The call came in coded as "JANITORIAL."
FULCRUM knew better than to trust that.
He stood at the head of the briefing table, helmet tucked under his arm, watching as OWL tapped a key and pulled up a still image.
A hospital corridor, bleached in fluorescent light. Pediatric ward by the look of it—bright paint on the walls, cartoon animals half-captured by the frame. At the center of the image, a small shape sat on the linoleum.
A teddy bear.
Its stitched mouth was open in a permanent smile.
The next frame zoomed closer.
Brown fur, worn at the edges. One eye a shiny black bead. The other... wrong.
Someone had stitched a human ear where the second button should have been.
RATCHET made a soft gagging sound.
"Oh, that's just hateful," DUSK said from her chair along the wall.
"ZERO-ONE-ZERO-FOUR-EIGHT," OWL said. "Builder Bear. Euclid. This is likely an offshoot instance—call it 1048-B or C; containment is still arguing about taxonomy."
"Original's still at large?" VANTAGE asked.
"Presumed," OWL said. "Attempts at recapture have been... unsuccessful. This incident is localized to the pediatrics wing of St. ███████ Hospital. Four children and three staff dead in the last twenty minutes. Witness descriptions vary between 'the bear grew teeth' and 'the bear screamed until people bled.'"
"Both are canonical behaviors," DOCSTRING's voice put in over the speaker. "We're dealing with a mobile, hostile construct built from human tissue. Its appearance as a toy is purely camouflage."
The screen flicked to another still.
A child-sized body lay on a gurney, face turned away. At the edge of the frame, tiny brown footprints tracked away down the hall. Each print left a faint, dark stain.
"Hospital is partially evacuated," OWL said. "Security failed to contain the entity and retreated to the lobby. Local law enforcement is holding the outer perimeter. Foundation cover story is a gas leak. Nu-7 is en route on paper to 'assist with hazardous materials review.'"
"Hate it when my hazmat screams," RATCHET muttered.
"Your objectives," OWL continued. "One: locate and neutralize or contain the 1048 instance. Two: prevent further civilian casualties. Three: secure any constructed offshoots or the remains thereof for study. Attempt to limit structural damage."
"Does the hospital know what it's dealing with?" HARROW asked.
"They know they're dealing with something," OWL said. "Their exact level of understanding is irrelevant. They are to stay out of your way."
"MedIntel," he prompted.
"PSI-7 MedIntel here," PATCH said. "I'll be setting up triage in the ambulance bay. Expect traumatic amputations, severe lacerations, possible internal hemorrhaging secondary to acoustic insult if the 1048 variant uses the documented scream ability. Also, children. So... do what you can."
She didn't quite keep the strain out of her voice on the last sentence.
"IMINT," OWL said.
"Aviation Mobility, Containment-IMINT," FUSE said. "I've got basic floor plans for the pediatrics wing—rooms, playroom, nurses' station. No internal cameras feeding live; hospital IT cut power to the system after the first incident. I've got exterior cams and whatever cellphone footage DUSK can 'borrow' from witnesses."
"I love when you say 'borrow,'" DUSK said. "Makes larceny sound wholesome."
"ALPHA-1 Overwatch online," PRIORESS said, voice steady. "Children are involved. You are not to allow the object to leave the wing. If containment fails, you initiate hard kill—even if that means collateral damage. Ethics has signed off on that order."
"Copy," FULCRUM said.
On a side channel, almost too soft to hear, she added: "Shadow channel, online?"
"Here," FOXHAMMER's low voice answered.
"Watch his affect," PRIORESS murmured. "Keter-class in a pediatric zone is... abrasive."
"I remember," FOXHAMMER said quietly.
OWL glanced around the table.
"Questions?" he asked.
"Any behavioral quirk we can exploit?" KESTREL asked.
"1048 and its variants respond to attention," DOCSTRING said. "They like to be looked at. They like to be acknowledged. They like to have their 'art' appreciated. That means you can bait it by reacting. It also means you should be careful how much you indulge that."
"So we neg the murder bear," DUSK summarized. "Got it."
FULCRUM looked at the still image of the bear again.
"Any confirmed intelligence markers beyond tool use?" he asked.
"Evidence suggests low but focused cunning," DOCSTRING said. "Think more along the lines of a crow than a child. It learns. It remembers. It holds grudges."
"Then let's give it a new one," FULCRUM said.
He stood.
"Team one, gear up."
The hospital loomed out of the drizzle as the armored van rolled to a stop.
Glass frontage, emergency bay, ambulance lights pulsing in low gear. The main lobby was crowded with evacuated staff and patients wrapped in blankets. Foundation plainclothes stirred among them, calming, redirecting, lying.
PATCH had beaten them there. A temporary triage zone bloomed like a field hospital under the ambulance bay's overhang—cots, IV poles, a row of equipment cases with PSI-7 stenciled on the sides.
She looked up as TEAM 1 disembarked, rain beading on their armor.
"Three criticals inside I haven't gotten to yet," she said without preamble. "Two adult staff, one child. They were stable last check. That was ten minutes ago. I don't like waiting any longer."
"We'll clear a path," FULCRUM said.
Her gaze flicked to his.
"Fulcrum," she said softly through the helmet speakers. "If it comes down to saving a child or recovering the object—"
"Save the child," he said. "We can rebuild protocols. We can't rebuild them."
Her shoulders eased by a fraction.
"I know that's the right answer," she murmured. "Doesn't mean Command always agrees."
"Command can adjust," he said.
He said it like a joke. She knew he meant it like a promise.
"DUSK," FULCRUM said, turning. "Lobby?"
"Already handled," DUSK said, jogging up, ponytail damp. "Security's told 'gas leak and structural concerns.' No one's going near pediatrics without a full hazmat suit and a death wish. Cops are bored and cold. Your lane is clear."
"Good," he said. "Let's try to keep it that way."
They entered through a side door to avoid the lobby crush.
The pediatric wing was separated from the rest of the hospital by a set of double doors painted with a mural—trees, animals, a cartoon sun with a smile.
The smile had a bullet hole through it.
"Looks like security tried to go loud," VANTAGE murmured, eyeing the peppered wood.
"Reportedly," FUSE said, "the shots didn't do much but make it mad."
"Lights?" FULCRUM asked.
"Emergency only," FUSE said. "Main power to the wing was cut by hospital maintenance. Partial backup on battery. You're looking at dim hall lights and whatever sunlight gets through the windows."
"Perfect," RATCHET said. "Hate seeing where my nightmares live anyway."
"Nu-7, TEAM 1," PRIORESS said over the net. "You are cleared to enter the pediatrics wing. Time is not on your side."
"Copy," FULCRUM said.
He nodded to BASTION.
"Shield up," he said. "We move."
The doors opened into a corridor that had been designed to feel safe.
Walls painted with whimsical forests. Cartoon bears, rabbits, rainbows. The floor tiles alternated pink and blue.
The blood didn't match any of the colors.
Smears of it streaked along the baseboards where something small had run through a spill. Little brown prints dotted the floor like a trail.
Children's drawings fluttered on the walls—a house, a family, a scribbled dog. One had been torn down the middle, leaving only half a smiling stick figure taped to the plaster.
"Heart rates elevated," PATCH murmured over MedIntel.
"Occupational hazard," DOCSTRING said. But her voice was softer than usual.
"FUSE," FULCRUM said quietly. "Talk to me."
"Floor plan shows rooms on either side of the hall, nurses' station in the middle, playroom at the end," FUSE said. "Thermal's messy—lot of residual heat from bodies, equipment. But I've got one anomalously cool pocket moving between rooms on the right side. Small. Lower than ambient. That's your bear."
"Civilians?"
"One heat source in room 7A—adult size, mostly still," FUSE said. "One smaller heat source in 9C, moving sporadically. That's your kid."
"And the third critical?" PATCH asked.
"Probable at nurses' station," FUSE said. "Heat pattern intermittent. Might be someone under a desk, might be someone half behind a counter. Hard to tell from here."
"We clear as we go," FULCRUM said. "Left first, then right. No one splits alone."
"Copy," TEAM 1 murmured.
They took the first room on the left.
Empty bed, IV stand, monitor beeping in soft confusion. A cartoon giraffe smiled from the curtains.
"No one here," HARROW said.
"Move," FULCRUM replied.
Room 3B, 5A, 5C—empty or evacuated. Toys on the floor, a tablet still playing an animated show to an audience of none.
At the nurses' station, they found one of PATCH's criticals.
A woman in scrubs lay half-behind the counter, one arm stretched toward a panic button she'd never reached. Her chest rose and fell shallowly. Deep gashes ran across her legs where something had torn through fabric and flesh.
"Still with us," FULCRUM said.
"Vitals?" PATCH asked.
He rattled them off, eyes on the wounds.
"Tourniquet high on both thighs, direct pressure, elevation if possible," PATCH said. "Get her packaged and we'll pull her to triage once the wing is secure."
"HARROW, you're on it," FULCRUM said. "BASTION, hold the hall with me."
As HARROW worked, a soft sound drifted from further down the corridor.
A giggle.
High, childish. Almost normal.
"FUSE," FULCRUM said.
"Bear's moving toward 9C," FUSE said, voice sharpening. "That's the kid room."
"Speed?"
"Faster than I like," FUSE said.
"Then we go," FULCRUM said.
"HARROW, as soon as she's stable, you catch up. RATCHET, VANTAGE, with me. BASTION, front."
They moved, boots careful on slick patches.
The closer they got to 9C, the more they heard it.
The soft scritch of small feet on tile.
A quiet, horrific humming—off-key and childlike.
"—build it up, build it high, build it 'til it touches sky—"
The voice was thin, piping. Not quite human.
"Door 9C," FUSE said. "Bear is inside or at the threshold. Kid is in the far corner. Heat signature suggests they're under the bed."
"Of course they are," RATCHET muttered.
FULCRUM flattened to the wall next to the door. BASTION took position opposite, shield ready. VANTAGE covered the hall.
He leaned just far enough to peek.
The door stood half-open.
Inside, the room was dim. Cartoon stars on the ceiling, a mobile hanging from the light fixture. The bed closest to the door was empty. The far bed had its blanket hanging half-off the side, like something had scrambled under it in a hurry.
In the middle of the floor, the bear sat.
It was maybe thirty centimeters tall. Brown fur matted and darker in places. One proper glass eye. One ear where another eye should have been. A second ear stitched to its belly. Tiny hands, paws tipped with what looked more like fingernails than thread.
In its lap, it cradled something.
A little pyramid of what seemed to be building blocks.
Only when FULCRUM's gaze tracked down did he see they were made of flesh—little cubes of something that had once been part of someone else.
His stomach tightened.
"Visual on target," he murmured.
"Do not address it directly if you can avoid it," DOCSTRING said. "Any vocal engagement reinforces its 'game.'"
As if it had heard her, the bear's head turned slowly toward the door.
It had no visible mouth movement—the stitched-on smile never changed. But a voice emerged from it anyway, thin and reedy.
"Hello," it said.
Behind FULCRUM, KESTREL flinched.
"Permission to hate this thing," RATCHET whispered.
"Granted," FULCRUM said.
He stepped into the doorway, shotgun leveled but not yet firing.
The bear cocked its head.
"You're not supposed to be here," it said.
From under the bed, a smaller voice whimpered.
"Make it stop," a child said. "Please, I want my mom."
"Bear's between you and the kid," FUSE confirmed. "No other heat signatures close."
"Is it holding anything that could function like an explosive?" FULCRUM asked.
"Negative," FUSE said. "Just... meat art."
"DOCSTRING?" FULCRUM asked.
"If you can disable it without triggering a scream, do so," DOCSTRING said. "Any high-pressure trauma may cause an acoustic discharge. Shooting it risks that. Blunt force is risky but may work. So would a bag with sound-dampening if you can get it on before it reacts."
The bear climbed to its feet.
"Do you like it?" it asked, gesturing with tiny arms toward the pile of cubes. "I worked very hard. They screamed and screamed and screamed."
FULCRUM's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Don't," PATCH said sharply. "If it shrieks, every unprotected eardrum in that wing will pour out of their head."
"Fun image," RATCHET muttered faintly.
FULCRUM exhaled.
"BASTION," he said. "Shield front. I'm going to bag it."
"You sure?" BASTION asked.
"No," FULCRUM said. "But I don't like the alternatives."
He slung the KSG and pulled a compact black bag from his pack—a sound-dampening hood designed for dangerous artifacts. Its interior was lined with layered cloth and composite, its exterior marked with a simple, stupid smiley face.
He hated it on principle.
"On my move," FULCRUM said.
He stepped into the room, keeping BASTION's shield between him and most of the bear.
The bear watched him with its mismatched gaze.
"You're breaking the rules," it said.
He didn't answer.
He lunged.
The bear moved faster than it had any right to.
It darted to the side, claws scrabbling on tile. FULCRUM swept the bag down, catching it mid-scramble. Tiny limbs flailed inside the cloth.
It screamed.
The sound hit the inside of the hood like a thrown blade.
Outside, in the hall, KESTREL and RATCHET flinched as a muffled squeal bled through the barrier. Their helmet audio spiked, then auto-dampened.
FULCRUM tightened his grip, twisting the bag closed.
The scream cut to a shrill whine, contained.
"Object hooded," he grunted. "Acoustic event suppressed."
"Minimal external spike," PATCH said, relief clear. "No secondary collapse in civilian vitals."
"BASTION, secure the bag," FULCRUM said, handing the writhing bundle off. "Do not let it claw through."
The big man wrapped both arms around the bundle like an offensive football.
It kicked. He squeezed.
Under the bed, the child whimpered again.
"Hey," FULCRUM said, dropping to a knee.
He kept his tone soft, pitched the way he had for Luis and Marcy.
"Hey. You're okay now," he said.
A small face peered out—tear-streaked, eyes huge.
"You're not supposed to be in there," DOCSTRING's dry voice commented over the channel.
"Occupational hazard," he muttered.
"Are you a doctor?" the kid whispered.
"I'm the kind of doctor that makes bad things go away," FULCRUM said. "Come on. Hands out."
He extended a gloved hand.
The child hesitated, then grabbed it.
He pulled them out carefully and scooped them up, mindful of any potential hidden injuries.
"Any pain?" he asked.
"Just... my ears hurt," the kid mumbled, clutching his vest.
"I know," FULCRUM said. "That's going to get better. There's someone outside who's very good at fixing that kind of thing."
"Mom?" the child asked.
"Working on it," FULCRUM said.
He carried the kid out into the hall, cradled against his armor.
In the ambulance bay, PATCH looked up as he approached.
Her face softened in a way he rarely saw.
"Hand-off," he said, setting the child gently on a cot.
"I've got you," PATCH murmured, already moving into motion—otoscope, penlight, quiet questions.
The kid clung to her hand like a lifeline.
Behind them, FUSE stood at the edge of the bay, eyes on PATCH. His jaw worked once, like he wanted to say something to FULCRUM and decided against it.
"Two more criticals inside," FULCRUM said. "One at nurses' station, one in 7A."
"I'm ready," PATCH said. "Send them."
Room 7A held the second adult critical.
A doctor lay on the floor beside the bed, one arm missing from mid-bicep down. A trail of blood led to the bed's far side, where the missing limb lay, fingers frozen in a clawed position.
The stump had been bandaged in a hurry with a child's blanket.
"Alive?" FULCRUM asked.
"Barely," PATCH said in his ear as he checked the airway. "He needs blood, pressure support, and a transfusion. Get him out."
As HARROW and RATCHET worked the doctor onto a board, VANTAGE stepped to the window.
"Bear?" FULCRUM asked.
"Bag's still moving," BASTION grunted. "Feels like a pissed-off cat."
"Good," FULCRUM said. "I'd worry if it went quiet."
"Don't say that," RATCHET muttered.
They ferried the doctor back to triage.
By the time they returned, the corridor felt... lighter.
The walls were still painted with forests, still spattered with blood. But the air had lost a subtle weight.
"Any other anomalous movement?" FULCRUM asked.
"Negative," FUSE said. "Whatever that instance was, it was alone."
"Alone for now," DOCSTRING corrected. "1048 is prolific."
"Nu-7, TEAM 1," PRIORESS said. "You have neutralized the immediate threat and secured all reachable civilians. Containment team is en route to take custody of the instance. Stand by for debrief."
"Copy," FULCRUM said.
He looked down the corridor one last time.
On the wall by 9C, a child's drawing flapped gently in the air from the ventilation.
A bear holding hands with a stick-figure child.
Someone had crayon'd a big red X over the bear.
He didn't touch it.
The debrief room felt smaller than usual.
Maybe it was the subject matter. Maybe it was the fact that the hospital's fluorescent lights still seemed burned into the back of FULCRUM's eyes.
TEAM 1 sat around the table, armor undone, the lines of their faces deeper than usual.
OWL stood at the front with DOCSTRING and PATCH flanking him. FUSE leaned against the wall near PATCH, arms crossed.
On the screen behind them, a still from 9C hung in the air—a blurred frame of FULCRUM lunging with the hood as the bear twisted away.
"Good containment," OWL said simply. "Minimal collateral, maximum civilian survivability. That's the order of operations we like."
He tapped the tablet.
The image shifted to a schematic overlay of the wing, little colored dots marking movements.
"1048's behavior tracked within expected parameters," DOCSTRING said. "Lured targets, harvested tissue, constructed new forms. You denied it further material and removed its audience. Shoved into an acoustic hood, it's just an angry plushie."
"A plushie that can deglove a forearm," HARROW muttered.
"We'll be studying this instance for a while," DOCSTRING continued. "Assuming it doesn't... add to its collection before we lock it down properly."
"Doc," PATCH said quietly.
"Yes?" DOCSTRING asked.
"Children," PATCH said.
There was a beat.
"Right," DOCSTRING said. "Three confirmed child fatalities in the initial incident. We weren't there for those. We were there for the ones we could get. And we got them."
Her eyes met FULCRUM's for a second.
"You did," she said.
He held her gaze, then nodded once.
"Any exposure concerns?" OWL asked.
"Auditory exposure is minimal," PATCH said. "No one took an unshielded scream. Some of the staff will have lasting trauma, but it's treatable. TEAM 1's vitals spiked in predictable places and have largely returned to baseline."
"Psych?" OWL asked.
"Ask me again in a week," DOCSTRING said. "You can't measure grief on a heart monitor."
Across the table, KESTREL stared at the wood grain.
"Fulcrum?" OWL said.
"Yes, sir," FULCRUM replied.
"You put yourself between the object and the child," OWL said. "You took on an unacceptable risk with an acceptable outcome. I'd admonish you, but the Ethics Committee already sent a note."
"Of course they did," RATCHET muttered.
"What did they say?" FULCRUM asked.
"They said," OWL replied, reading off his tablet, "'Subject continues to display high-risk tolerance when children are present. Monitor for martyrdom complex.'"
Silence fell.
"Do you have a martyrdom complex, Fulcrum?" DUSK asked lightly from the corner.
"No," FULCRUM said. "If I die, someone else has to do my paperwork. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
A small crack of laughter ran around the table, relieving some of the pressure.
"Good answer," OWL said.
He closed the tablet.
"You're off rotation for the rest of the day," he said. "Debrief notes by twenty-one hundred. Med check-ins as scheduled. If you find yourself avoiding toy aisles or children's shows, inform DOCSTRING."
"Or me," PATCH added.
Her eyes found FULCRUM's again.
He pretended not to notice the extra half-second she looked.
"Dismissed," OWL said.
Outside the debrief room, the corridor felt oddly normal.
Just another hallway. Just another set of doors.
FULCRUM stepped out and leaned briefly against the wall, letting the cool paint touch the back of his head.
The echo of the bear's thin little song slid through his memory.
"—build it up, build it high—"
He pushed it away.
"You okay?" KESTREL's voice asked.
He opened his eyes.
She stood a few feet away, helmet under her arm, hair pulled back, expression tighter than her tone.
"Operational," he said automatically.
"That's not what I asked," she replied.
He considered.
"I don't like kids in kill zones," he said. "But I prefer them alive in triage to quiet in the morgue."
"Same," she said.
She shifted closer, until her shoulder almost brushed his.
"When you went for the bear," she said quietly, "my brain did this thing where it ran through fifteen outcomes. You dead in most of them."
"Sorry," he said.
"Don't be," she said. "You did what you had to. Just... next time, if you can give me a half-second warning before you do something that stupid, I'd appreciate it."
"I'll try," he said.
She gave him a sideways look.
"That's more than I expected," she said.
Her fingers brushed his wrist, brief and grounding.
"Range later?" she asked. "No anomalies. Just paper targets."
"Maybe," he said.
She nodded, like that was a yes, and peeled off down the hall.
A few meters away, PATCH stood at a water fountain, filling a plastic bottle. FUSE leaned against the wall beside her, listening as she ran through follow-up plans for the hospital staff.
"...and the kid's going to need a long talk with someone who isn't just going to say 'it was a bad dream,'" she was saying.
"You volunteering?" FUSE asked.
"If they let me," she said.
He watched her for a moment, then dipped his head closer.
"You did good," he said.
"So did you," she replied.
He shrugged.
"I stared at screens," he said.
"You watched angles so Fulcrum could focus on the kid," she said. "That matters."
FULCRUM pretended not to hear his own name.
He headed for the stairwell instead of the elevator, the quiet space between floors a necessary buffer.
In the upper levels, in a room with no windows and too many screens, PRIORESS and FOXHAMMER watched the 9C footage one more time.
"He didn't speak to it until he had to," PRIORESS said.
"He refused to play along," FOXHAMMER agreed. "Only broke that rule to save the kid."
"Would you have?" she asked.
He thought about it.
"Yeah," he said. "Once."
On the screen, FULCRUM carried the child out of the room, small arms looped around his neck.
"You still think he's viable?" PRIORESS asked.
"He's more than viable," FOXHAMMER said quietly. "He's exactly the kind of idiot we need."
"Careful," she said. "You're starting to sound fond."
"I'm starting to sound like someone who recognizes the pattern," he replied.
She reached out and let her hand rest over his on the console.
"You're not him," she said.
"I know," he replied.
On the screen, FULCRUM disappeared through the door with the bear bagged and the child alive.
For the moment, that was the only score that mattered.
In the dark, the little song lingered.
"—build it up, build it high—"
They both pretended not to hear it.