Chapter 237: 237 The Informant

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237: The Informant 237: The Informant The figure appeared at Eldergrove’s gates at three in the morning, triggering every alarm Julian had installed.

Security lights blazed across the perimeter, illuminating a lone person standing with their hands raised, palms out, in a gesture of surrender.

Bruce reached the gates first, his werewolf senses on high alert.

Behind him came Julian, armed and dangerous, and Emma, her Resonant crystal already glowing as she checked for magical threats.

“Don’t shoot!” the figure called out, voice rough with exhaustion.

“Please.

I need to speak with Mishka Classens.

I have information about Jean Rousseau’s plans.

Information that could save your lives.”

“Identify yourself,” Julian ordered, his weapon trained center mass.

The figure lowered their hood slowly, revealing a woman in her thirties with sharp features and haunted eyes.

“My name is Dr.

Sophia Chen.

I worked for Jean Rousseau’s network.

I designed the collars.”

Bruce’s growl reverberated through the night air.

“You put that thing on Mishka.”

“Yes.” Dr.

Chen’s voice didn’t waver.

“I also know how to remove it safely.

And I know what Jean is planning for day zero.

But I need asylum.

Protection.

Because when Jean discovers I’ve defected, she’ll do everything in her power to kill me.”

“Give us one good reason not to throw you back to her right now,” Bruce snarled, his claws extending.

“Because in twenty-one days, Jean is going to activate every sleeper agent simultaneously across fifty integration communities.

She’s going to make them slaughter humans in coordinated attacks that will be broadcast live across every news network on the continent.” Dr.

Chen’s voice shook.

“And I’m the only person outside Jean’s inner circle who knows the activation codes to stop it.”

Thirty minutes later, Dr.

Sophia Chen sat in the secure conference room at Eldergrove’s community center, surrounded by more hostile faces than she’d probably ever encountered.

Bruce stood behind Mishka’s wheelchair, his protective stance making it clear that one wrong move would end with violence.

Director Chen had been patched in via video conference, her expression skeptical.

Emma sat across from Dr.

Chen, her crystal pulsing steadily as she scanned for deception or hidden magic.

“She’s clean,” Emma reported.

“No collar, no tracking devices, no magical compulsion that I can detect.

But that doesn’t mean she’s telling the truth.”

“Everything I’ve said is the truth,” Dr.

Chen said, her hands flat on the table.

“I know you have no reason to trust me.

I’ve spent three years building the technology that’s enslaved hundreds of supernatural beings.

I’ve watched Jean torture people into compliance.

I’ve turned my expertise into weapons.

But I’m here now because I can’t watch what she’s planning to do next.”

“Why the change of heart?” Gillian asked, her financial analyst’s mind looking for the angle.

“Three years of complicity, and suddenly you grow a conscience?”

“I never had much of one to begin with,” Dr.

Chen admitted.

“I was recruited out of MIT by what I thought was a private security firm.

By the time I realized what I was really working on, I was too deep to get out.

Jean made it clear that defection meant death—not just for me, but for my family.”

“And now?” Director Chen asked through the video link.

“Now my family is already dead.” Dr.

Chen’s voice went flat, emotionless.

“Jean had them killed two weeks ago.

She said it was to ensure my complete loyalty.

To eliminate any weakness she could exploit.

She was wrong.

It eliminated the only thing keeping me there.”

The room fell silent.

Mishka reached out and touched Dr.

Chen’s hand.

The scientist looked at her, at the collar still locked around Mishka’s throat—her creation, her responsibility.

“I’m sorry,” Dr.

Chen whispered.

“I know that’s inadequate.

I know sorry doesn’t undo the suffering I’ve caused.

But I am.

Genuinely, deeply sorry.”

Mishka squeezed her hand, then released it.

She couldn’t speak, but her eyes held something that looked like forgiveness.

Or at least, understanding.

“Tell us about the attack,” Bruce demanded.

“Day zero.

What exactly is Jean planning?”

Dr.

Chen pulled out a flash drive.

“Everything I know is on here.

Locations of sleeper agents across the continent.

The activation sequence.

Jean’s financial backers.

The false flag operation she’s calling ‘Project Integration’s End.'” She slid it across the table to Frank, who’d been monitoring from his laptop.

“On day zero, at noon Eastern Time, Jean will trigger every sleeper agent simultaneously.

They’ll attack humans in public spaces—schools, shopping centers, government buildings.

The attacks will be brutal, calculated to maximize casualties and media coverage.”

“Why noon?” Emma asked.

“Maximum attention.

Lunch hour, when people are out and about.

When news crews can get footage of supernatural beings slaughtering humans in broad daylight.” Dr.

Chen’s hands clenched into fists.

“Jean has media contacts ready to broadcast live.

She’s even bribed officials to ensure a delayed law enforcement response in key locations.

She wants the world to see supernatural beings as monsters for as long as possible before anyone intervenes.”

“How many casualties?” Director Chen asked.

“Projected death toll is between three and five thousand, depending on response times.” Dr.

Chen’s voice was clinical, reporting data, but her eyes showed the horror beneath.

“Another ten thousand injured.

And once the footage is everywhere, once the public sees supernatural beings as existential threats, Jean’s backers will push through legislation.

Mandatory registration.

Containment facilities.

Complete segregation.”

“And Lord Aleksander’s Old World Conclave swoops in offering ‘protection’ under their autocratic rule,” Bruce finished.

“Meanwhile, Jean’s network expands because governments will suddenly be very interested in her collar technology for ‘containing’ dangerous supernatural beings.”

“Exactly.” Dr.

Chen nodded.

“She’s not trying to destroy supernatural beings.

She’s trying to enslave all of them.

Build an empire where she and her allies control every supernatural being on the continent through fear and technology.”

Frank was scrolling through the data on the flash drive, his expression growing grimmer.

“This is…

comprehensive.

Locations, names, activation codes.

If this is genuine, we could stop the attack before it happens.”

“It’s genuine,” Dr.

Chen said.

“I spent three years building this nightmare.

I know every piece of it.”

“Then you can also tell us how to remove the collars safely,” Emma said, looking at Mishka.

“Starting with hers.”

Dr.

Chen turned to Mishka, really looking at her for the first time since entering the room.

“That collar is my masterwork and my greatest shame.

It’s designed to not just suppress abilities, but to rewrite magical signatures.

Make supernatural beings…

compatible with human control systems.”

“Can you remove it?” Bruce demanded.

“Yes.

But the process will be painful.

The collar has been interfaced with her nervous system for days now.

Removing it is like performing surgery without anesthesia.” Dr.

Chen met Mishka’s eyes.

“I can do it.

I should do it—it’s my responsibility to undo what I’ve done.

But you need to understand the risks.

If something goes wrong, you could lose your Siren abilities permanently.

Or worse, the backlash could kill you.”

Mishka didn’t hesitate.

She grabbed a pen and paper from the table, writing in quick, decisive strokes: *Do it.

I’d rather die free than live as Jean’s prisoner.*

“Mishka, no,” Bruce protested.

“We can wait, find another way—”

Mishka shook her head violently, writing again: ‘Twenty-one days until thousands die.

I can’t help stop it while wearing this thing.

No more waiting.’

“She’s right,” Emma said quietly.

“The collar interferes with healing magic.

It’s keeping the corrupted essence from being fully purged.

Every day Mishka wears it, she’s in danger.”

Dr.

Chen stood.

“I’ll need a sterile medical environment.

Supplies—I can provide a list.

And someone with strong magical abilities to stabilize her during the process.”

“I’ll do it,” Emma said immediately.

“You’re fifteen years old,” Dr.

Reeves protested.

“And I’m a Resonant who’s already modified collar magic.” Emma’s voice was steel.

“Dr.

Chen knows the technology.

I know the magical theory.

Together, we have the best chance of success.”

“How long?” Director Chen asked through the video link.

“The procedure itself takes about three hours,” Dr.

Chen said.

“But preparation and recovery could take days.”

“We don’t have days,” Bruce said.

“Jean could activate the mole at any moment.

Could trigger another assassination attempt.

The longer Mishka is vulnerable—”

“Twenty-four hours,” Dr.

Chen said decisively.

“Give me twenty-four hours to prepare, and I can remove it safely.

Well, as safely as possible given what we’re working with.”

Director Chen conferred with someone off-screen, then nodded.

“Do it.

Dr.

Reeves, you’ll supervise to ensure medical safety.

Emma, you handle the magical aspects.

Dr.

Chen, you’re under constant guard until this is done.

If this is a trick, if you harm Mishka in any way—”

“Then you’ll kill me,” Dr.

Chen finished.

“I understand.

And honestly, if I fail, I’d deserve it.”

The meeting broke up, people dispersing to prepare.

But as Dr.

Chen stood to leave, Gillian blocked her path.

“I’ve been analyzing financial data Jean left behind at the summit,” Gillian said, her analyst’s eyes sharp.

“The connections to shell companies, offshore accounts.

I found something interesting—a payment made to someone named S.

Chen three days ago.

For services rendered.”

Dr.

Chen’s face went pale.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” Gillian continued.

“Jean paid you three days ago.

Which means either you’re still working for her, or—”

“Or that’s the payment that made me realize what kind of monster I’d become,” Dr.

Chen interrupted, her voice shaking.

“Blood money.

That’s what Jean called it.

Payment for the collar technology that would make Project Integration’s End possible.

She transferred five million dollars to my account and told me to celebrate because we were about to change the world.”

“Five million dollars,” Bruce said, his voice dangerously quiet.

“You’re telling us you walked away from five million dollars?”

“I didn’t walk away from the money.” Dr.

Chen met his eyes.

“I transferred every penny to accounts for families of supernatural beings killed by Jean’s network.

Then I destroyed my research, wiped my servers, and ran.

The flash drive I gave you is the only complete copy of Jean’s plans left in existence.”

Frank looked up from his laptop.

“I’m seeing the transfers.

Multiple accounts, varying amounts, all made two days ago.

All to…

verified victim families.

This checks out.”

Gillian wasn’t satisfied.

“Or it’s an elaborate cover story.

Five million is a lot to give up, but it’s a small price if it gets you inside our defenses.

If you can sabotage us from within.”

“Then watch me,” Dr.

Chen said.

“Don’t trust me.

I wouldn’t trust me either.

But let me remove Mishka’s collar.

Let me prove I’m not here to cause more harm.”

“You’ll be under guard every second,” Julian said.

“Any suspicious behavior, any indication this is a setup, and we’ll contain you immediately.”

“Fair enough.”

As the room cleared, Bruce pulled Dr.

Chen aside.

The scientist flinched, expecting violence, but Bruce’s voice was measured, controlled.

“My fiancée has been tortured, collared, poisoned, and nearly assassinated,” he said quietly.

“She’s suffered more in the past two weeks than most people endure in a lifetime.

And you’re responsible for at least some of that suffering.”

“I know.”

“So understand this clearly—if you harm her, if this is a trick, if anything goes wrong because you sabotaged the procedure, I will make sure your death takes days.

Weeks.

I will make you beg for the mercy Jean never showed her victims.” His amber eyes glowed with wolf light.

“Am I understood?”

Dr.

Chen didn’t look away.

“Completely.

And Bruce?

If I fail tomorrow, if I hurt Mishka despite my best intentions, I won’t stop you.

I’ll hand you the knife myself.”

Twenty-four hours later, Mishka lay on an operating table in Eldergrove’s medical center, surrounded by more people than the room was designed to hold.

Dr.

Chen worked with steady hands, magical tools interfacing with the collar’s mechanisms.

Emma stood opposite her, hands glowing with Resonant energy, stabilizing the magical fields.

Dr.

Reeves monitored vital signs while Bruce held Mishka’s hand, his other hand gripping the table hard enough to dent the metal.

“Starting the primary extraction sequence,” Dr.

Chen announced.

“Mishka, this is going to hurt.

A lot.

If you need to stop—”

Mishka shook her head violently.

No stopping.

Get it done.

Dr.

Chen activated the first sequence.

The collar pulsed, and Mishka’s back arched, her mouth opening in a silent scream.

Sweat beaded on her forehead.

Bruce felt her hand crushing his with supernatural strength.

“Magical feedback at forty percent,” Emma reported, her own face showing strain.

“I’m compensating, but it’s fighting me.”

“That’s normal,” Dr.

Chen said, her focus absolute.

“The collar is programmed to resist removal.

It interprets this as an attack.

Mishka, I need you to stay as still as possible.

I know it hurts, but movement could cause catastrophic failure.”

Minutes stretched into hours.

Dr.

Chen worked with mechanical precision, each step carefully calculated.

Emma’s Resonant abilities kept the magical backlash from overwhelming Mishka’s system.

Dr.

Reeves called out vital signs, occasionally injecting stabilizing medications.

Bruce watched Mishka suffer in silence, watched tears stream down her face, watched her fight to stay conscious and still while agony tore through her body.

He’d never felt more helpless in his life.

“Final sequence,” Dr.

Chen said, her own hands shaking now from stress and concentration.

“This is the dangerous part.

I’m going to disconnect the collar from her nervous system.

If it goes wrong—”

“It won’t,” Emma said firmly.

“We’ve got this.

On three.

One…

two…

three.”

The collar pulsed one final time, brighter than before.

Mishka convulsed, her silent scream so visceral that Bruce felt it in his bones.

Emma’s hands blazed with power, containing the magical explosion.

Dr.

Chen’s tools worked with inhuman speed, severing connections, neutralizing feedback loops, unweaving the interface between technology and biology.

Then, with a soft click, the collar fell open.

Dr.

Chen caught it before it could touch Mishka’s skin again, placing it in a containment field Emma had prepared.

The collar sparked and died, its power source severed, its purpose ended.

Mishka gasped—an actual, audible sound.

Her first vocalization in days.

“Mishka?” Bruce leaned close.

“Can you speak?”

She tried.

Her throat worked, her mouth formed words.

But only a whisper emerged, raw and damaged: “Bruce…”