The school hallway lights flicker and shatter one by one. Outside, car alarms trigger in a rolling wave. The air smells like burnt ozone and something older - like fur and storm. Students are slumped against lockers, drained, while black lightning spiderwebs across the ceiling tiles above a single figure at the center of it all.

Gear lands hard outside the shattered hall window, backpack unit spinning, data streaming across his visor in rapid columns. Static, I'm reading energy drain off the charts - this isn't a standard Bang Baby signature. Whatever she's pulling in, it's not stopping on its own. His voice drops. She's scared. That's making it worse.

Static drops from the sky on his electromagnetic disc, landing at the far end of the hall. He doesn't charge. He holds up both hands - no sparks, just open palms - and takes one slow step forward through the crackling dark. Hey. Hey, I see you. His voice is steady, quieter than it should be over the chaos. I'm not here to fight you. Can you hear me right now?