The dim emergency lights flickered overhead, casting long, eerie shadows across the once-vibrant con hall now littered with abandoned merchandise, empty cosplay props, and torn posters fluttering like ghosts in a forgotten wind.

Celeste took measured steps, her boots clicking softly against the tile, each sound like a cannon shot in the silence. Pitch followed close, flashlight ready, his ears twitching with every creak and groan of the building.

The beam of light swept over the floor—and both of them froze. Long streaks of blood dragged in irregular patterns, as though bodies had been hauled away against their will.

Celeste’s stomach knotted. “Dragged… away…” she whispered.

Something crackled by her paw. A security walkie-talkie lay discarded, its casing smeared red. Static popped through it—then a desperate voice broke out, ragged and panicked.

“Hello? Please, someone—! They’re inside, I can’t—”

A scream tore across the channel, loud and human and awful. Then only static.

Pitch swallowed hard, ears flat. He bent, picked the walkie up, and switched it off with a trembling paw. “Too late.”

Celeste forced herself to move on, her breath shallow. The next thing her light caught was worse—a council-issued droid, its plating torn open and scattered in a pool of oil. The metal looked gnawed, as if something had tried to eat it and failed.

She hugged her arms tight. “This isn’t random. It’s… hunger.”

The con hall loomed ahead, silent except for the buzz of dying lights and the phantom echo of that scream.

Then—

“BZZZT. Attention.”

Both of them jumped, spinning toward the ceiling as a speaker crackled to life, the sound blaring in the silence.

“Evacuation order. The Council reminds all hybrids to remember protocol and allow purebloods to vacate the premises first. Any infraction shall result in a fixed penalty and national ID score deduction.”

The announcement looped, cold and bureaucratic, as though nothing had happened at all.

Pitch muttered under his breath, teeth bared. “I hope those things shut off soon. Gonna draw attention.”

Celeste turned her head, scanning the far end of the hall. Her breath caught.

A shadow lingered at the edge of the broken stalls—slender, hunched, almost human. It shifted the moment the light passed over, pressing itself against the wall as if trying to hide.

“Pitch…” Celeste whispered, heart hammering. “We’re not alone.”

Ahead, the small figure darted from one door to the next, pausing only to knock—once, twice—then vanishing again into the gloom like a wind-up toy on repeat.

Celeste’s voice lowered, careful, almost whispering. “It’s just a child… I think.”

“Looks like it,” Pitch whispered, lowering the light. “But we can't assume anything. You’ve seen what’s out there.”

Celeste nodded, her heart beating fast. Just as she stepped forward again, she felt a small tug at the hem of her coat.

She spun, fists clenched—only to see Lumina, wide-eyed, clutching her sleeve.

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to be alone,” Lumina whispered.

Celeste exhaled hard, equal parts relief and exasperation. She glanced back toward the bathroom.

Arcade, still peeking from the cracked door, threw up his paws in surrender and mouthed, I tried to stop her.

Rolling her eyes, Celeste gently pulled Lumina to her side and motioned for her to stay close.

Then Celeste blinked, rubbing at her eyes. “Ugh… I can’t see a thing like this.” With a quick rummage through her bag, she slipped on her square spectacles, the glass catching a faint gleam of the broken neon nearby.

Lumina tilted her head, studying her. “I don’t know why you hide them. You look fine.”

Celeste hesitated, fussing with the frame on her nose. “I’m just… trying not to be recognised, is all.”

Lumina’s voice was quiet, but sharp in the stillness. “Is it… so Dad doesn’t find you?”

Celeste froze. Her paw lingered awkwardly at her temple, glasses half-adjusted. She opened her mouth—then shut it again, a flicker of guilt crossing her face.

Instead of answering, she looked away, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Lumina said nothing more, but her small paw stayed curled in Celeste’s sleeve.

The figure ahead paused at another door, knocking softly. Now that she was closer, Celeste could see more detail—a small frame clad in a bright yellow hoodie with mouse ears, a rainbow stitched across the back, and a glittery skirt poking out beneath the hem. The oversized animal mask, shaped like a cartoonish bunny, was slightly crooked.

Celeste crouched, voice trembling but kind. “H-hey… it’s alright. You’re safe now, love.”

The little figure jumped and turned quickly. There was a long pause. Then, with tiny hands, the child reached up and removed the mask.

A small panda cub stared back at them, eyes glistening.

She popped a pacifier from her mouth and said softly in Welsh, “Dw i wedi colli fy mam…”

(I’ve lost my mum.)

Celeste’s heart dropped. Lumina clutched her paw tighter.

Pitch stepped forward slowly, his voice gentle for the first time since they met. “We’ve got you now, little one. You’re not alone anymore.”

But just as Celeste reached out her hand, the ground beneath them gave a low rumble—and somewhere deeper in the con, a metallic screech echoed like a banshee’s wail.

Celeste instinctively pulled Lumina behind her, shielding the cub as she looked to Pitch, who had already turned toward the sound.

“We—we need to go. Now.”

Pitch lifted his flashlight, jaw tight. “Something’s moving. And it’s big.”

And this time, it didn’t sound small.

Mezzo burst out of the shadows, guitar case bulging with random junk. “Loot check! I scored a limited edition Captain Starwhip pin, a glowstick sword, three bags of crisps—”

He trailed off suddenly, spotting the small figure in Celeste’s arms.

His eyes widened.

“Not again!” he yelped, yanking out a dented soda can like a grenade. “Stay back, candy fiend! I’ve seen your tricks!”

Pitch calmly grabbed his wrist. “It’s a kid, genius.”

Celeste narrowed her eyes at Mezzo, then gently pulled the panda cub’s mask up to reveal her big, watery eyes and trembling nose.

“See? Just a little girl.”

Mezzo squinted. “Could’ve been a zombie,” he muttered, lowering the can reluctantly. “You saw what happened to that licorice dog dude.”

Celeste sighed, her voice sharp but small. “Not everyone in a mask is a monster.”

The panda cub tucked her head into Celeste’s shoulder, still sniffling.

Celeste softened again. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The cub didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at Lumina, who smiled and pulled out a crinkled bag of strawberry bonbons from her hoodie pocket.

Lumina smiled shyly. “Do you… want one?”

The cub’s eyes lit up. She squealed in delight, reaching for the sweets.

“Bonbons!”

Celeste blinked. “Bonbon? Is that… your name?”

The cub nodded excitedly, grabbing one of the candies and popping it into her mouth with a sticky mffph.

Pitch smirked. “Well, there it is. We’ve got ourselves a Bonbon.”

Celeste adjusted the cub on her hip, her voice soft but steady. “Then we’ll keep her close—at least until we find her mother.”

Bonbon nestled into her shoulder with a tiny sigh, as if the promise was enough.

Mezzo groaned. “Great. Another mouth to feed. Hope she’s good with a guitar solo when the zombies come.”

From down the hall, Ray’s dry voice cut through. “She’s already got better rhythm than you.”

The group chuckled, tense but real.

Celeste shifted Bonbon on her hip and whispered, almost like a promise: “We—we have to keep moving. Quietly. The little ones first.”

Mezzo saluted with mock seriousness. “Aye aye! Operation: Save the Kids—commencing now!”

Lumina bent down, her little fingers brushing over a dusty but clearly loved doll—a pink bunny Lolita dress clinging delicately to its stitched frame. Its glass eyes were cracked slightly, but it still held an odd kind of charm, like a forgotten character in the wrong genre of story.

She looked up at Celeste with wide, hopeful eyes. “Can I take her home? I think it would be a shame to leave her here...”

Celeste paused, heart tugging. She gave a small nod. “Of course. She deserves better than this mess.”

Smiling, Lumina carefully tucked the doll into Celeste’s backpack, zipping it gently.

“Her name’s Miss Jellybean,” she decided quietly, and Celeste didn’t argue.

But just as the moment settled—a familiar dread returned.