survive one day in the ERAA recruits' future world, and felt sorry for the thirty-three men and women who held the fate of the world in their hands.

She dug her fingers into the cold surface of the table, her resolve hardening. "There is no room for discussion. We launch in less than thirty-six hours, or not at all."

━━━━

a relatively short chapter from a new character ... what does this mean for ERAA? and will Amelia, Lale, and the others make it out of there alive?

hello, dear readers! just a special author's note from yours truly, to announce EPOCH's 1K view celebration! i cannot thank you enough for your support and comments — don't forget to do so below, and enjoy future chapters as we head back in time to save the world!

(but it'll likely end if Amelia doesn't get Zoey first 😉)