I paced the length of my office, each step measured, deliberate. The sound of my boots against the polished floor echoed like a heartbeat against the hollow silence, steady but insistent. The walls around me felt closer than usual, pressing in, as if they too were listening, waiting-watchful. The air hung thick with the scent of old paper, metal, and something more insidious. A weight settled deep in my bones, one I had carried for years. But tonight, that weight had a name.
Marcus.
The thorn in my side. The man who played the hero of Fallen City K.
They call him a hero, but he’s nothing more than a viper who betrayed his own mentor, slithering his way to power under the guise of righteousness. His ideals, his ambitions—he wears them like armor, but I know the truth. He’s poison, a toxin seeping into the council, and he’s carved a place there with no permission from me.
Now he’s challenging me again, testing his limits, believing himself untouchable.
That arrogance of his, that barely concealed defiance—it’s in every council meeting, every glance, every word he spits like venom. He’s made it clear he answers to no one but himself. No respect for the order we established, for the hierarchy I built.
He’s an infection, spreading his influence through the cracks, and I’ve let him go unchecked for far too long.
I see it in his eyes. That gleam-sharp, knowing attitude of his. Daring me to challenge him. That smirk that slithers across his face, always mocking me. His twisted plans to have me lose face and my position in the council.
That insufferable viper, slithering through the ranks of the Council as if he belonged. They called him a hero, but I know the truth. He is a disease festering in the shadows, whispering his poison into the ears of those who were once mine.
He had no right. No permission. And yet, he thrived.
Every glance, every word of his dripped with defiance, barely concealed beneath his veneer of righteousness. He carried himself like a man above consequence, like someone who believed himself untouchable.
But he would learn.
They all would.
I stood, my hands bracing against the desk as my gaze flicked toward the city beyond my balcony. The horizon bled crimson, the sun's last light spilling like fresh wounds over the rooftops.
Below, the people carried on, blissfully unaware of the war that brewed in the Council chambers.
Now onto the next matter.
Stepping back inside, I sat in my chair, reaching for the phone. The cold metal of the receiver pressed against my palm, grounding me in the moment. The phone at my desk-separate from the Council line, untouched by outside ears—was my tether to the facility's undercurrent. A direct vein to those who lived and died at my command.
I lifted it to my ear.
A soft, eager voice answered almost immediately. "Good evening, Sir! What can I do for you?"
Her politeness was routine, expected, but tonight it grated against my mood. There was nothing polite about what I intended to do.
"Radio James. Tell him to come to my office.
Now."
"Certainly, I'll send out a summons."
Click.
I lowered the receiver with measured deliberation, my fingers lingering against its smooth surface. The moment stretched, a quiet before the storm.
James.
If his loyalty truly hung in the balance, then I would be the one to tip the scale back into my favor.
I leaned back against my chair, fingers steepling beneath my chin. How should I play this? Would I grant him a final chance to prove himself, a fleeting opportunity to cling to my favor? Or should I strip him bare, pry into his mind with the precision of a blade and expose whatever secrets he hid beneath that obedient mask?
I stepped onto the balcony, drawn to the open air like a man gasping for breath. The city stretched before me, smothered under the weight of the dying sun. The horizon bled crimson, spilling down the rooftops, pooling in the streets where the first torches flickered to life. The stone beneath my boots was cold, but the railing was colder still-like iron forged in the deep of winter.
Gripping the iron bars, I let the chill bite into my fingers, tethering me into the moment.
Below, the city pulsed with life, oblivious.
Merchants packing up their wares, the elite returning to their homes, lovers stealing moments before darkness made their trysts more perilous. They did not know what was coming. They did not know that, behind these high walls, a war was at hand.
It was fitting, somehow—the city lying under a shroud of red, waiting for night to claim it. People carried on, oblivious. But soon, they would understand.
Soon, even Marcus would understand that power here is not granted by birthright, nor secured with hollow promises.
Power is earned in blood. In sacrifice. In the quiet, merciless choices that carve a man down to his bones.
He thinks he knows the cost of survival. He thinks he understands what it takes to hold this city in his grasp. But he has no idea what l've given. What l've lost. What I'm holding back from being unleashed.
He doesn't know the depths l've sunk to-for the council, for the future that only I have the will to shape.
I drew in a slow breath, the cold air settling in my chest like tempered steel. The time would come.
Marcus will be the first to fall.
And I knew who would be the courier who plants that very seed.
Immediately I returned to my desk and began to write. My recipient, the very man I feared the most. The largest threat to my Fallen City’s. To humanity.
Ramiro.
I had the perfect bait to tempt him into action.
I moved to my safe, my fingers deftly punching in the combination. With a heavy clunk, the mechanism released, revealing the neatly arranged vials within. Six in total.
I plucked one from its place, the weight of the vial sat cool in my palm. The blue liquid inside shimmered under the dim light, swirling like a storm contained within glass—a quiet promise of destruction. It was the perfect bait to get a bite.
I carried the vial over to my desk, slipping it into a letter.
“Now all that’s left,” I murmured, sealing the envelope, “is to send it down the line with a death row inmate.” A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I scanned the manifest. “Let’s see when the next one is.”
A sharp knock at the door cut through the silence, snapping me from my thoughts. I straightened, inhaling deeply, shoving the satisfaction of my scheme deep beneath the surface.
"Enter." My voice was smooth.
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The door creaked open, and James stepped inside, his movements careful, calculated. His eyes flickered across my face, searching, gauging.
As if I'd allow him even a sliver of insight.
"Come," I said, motioning to the chair across from my desk. "Take a seat."
He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before lowering himself into the chair, his posture rigid, hands resting in his lap.
Even sitting, James was nearly my height-a fact that irritated me more than it should have. Power was often a matter of perception, and I refused to let him feel anything resembling equality.
Thus I remained standing.
I let the silence stretch between us, let it settle, let him feel the weight of it pressing down on him. Then, finally, I spoke.
"Tell me, James," my voice was quiet, almost gentle-too gentle. "How is it that my son escaped under your watch?"
A flicker of something crossed his face-guilt, fear, shame? He swallowed hard, his hands tightening into fists.
"Sir, I-"
I cut him off with a tilt of my head. "No excuses.
No half-truths. Tell me why you allowed it to happen."
He flinched at the word allowed, the implication sinking in. His throat bobbed as he struggled to find the right words, to navigate the razor-thin line between survival and damnation.
James' hands trembled ever so slightly as he wrung them together, his knuckles whitening under the pressure. The nervous energy radiating from him was palpable, almost intoxicating. I watched with a keen sense of satisfaction, though I didn't allowmy amusement to surface. Not yet.
I leaned forward, resting my fingers lightly on the polished surface of my desk. "Why did you allow it to happen?" My voice was quiet, calm-enough to be unsettling to the ear. The kind of calm that preceded in the eye of a hurricane.
James flinched. "Sir, I-"
His words faltered, dissolving into nothing.
Sweat gathered at his brow, the glisten of fear betraying him.
I exhaled slowly, deliberately, letting the silence stretch between us, suffocating and heavy. His hesitation irked me. No-it angered me.
I straightened, letting my cold gaze bore into him. "Are you loyal to me?"
"Yes, Sir!" He snapped to attention, the response almost frantic. Too eager. Too desperate to prove his loyalty.
Perfect.
“Drop the Sir, it’s getting annoying,” I said coldly. “You can do so by taking this.” A vial similar to the one I had just taken out, glimmered in my hands. A tauntalising light blue.
“What is-“
“No questions. Will you take it?” I quickly interrupted.
“Yes, Councilor Albert!” He quickly shot out his arm.
I smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
With precise movements, I retrieved a syringe and filled it with the luminous liquid. The needle gleamed as I pressed it against his skin.
James remained straight-faced through the first prick of the needle, but as I depressed the plunger, his breathing hitched. His fingers twitched, tightening against his thigh.
James let out a low groan, his breathing uneven, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. "It feels like my body is starting to heat up..."
I ignored his discomfort, watching with detached curiosity as the serum worked its way through his veins. I pressed the plunger further.
Then it hit him.
His body jerked violently, his muscles locking, then seizing as the first wave of agony tore through him. A strangled scream ripped from his throat-raw, guttural, almost inhuman. His fingers curled into fists so tight his nails threatened to break skin.
Good.
Halfway through the injection, his consciousness buckled under the weight of it. His head lolled, his eyes rolling back into his skull. Out cold.
Pathetic.
I depressed the plunger fully, draining every last drop of the luminous blue liquid into his bloodstream. He twitched once, then went still.
"Now give it a minute," I murmured, setting the syringe down with a soft clink. My fingers brushed the holster at my hip, drawing my firearm.
Just in case.
Raising it, I took aim and pulled the trigger. The dart struck home, embedding itself in his shoulder. His body jerked slightly, but there was no response beyond that.
"I can't have you acting out while in the feral stage," I mused, returning the gun to its place.
I sat back in my chair and waited.
His skin, already pale, grew almost sickly in hue.
His body convulsed in sharp, erratic spasms. His lips parted, breath hitching in shallow gasps as the transformation threatened to pull him under.
Then, the tremors began to subside. His complexion shifted, losing that deathly pallor.
Color seeped back into his skin, faint but present. His chest rose and fell with a steadier rhythm.
He had survived.
I reached for a small white packet, snapping it between my fingers. The sharp, acrid scent of ammonia flooded the air.
James' body jolted as if struck by lightning. His eyes flew open, wild and unfocused. He gasped, dragging in desperate, ragged breaths, his entire body trembling from the aftershocks.
I leaned forward, my voice cool and steady.
"Welcome back."
His breath hitched as he struggled to steady himself. Slowly, reality settled into his gaze. He blinked, his expression shifting from disoriented to ashamed.
Like a beaten dog crawling back to its master.
Once he calmed down enough to speak, he shot up and returned to his original position.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself upright, his spine straightening as if clinging to whatever shred of dignity he had left.
"I... I'm sorry for that display, Councilor."
"Now, I'll answer the question you're too afraid to ask," I said smoothly, folding my hands atop the desk. "What you just took was a diluted variant of the AV13N virus. A few minor tweaks—nothing drastic."
James' eyes darted to me, suspicion flickering beneath his lingering pain. "You mean... you're turning me into one of them?"
I couldn't stop the smirk that curled at the corner of my lips. "Heavens, no," I said with a mockery of reassurance. "What would I possibly gain from that?"
His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to protest, but he thought better of it. Smart.
Of course, he wouldn't understand the purpose of this little experiment. That wasn't his role. He was just another pawn, a test subject, another body placed exactly where I needed it.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling as I ran a gloved thumb over my wrist. "It's fortunate, really," I mused. "This amount isn't lethal." My eyes flicked back to his. Which means I now have a booster for the belt.
James sat rigid, staring at me as if I had just spoken in tongues. He wouldn't ask what I meant. He didn't dare ask what I meant.
I allowed the silence to stretch between us before finally waving a dismissive hand. "Don't worry," I said. "It will flush out of your system in time. But do let me know if you experience anything... unexpected."
James swallowed hard, nodding stiffly. "Yes, Councilor."
I shifted forward, resting my forearms against the desk as my tone dropped to something more clinical. "One last thing."
His shoulders tensed. I could see it in the way his fingers curled subtly against his knees, bracing himself for whatever I was about to say.
"I'm reassigning you."
His brows furrowed. "Reassigning me, sir?"
"Effective immediately." I picked up a small data pad, tapping it lazily before glancing back up at him. "You've been promoted to tower squadron leader."
For the first time, his expression flickered with something raw. Almost imperceptible, but there.
"Which sector?"
I didn't hesitate. "Tower W45."
His breath hitched-so soft, so quick, that if 1 wasn't watching him like a hawk, I would have missed it.
That was the moment he knew.
I watched the blood drain from his face, his spine locking into a perfect, soldier-straight line. He didn't speak. Didn't argue. Didn't beg.
Good.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
And then, finally, in a voice that was not quite his own, he muttered, "l... I will accept it."
It was like watching something snap inside him.
A hollow thing, cracked and emptied.
I allowed myself the luxury of a slow, satisfied nod. "That will be all." I flicked my fingers toward the door. "You're free to go."
James hesitated-just for a fraction of a second.
Then, he rose to his feet, his movements mechanical and lifeless. He turned sharply and strode toward the exit, not once looking back.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling through my nose as the door clicked shut behind him.
Another pawn moved.