Walking into the Conservatory, you are overcome by the sickly sweet smell of rotten flowers – and the electric tin scent of blood.
Your attention is immediately drawn to where the Major is grappling with something bone-white and serpentine; it flows in the air like fog, and the red splotches on the Major's face and knuckles show that despite his impressive stature – the Major is losing.
Without thinking, you run forward, swinging a planter at the air; it doesn't connect with anything, instead merely dissipating the presence like so much smoke; only for it to tighten around your neck.
In addition to the pressure, you can feel tiny, thin lacerations being cut and opened in your skin, and something lapping at the fresh blood even as the air grows thin and your vision grows blurry. You almost black out, before you hear a shout and feel something crash into you.
Knocked to the ground, your vision slowly returns – minutes, perhaps tens of them – later.o The Major is gone, but a hastily written note in block-print has been left near you.
Did not think you were Safe to Move. Went to investigate hunch. Check on Singer, Please. Thank you.
You rise, and check yourself for damage; the cuts from before have healed over, preturnaturally fast and you're otherwise in good condition; good enough to move, at least. From the distance, you can hear what you assume to be the Singer – though her melodies are punctuated by short, stacatto bursts of what sound like mechanical howls.