021. The Red Button

Chelyabinsk, Russia.
That night, the bunker thrummed with tension, the air heavy with urgency. Representatives from OCK teams in neighboring cities had converged, their faces drawn with concern as they worked to support Andrei’s team. The room buzzed with whispered strategies and hurried movements, yet one presence was notably absent—Andrei himself.
In the dimly lit underground headquarters of Chelyabinsk’s team, a different kind of struggle unfolded. Olga and Anna hovered near Sergei, whose breath came in ragged gasps. Despite the diligent efforts of the team’s medics, Sergei’s condition spiraled downward. His skin, once flushed with life, had turned an alarming shade of gray, sweat beading on his forehead as the poison ravaged his body.
The medics exchanged uneasy glances, their hands moving with practiced precision but lacking the confidence that usually guided them. The substance that had infiltrated Sergei’s system was unlike anything they’d encountered before, defying all their attempts at identification. Each new symptom—unpredictable and increasingly bizarre—deepened the frown lines on the analysts' faces, their knowledge offering no answers, only more questions.
Olga clenched her fists, her knuckles whitening as she watched Sergei’s struggle, her mind racing through possibilities, desperate for a solution that wouldn’t come. The room, once filled with the chatter of strategy and support, had fallen into a hushed, anxious silence, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on everyone.
The sudden blare of an alarm cut through the tense air, jolting everyone into action. Conversations halted as the piercing sound reverberated through the bunker, the urgency of the situation pulling them from their grim focus on Sergei. Within moments, the elevator doors slid open with a sharp ding, revealing Kusuma and Dmitry, their faces set with purpose.
As the two stepped into the room, the gathered members swiftly moved to clear the area around the surgical table where Sergei lay, his chest rising and falling in shallow, labored breaths. His wound, freshly stitched and bandaged, contrasted starkly against his ashen skin, a grim reminder of the battle his body was losing.
Kusuma’s sharp gaze swept over the scene, taking in the medical equipment, the anxious faces, and Sergei’s condition in an instant. Without a word, he and Dmitry moved closer, the air around them crackling with the urgency of their arrival.
"Are you okay, Olga?" Kusuma’s voice pierced the tense silence, his sharp gaze catching the hollow look in the middle-aged woman’s eyes.
"I failed to protect him…" Olga’s voice was fragile, barely more than a breath. Her gaze remained fixed on Sergei, her eyes empty, as though her hope had drained away along with his life.
"You should rest," Anna urged softly, her concern evident as she placed a gentle hand on her mentor’s arm.
But Olga shook her head weakly. "I will not fail—"
"Step aside, Olga," Kusuma interrupted, his tone firm yet compassionate. "In your current state, you’ll only hinder the treatment. Let us handle this."
Without sparing another glance at Olga, the elderly man swiftly placed her metal briefcase on the surgical table and opened it. Knowing how stern the usually calm and courteous man could be, Anna quickly wrapped her arm around Olga’s waist and gently guided her away.
"The symptoms are worse than I expected." Kusuma retrieved a small vial filled with a gray liquid, draining it into a syringe. "This is an untested vaccine I made from the skin tissue Miss X left behind. It would be easier if we had an ashurüss doctor or an élwath priest among us." He pressed the needle directly into Sergei’s chest.
"The OCK does not cooperate with interdimensional beings," a man with a long scar on his cheek remarked. His blonde hair, neatly combed back, complemented his stern, mature face.
"Maybe you should learn to be more flexible," Kusuma countered. "After all, am I not a freak compared to you pure-blooded humans?"
"It’s not like that, brother," a bald, middle-aged man with clear blue eyes interjected. "EPCU regulations prohibit—"
The man’s words were abruptly drowned out by the piercing wail of a siren, slicing through the tense atmosphere like a blade. The red button above the round speaker on the wall blinked furiously, casting erratic flashes across the room. Anna quickly pressed it.
"Karabash! I need backup now!" Andrei's panicked voice crackled through. "A group of targets just emerged!"
In an instant, everyone sprang into action, snatching weapons from the racks with practiced urgency. Without waiting for orders, they charged toward the sliding wall—the emergency exit. Although quicker than the elevator, it was a grueling climb through the spiraling tunnel without a vehicle. Each step echoed their urgency as they raced against time. As they passed, each nodded respectfully to Kusuma, their silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation.
"You're not going anywhere, Olga," Anna said firmly.
"And you're not going anywhere without this young man," Kusuma added, pointing at Dmitry. "Konstantin's orders."
"What? This rookie will only slow me down!" Anna objected.
Kusuma didn’t need to respond; his piercing, steely gaze was enough. It was as if the room itself had grown colder under his intense stare. Dmitry was taken aback by the sudden shift—how a man who had seemed so gentle and approachable had, in an instant, become a formidable presence. The change was palpable, as if Kusuma's eyes alone could command the situation, filling the air with an unspoken authority.
"Alright, alright," Anna conceded with a resigned sigh. She snatched an assault rifle from the rack and hurled it toward Dmitry, who caught it with a swift, practiced motion. "But if you prove to be a burden, I’ll put a hole in your head myself!"
Without another word, the two sprinted toward the sliding wall. The heavy panels slid shut behind them with a metallic hiss, sealing off the room back to its former state.
"I need you here, Olga," Kusuma said to the disoriented woman. "I need you to keep talking to Sergei while I make a quick phone call. Tell him his presence is needed."
A new resolve glinted in Olga's eyes as she nodded, determination replacing her earlier despair. She quickly moved to Sergei’s side, gently caressing his head in a comforting gesture. Meanwhile, Kusuma stepped away, his footsteps echoing softly as he pulled out his phone, already focused on the next crucial step.
"This is Kusuma," he said as the call connected, his voice low and urgent. "I need Etherys's help immediately. How soon can you get her here?"