Then, a chilling realization solidified in her mind, a cold dread coiling in her gut.
“Dr. Mamba’s poison… it’s here.”
A shiver, not of cold, but of recognition, traced her spine. She knew that scent. It was the sickly sweet perfume of death, a chemical fog designed to suffocate life. Her eyes, sharp and wild, scanned the canopy above. The trees, usually a vibrant tapestry of greens, seemed muted, a strange, unnatural mist clinging to their branches like a shroud.
She moved, a blur of motion, scaling a towering iroko tree with effortless grace. Her fingers found purchase on rough bark, her bare feet gripping the trunk as she ascended. Like a shadow, she glided among the treetops, the wind whipping through her long blonde hair. Her speed was unparalleled, a testament to years spent navigating the arboreal world. Below, through the swirling haze, she saw them. Two figures, cloaked in dark fabric, their faces obscured by the same unsettling masks she had seen before. They were activating strange devices, metallic contraptions that hummed with an ominous energy, churning out the noxious fog. It billowed upwards, a suffocating cloud that swallowed the jungle whole.
“You’ll never tame this wild!” The words were a silent snarl, a promise of retribution.
The jungle, once a vibrant organism teeming with life, now lay hushed, a morbid tranquility settling over it. The usual chorus of chirps, calls, and rustles had fallen silent, replaced by the low thrum of the machines and the insidious whisper of the rising mist.
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