Luis Aguillar stood amidst the rubble, the faint smell of charred wood and twisted metal hanging heavy in the humid Sampaloc air. The scene around him was both a triumph and a disaster—an experiment gone right and wrong in the same breath. The targeted building lay in ruins, reduced to nothing more than fragments and dust as planned, but the destruction stretched far beyond the intended perimeter. Shattered windows lined the adjacent buildings, cracks snaked across the streets, and piles of debris blocked alleyways where children had once played.

  The Iron Mice scurried about in the distance, their movements unnervingly precise as they returned to their containment. They had done their job, tearing through the structure with mechanical efficiency, but the breach caused by the Staff of Noah’s momentary lapse had unleashed chaos that no one had anticipated. The mice had surged beyond the Bureau’s controlled limits, dismantling a section of the neighborhood before the Staff regained its grip. No lives had been lost, but the destruction carried a silent weight. Hundreds of thousands of pesos in damages, businesses halted, lives disrupted. All in the name of progress.

  Luis crouched down, picking up a jagged piece of metal that had once been part of the building’s foundation. His mind replayed the experiment, combing through every decision, every calculation. He knew what the reports would say: Technically successful. But the scars left on Sampaloc told a different story. His chest tightened as he straightened, the distant chatter of angry voices reaching him. A crowd had gathered at the edge of the destruction, their outrage palpable even at a distance. Protesters—some holding signs, others simply staring at the ruins with disbelief. Their voices would echo all the way to Site 001.

  Luis turned his gaze to the wooden staff that leaned against a nearby wall. The Bureau’s artifact, ancient and powerful, seemed almost indifferent in its silence. The Staff of Noah had done its part, yet it had also faltered, however briefly. That lapse—those fleeting moments of chaos—had been enough to unravel carefully laid plans. Enough to make Luis wonder if the price of innovation was higher than even he had estimated.

  The sound of footsteps behind him broke his thoughts. A Bureau operative approached, her expression unreadable but professional. “Dr. Aguillar,” she said, her tone clipped, “the delegates are expecting a full report.”

  Luis nodded, his jaw tightening. “They’ll get it,” he said. “Every detail.”

  ***

  The chamber of the BSA Council buzzed with subdued tension. Delegates from around the globe sat in their designated seats, the emblem of the Bureau looming above them—a stark reminder of the power they wielded and the responsibilities they bore. Juan Reyes stood at the center, his crisp suit immaculate despite the growing protests outside. He adjusted his microphone with practiced precision before speaking, his tone measured and authoritative.

  "Ladies and gentlemen of the Council," he began, his voice cutting cleanly through the murmurs. "I stand before you today to report on the experiment conducted in Sampaloc, Manila, utilizing Item #029—the Staff of Noah—and Item #043—the Iron Mice."

  He paused briefly, allowing the room to settle. The delegates leaned forward, some skeptical, others intrigued. Reyes scanned the crowd before continuing, his cadence methodical. "The objective was to test the controlled application of anomalies for structural demolition in urban environments—a process that could revolutionize how we approach outdated infrastructure in densely populated areas. I am pleased to report that the experiment was successful."

  Reyes gestured to the holographic display beside him, which flickered to life, showing images and footage of the demolished building. "The Iron Mice performed with remarkable efficiency, reducing the structure to rubble within minutes. This level of precision is unprecedented and demonstrates the immense potential of anomaly-assisted engineering."

  The footage shifted to the aftermath—the rubble, the cracked streets, the shattered windows. Reyes maintained his composure as the images displayed the unintended consequences of the brief breach. "It is true," he continued, his voice steady, "that a momentary lapse in the Staff's control resulted in collateral damage beyond the planned perimeter. However, containment was swiftly reestablished, and no casualties were reported."

  He let the statement hang in the air, emphasizing the lack of loss of life—a detail he knew was critical to his defense. "The damages, while significant, are estimated at several hundred thousand pesos—a manageable cost given the scale of the operation. Furthermore, the lessons learned from this event will allow us to refine our protocols and ensure greater stability in future applications."

  Reyes turned to face the room fully, his gaze unwavering. "This experiment represents a pivotal step forward in harnessing anomalies for constructive purposes. It is a success not only in execution but in vision—a glimpse of what is possible when we dare to innovate. I urge the Council to view this event not as a failure, but as progress."

  As he stepped back, the murmurs resumed, louder this time. Delegates exchanged glances, some nodding thoughtfully, others frowning in disapproval. Reyes stood tall, his hands clasped behind him as he awaited the inevitable questions. Outside the chamber, the sound of protesters chanting echoed faintly, a reminder of the delicate balance between ambition and accountability.

  The murmurs had barely settled when Dr. Markus Bach rose from his seat, his imposing frame commanding attention even before he spoke. He tapped his microphone sharply, the sound cutting through the quiet like a gavel. The room turned toward him, the delegates bracing for the inevitable criticism.

  "Success?" Bach began, his voice resonating with disdain. "Is that the word we’re using now? Hundreds of thousands of pesos in damages, the livelihoods of an entire neighborhood disrupted, and the only saving grace—if you can call it that—is that no lives were lost. And this, you call success?"

  Juan Reyes shifted in his seat, his expression remaining carefully neutral as Bach gestured toward the holographic display. The images of the rubble lingered, stark and unforgiving, as Bach’s tone grew sharper. "Dr. Aguillar’s experiment was reckless. Make no mistake—this wasn’t an advancement, it was a gamble, and the stakes were far higher than any of us were led to believe."

  He turned, addressing the room with piercing clarity. "Consider the consequences if containment hadn’t been reestablished so quickly. The Iron Mice surged beyond the designated perimeter in mere seconds. Had the breach lasted longer—minutes, even—the devastation could have escalated tenfold. What then? Would we still be calling this progress? Or would we be mourning lives lost to ambition unchecked?"

  Bach paused, letting his words settle heavily among the delegates. "We are the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs—not a playground for experimentation without boundaries. Anomalies, by their very nature, defy predictability. To wield them carelessly is to invite disaster, not just for the Bureau, but for the very people we are sworn to protect."

  His gaze locked on Reyes, his voice lowering but losing none of its edge. "Delegate Reyes, you authorized this experiment. You knew the risks. Perhaps you believed the rewards would outweigh them. But this Council deserves to know—what will you tell the people of Sampaloc? The business owners whose shops are buried beneath rubble? The families whose homes were damaged? What will you tell them when the protests outside these walls grow louder?"

  The room fell silent, the weight of Bach’s words pressing down like a stormcloud. Outside the chamber, the faint chants of protesters echoed again, their voices growing stronger by the minute. Bach straightened, his expression unyielding as he delivered his final blow.

  "Success," he repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. "If this is your definition of success, then I fear what the future holds for the Bureau."

  With that, he returned to his seat, the murmurs resuming in his wake—more heated now, more uncertain. Reyes sat rigid, his hands clasped tightly before him, while the other delegates exchanged glances, some nodding in agreement, others waiting for the next voice to rise.

  Before Juan Reyes could rise to defend himself, Vincent Laurainne stood, his movements deliberate and commanding. The room quieted as Vincent tapped the microphone, his gaze sweeping across the chamber. "If I may," he began, his voice smooth, confident, and tinged with conviction. "Dr. Bach’s concerns, while valid in their caution, overlook a fundamental truth about the nature of progress."

  He gestured toward the holographic display, the images of the demolished building flickering behind him. "Ladies and gentlemen, what we see here is not recklessness—it is discovery. Anomalies, by definition, are forces beyond ordinary comprehension. To unlock their full potential requires experimentation, innovation, and yes, risk. Dr. Aguillar’s work has demonstrated that with tools like the Staff of Noah and the Iron Mice, we can achieve feats previously thought impossible. The controlled demolition of an urban structure in minutes—this is not failure; this is a glimpse into the future."

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  Vincent paused, letting his words sink in. "Dr. Bach has rightly pointed out the collateral damage—a temporary breach that led to unintended consequences. But I ask you this: would we have gained the knowledge we now possess without taking that risk? The Bureau exists to understand and harness anomalies, and understanding them requires testing their limits. The damage caused by the breach is regrettable, yes, but it is not insurmountable. It is a price we pay for progress—and we are learning how to mitigate that price."

  He stepped closer to the display, pointing toward an image of the Iron Mice returning to containment. "Look at what we’ve learned from this experiment. We’ve seen the potential for anomaly-assisted engineering, and we’ve identified weaknesses in control systems that must be refined. The Staff of Noah faltered momentarily, but that failure is itself a lesson—a lesson that allows us to improve, to grow, to master the tools at our disposal."

  Vincent turned back to the delegates, his gaze piercing. "If the Bureau succumbs to fear every time an experiment has unforeseen consequences, we will never move forward. We will stagnate, paralyzed by the risks of innovation. But if we embrace the knowledge gained, if we refine our methods, we can turn events like Sampaloc into stepping stones toward a better future."

  He glanced briefly at Reyes, a subtle nod of support. "I commend Delegate Reyes for authorizing this experiment. It is through such bold decisions that the Bureau fulfills its purpose—not just to contain anomalies, but to understand and utilize them for the benefit of humanity. I urge this Council not to focus solely on the losses but to recognize the invaluable knowledge we’ve gained and the doors it opens for tomorrow."

  As Vincent returned to his seat, the murmurs resumed, louder now, more divided. Some delegates nodded thoughtfully, swayed by his vision. Others exchanged skeptical glances, unconvinced. Juan Reyes, still standing, adjusted his tie and prepared to speak, the debates far from over.

  Dr. Markus Bach rose to his feet again, his face stern and his tone sharper this time. "Laurainne," he began, his voice cutting through the murmurs, "your rhetoric is as reckless as the experiment itself. Discovery? Progress? These are noble words to mask the negligence that led to this mess. The people of Sampaloc deserve more than platitudes about potential—they deserve accountability!"

  Vincent Laurainne scoffed, leaning forward with a smirk that bordered on defiance. "And what would you propose, Bach? Shall we bury our heads in the sand? Shall we let anomalies collect dust in containment while the world moves forward without us? Progress isn’t clean or easy—it demands boldness!"

  "Boldness without restraint is recklessness," Bach shot back, his voice rising. "You speak of progress, but you ignore the cost. How many neighborhoods must we risk before you consider the dangers? How many more breaches before we learn caution?"

  "The breach was contained," Vincent countered, his own volume increasing. "No casualties. No lives lost. That’s a testament to the protocols in place and the swift action of our teams. You’d have us cripple our potential out of fear!"

  "Fear is what keeps disasters from spiraling out of control," Bach retorted, his fists clenching on the table. "Your arrogance blinds you to the consequences. The Bureau isn’t your personal laboratory!"

  Vincent rose to his feet, his voice now a full-throated challenge. "And your obsession with caution would doom us to irrelevance, clinging to outdated methods while the rest of the world adapts. The Bureau’s purpose is to understand and harness anomalies—not to timidly contain them forever!"

  The room was alive with tension as their voices clashed, growing louder and more heated with each volley. Delegates whispered urgently among themselves, some nodding in agreement with Bach’s criticisms, others swayed by Vincent’s vision. The faint sound of protesters outside seemed to mirror the chaos unfolding within.

  "Enough!" A clear, commanding voice cut through the noise like a blade. Secretary Laura Fairchild, the Canadian delegate, rose from her seat at the head of the chamber. She struck the gavel sharply against the table, the sound reverberating through the room. "Gentlemen, this is a Council chamber, not a schoolyard! Sit down, both of you!"

  Bach and Vincent froze, their faces still flush with the heat of argument, but the authority in Fairchild’s voice left no room for defiance. Reluctantly, they returned to their seats, though neither seemed fully willing to back down.

  Fairchild surveyed the room, her gaze firm and uncompromising. "This Council will not descend into chaos. We are here to debate, to deliberate—not to shout each other down. Dr. Bach and Delegate Laurainne, your points have been heard. Any further remarks will be made with decorum, or not at all."

  She paused, letting the silence settle over the room like a heavy blanket. The murmurs quieted, the delegates sitting straighter under her gaze. "Now," she continued, her tone crisp, "we will proceed with this discussion in an orderly manner. Delegate Reyes, you may respond if you wish."

  Fairchild sat down, the gavel resting prominently before her as a silent reminder. The tension in the room lingered, but her intervention had reasserted a measure of control. Vincent and Bach exchanged one last glare before turning their attention back to the Council floor, their conflict far from resolved.

  Juan Reyes adjusted his microphone, nodding toward Secretary Fairchild with a hint of gratitude. "Thank you, Madam Secretary," he began, his voice steady despite the tension that lingered in the chamber. He turned his attention to the Council, his demeanor calm and deliberate.

  "I understand the concerns raised by Dr. Bach and Delegate Laurainne," Reyes said, his gaze moving between the two. "And I appreciate the passionate discourse that follows such events. It is through debate and scrutiny that we grow stronger as an institution. Allow me to address the points raised and provide clarity."

  Reyes gestured to the holographic display, which had shifted back to the footage of Sampaloc’s ruins. "First and foremost, I acknowledge the collateral damage caused by the breach during the experiment. While the destruction exceeded our planned parameters, I want to emphasize that containment was reestablished swiftly and effectively, preventing loss of life. The lessons learned from this incident will inform future protocols and ensure we minimize risks moving forward."

  He paused, his expression somber as he addressed the financial implications. "To the people of Sampaloc and the surrounding community, I assure you that they will not bear this burden alone. Under the principle of Eminent Domain, the country’s executive office has already allocated funds for fair compensation to those affected. Business owners, residents, and others impacted by the experiment will receive restitution, ensuring that their lives and livelihoods can recover."

  Reyes’ tone shifted slightly, becoming more measured as he pivoted to the future. "As Delegate Laurainne has rightly pointed out, this experiment has provided us with invaluable data. The controlled application of the Staff of Noah and the Iron Mice shows immense promise in anomaly-assisted engineering. However, as Dr. Bach has highlighted, the brief lapse in control reveals the limits that must be understood and addressed. Further testing is not only necessary—it is essential to refine the use of these anomalies and to ensure that future operations proceed with even greater precision."

  At this, Bach leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet scoff that carried across the chamber. Vincent, on the other hand, nodded approvingly, his expression animated with enthusiasm.

  Reyes glanced briefly at the two, his composure unshaken. "The Bureau exists at the intersection of risk and innovation," he continued. "Our responsibility is to balance the two, pushing the boundaries of what is possible while safeguarding the people we serve. This incident was a stepping stone—a difficult one, yes, but a necessary part of our journey toward progress."

  He stepped back, folding his hands before him. "I thank the Council for their attention, and I welcome further discussion as we continue to navigate these complexities together."

  Secretary Laura Fairchild struck the gavel one final time, the sharp sound cutting through the murmur of voices. "This session is dismissed," she announced firmly. "Delegates, you may reconvene informally or retire for the day. Thank you for your attention and participation."

  The chamber came alive with activity as chairs scraped across the floor and delegates formed small clusters. Some filtered out into the corridors, eager to leave behind the tension of the debate, while others lingered, engaging in quiet discussions. Vincent Laurainne navigated the crowd with ease, his eyes scanning for one person in particular. He soon found Juan Reyes near the center of the room, engaged in polite conversation with a neighboring delegate.

  "Reyes!" Vincent called out warmly, his voice cutting through the chatter. As Reyes turned, Vincent strode up to him, hand extended. "Brilliant work today. You handled the fire from all sides with real grace."

  Reyes shook the offered hand with a faint smile. "Laurainne. I imagine you didn’t stop me just to deliver compliments."

  Vincent chuckled, his usual charm on full display. "Not just compliments," he admitted. "I was thinking we could continue the conversation over dinner. A good meal always makes for productive discussions, don’t you think?"

  Before Reyes could respond, a familiar voice joined the conversation. Secretary Laura Fairchild, standing nearby, arched an eyebrow as she approached. "Dinner?" she repeated with a wry smile. "You’ve made an excellent choice, Laurainne. Delegate Reyes is known for his cooking skills. I hear he can turn a humble pantry into something extraordinary."

  Reyes chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I see my reputation precedes me," he said, his tone modest. He turned to Vincent, his smirk deepening. "If you’re willing to take the risk, I’ll cook for you instead. My room has a kitchenette—I can whip up something simple."

  Vincent’s eyebrows lifted in delight. "A home-cooked meal from a culinary legend? How could I refuse? It’ll be an honor, Reyes."

  "Don’t get your hopes up," Reyes replied, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. "You’ll get whatever I can throw together in an hour."

  Vincent grinned, already anticipating the evening. "Fair enough. Let’s call it a deal."

  As the two parted ways, Fairchild watched them with an amused expression before returning to her seat to collect her papers. Reyes, meanwhile, strode toward the exit, mentally cataloging what ingredients he had left in the small kitchenette. The protests outside grew louder as he walked, a distant reminder of the work that lay ahead.