The morning unfolded like a carefully scripted entrance.
A clear sky, a quiet street, and a sound that didn't belong—low, guttural, mechanical.
It grew until it wrapped the block in tension.
The sun cast a soft gold over the slick London curb, still wet from the night's drizzle.
Then came the vehicle: a matte-black transporter, sliding into view with the elegance of something that didn't belong to this world.
Izan stood at the window, toothbrush in mouth, one eyebrow raised.
Behind him, Olivia padded into view, wrapped in a hoodie two sizes too big.
She blinked at the noise, and leaned into the glass.
"Is that…?"
"Yep." Izan spat into the sink.
Outside, the transporter sighed as it knelt, hydraulic hiss flooding the air.
Then the ramp extended—slow, deliberate.
Four uniformed men moved in practiced sync.
Within seconds, the Gemera appeared.
Sharp lines. Ashy Silver and blue accents.
Dihedral doors folding open like a creature unfolding its wings.
