"What are you doing here?" I ask, entering the supply room to find Allery stocking up on gear. 

"Apparently, I have to go with you," she gives me an irritated look. "Something about me having the experience and expertise you lack. Basically, I'll be your babysitter." 

"I don't need a babysitter." 

"Prove it," she smiles, tossing me a backpack filled with everything I could possibly need for the mission and more. 

"Unfortunately, Aelden wasn't lying when she said that society will quickly fall apart with the sudden removal of all technology," Allery says as we leave the room, entering the chaotic, dimly lit hallway of Protectorate HQ. "We need to destroy the Darkener fast, or there won't be a world left to save."

"I'm sorry, but if this mission involves sneaking into evil lairs that are potentially filled with weapons of mass destruction, I'm out," I warn her. 

"Unfortunately, that's exactly what this mission involves," Allery smirks. "And you have no choice but to follow through with it. Unless, of course, you want to be brain-wiped and kicked out of the Protectorate forever." 

"Alright, then I guess we're finding Carolina Stark," I shrug sheepishly. 

"No, you're finding Carolina Stark," Allery crosses her arms. "We've managed to dig up a device that was built back in 2001 to disable the Darkener. The tech team's made some improvements, and I'm supposed to go test it out. Of course, it's still in its experimental stages. Don't count on it to actually work anytime soon." 

"So, I'm on my own?" 

"Yep!" Allery smiles, clearly glad to be rid of me. 

I rush to the nearest elevator, which is already packed, but manage to squeeze in. I'm quickly shoved to the back, where I wait, suffocating, until we rise to ground level. 

The only exit from Protectorate Headquarters is through what appears from the outside to be a manhole. Creative, right? I only slightly lift the cover, darting out before I'm seen. Looking down at the address on my wrist, I realize that Carolina's apartment is only a few blocks away. Apartment number 2-246, Honey Hill Place. However, getting there isn't going to be so easy. 

The population has quickly become divided into two groups: those who cower in their homes, trying to wait this out, and those who have taken to the streets, yelling and looting local shops, fueled by mad despair. Black Sky operatives, identifiable by their black morph suits, march through the city with guns and clubs, stirring up more chaos. Their sheer numbers are overwhelming- if anyone discovers my Protector identity, I'm already dead. 

"Hey you! What've you got in there!" Someone yells, pointing to my bulging backpack. Soon, an entire mob is after me, and I'm running through the streets, trying to keep moving in the general direction of Carolina's apartment while attempting to lose my pursuers. 

However, I know that I'm not a fast runner by any means, and they'll catch up soon, so I do the only thing I can think of. I push my backpack down the nearest sewer: better to lose my equipment than to let it be discovered and compromise the mission. Seeing that I no longer have the backpack, the mob quickly loses interest and leaves me standing in front of a large wall and a gate. Above the wall is a sign that reads 'Honey Hill Place.' 

I clamber over the gate, finding that Building 2 is just to my right. 

"Here goes," I mutter to myself, jogging to a concrete stairwell. I rely on the railing to guide myself up, as the entire place, as expected, has been darkened. 

Hahaha, see what I did there? Darkener, darkened...no? Okay. 

I reach a flat, square platform, which I assume is the first landing. This means I've arrived on the second floor. I push open the door in front of me, entering a long hallway. Due to the windows placed at intervals, a little bit of light manages to penetrate the eerie darkness. I walk carefully past each apartment door, reading the number inscribed above it in gold lettering. 

243...244...245...246. 

I stop in front of the door, taking in a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. I hope and pray that Carolina is still at home. 

To my relief, I hear the door being unlocked, and it slowly swings inwards, revealing a young woman in an oversized sweatshirt and skinny jeans. As she lifts her eyes up to meet mine, her expression instantly turns sour. 

"Get out," she spits, slamming the door in my face.