Luca screamed.

It was an unmistakable sound—a sudden high shrieking, a sharp wail to pierce the dull hum of the quiet morning hall, entirely out of place at b8:48. Verse and Yuki each jumped at the noise. The hall was vacant, save for them. Soon, it would be a flood of students rushing to their nine-o’clock homeroom classes. But it was still 8:48. Luca should have been asleep, or even just waking up.

Verse and Yuki exchanged a silent glance, laced with unease as a cold heaviness settled in the air around them. The sound had come from around the corner—from classroom 2-B, presumably. With a mutual nod, they hurried together to the source. Verse mentally flipped through explanations in a range of severity. Luca had her own melodramatic tendencies, Verse reminded themself. It was probably an overreaction to some trivial matter. It was probably fine. It was probably fine, they repeated, against the doubt that their suddenly-racing heart kept insisting. Optimistic thinking did little to ease the tangible tension in their seemingly-infinite expedition. Now 8:49. First it was a speed-walk, then a run. It was probably fine. Now 8:50.

They halted at the open door. Frozen.

What...

Verse stood entirely numb. For a moment, they stared blankly, so unprepared for the scene before them that they simply couldn’t accept it as reality. It lacked any explanation, any logic that Verse could process. But the sudden nausea was real. The overwhelming panic in their chest was real. The deafening static of the overhead fluorescent lights was real.

“What the fuck?”

Blood. It slammed unforgivingly into their senses, sight and smell, a rusted stench of decay that invoked a rush of lightheadedness. It stained the floor, dark carmine strewn haphazardly in a definitive splatter from one central location behind the teacher’s desk. Scribbled across the board were numbers: 6/13. Professor Moff was suspended off the ground, tied brutishly to a tangle of loose cords from the vandalized board. The source of the blood. It dripped down the wall in dried streaks. Verse tried desperately to tear their eyes away from the gaping hole down his core. He’d been stabbed. The blade was still embedded in his chest. He was still. Then, finally, it sunk in: reality, heavy and unwelcome.

Professor Moff was dead.

Mali flew in from the hall, rushing in obvious concern. Skidding in, he shouted, “Luca, what—”

Then he stopped at the door. His eyes widened. Luca stood before the violent scene, back turned to the door, her face buried in her hands. Mali slowly approached her. “I don’t know. He—it was—like this,” Luca babbled half-coherently through sobs. “I don’t know. It was like this.”

Verse’s blood pounded cold in their veins, but the room felt uncomfortably warm. It was the kind of warm that stifled breathing, that consumed all fresh air and left nothing but metallic stagnation. A nauseating heat. For a moment, Verse almost thought they would throw up or faint or do something, as though their own body was attempting to reject its place. But they did nothing; nothing but stare.

Camie and Vector filed in through the door. Then Spade. Each introduction came with some exclamation of initial bewilderment, then a deafening silence. Each escalated the tangible despair as they processed the room’s stinging truth.

“Why would...” Yuki stammered out very quietly, hands clasped over her mouth.

Vector drew in a deep breath. “Stand back. Don’t touch anything,” she ordered evenly, claiming her typical role as the voice of reason. There was a beat of hesitation. Much sharper, she continued, “Against the wall. Now.”

Vector found the administrative phone by the door. There was no further argument. The class did as instructed, perhaps more out of mindless shock than submission. Verse could only function on auto-pilot; to actually think was dizzying. Six students lined up on the opposite end of the disaster. One student was missing.

“Why are you alone?” Luca questioned Spade through trembling breaths. “Where’s Ace?”

“You have some audacity, throwing accusations,” Spade shot defensively. “From what I heard, you were alone and did, in fact, find him first.”

“Well, you’re the one always meeting with Moff after school and stuff!”

“Why are you here so early, Luca?” Yuki asked hesitantly.

She started tearing up again. “Why am I suspicious?” she cried. “I just wanted to, y’know, be on time for once! Is that so absurd? But now...” Luca broke off, overcome with sobs.

The commencement of conversation in some way had snapped Verse to reality; the sickening dissociation shifted to solemn, shaky resolve. “Pointing fingers won’t get us anywhere,” they interjected. But then, when they considered the full gravity of the conversation, they immediately regretted stepping in.

“Here we have Verse the impartial hero, as though it might mitigate their own suspicion,” Spade muttered tersely. The bell rang overhead. b9:00. 

“Shut up,” Camie suddenly snapped. “It’s probably Mali. He never liked Professor Moff, anyway.”

Mali opened his mouth to respond, although it was prematurely interrupted as three men in uniforms abruptly burst into the room. “Everyone, freeze,” one man yelled, pistol in hand; he waved it across the line at each student. The strangers were academy guards, adorned with the golden Legion crest. In the doorway was a character in a different uniform—an FCPD officer—with the missing Ace beside him. Ace stared into the room with empty white eyes, shaking silently.