Shawn's POV:
London's rain hadn't stopped since the riots. It beat on the roof of the convoy as if it meant to remind me that peace was never dry. The enclave below was holding as cots filled, cables humming, water flowing through pipes that hadn't run in decades. It should have felt like progress. Instead, I was being dragged back to Parliament.
The summons had come fast. Too fast. Not from Adawe this time, but directly from the chamber. The kind of speed that meant someone wanted me cornered.
Whitehall still smelled of plaster dust and smoke. Marble patched with steel beams. Old portraits scarred black beside new screens that blinked cold blue light.
The benches were fuller now. More MPs. More ministers. More cameras. The Prime Minister presided again, unreadable behind her notes.
But I felt the temperature before she even spoke. This wasn't curiosity. It was accusation.
"Staff Sergeant Rose," one of the MPs began, standing with a file in hand. His voice dripped with triumph before he'd even finished the sentence. "We've received reports that your so-called 'enclave project' is already draining funds from critical British programs. Food aid, reconstruction, pensions. Numbers don't lie."
He held up papers. Graphs. Charts. Red arrows plunging down like wounds. The chamber murmured.
I stepped forward, pulse in my throat. "Those numbers are false."
Another MP rose, waving a similar file. "You deny government documents? Are you calling us liars?"
Oh, how bad I wanted to say yes. But I knew that calling them a liar would seal the deal, so it was better to avoid answering. "I'm saying I know my ledgers. I've signed every shipment, every requisition. If you're showing me deficits, they're not mine."
The room erupted. Some shouting, some nodding. The noise bounced off the scaffolding, turning into a storm.
Adawe sat silent in the corner, her expression tight as a scalpel's edge. Watching. Measuring.
One minister leaned forward, voice sharp. "Tell us then, how much have you stolen? How much did you skim from our coffers to build this sanctuary for machines?"
Another barked: "Answer plainly, boy! We should have expected thief when we saw you."
Whoa. Racism is supposed to be towards the omnics in this day and age, man. The word boy scraped across me worse than shrapnel ever had. I felt heat in my chest, the same heat that had made me draw steel in the war. My hand twitched toward the edge of the bench where my katana would have been if they'd let me carry it here.
That was the point. They were trying to make me swing. On camera. On record. They weren't just questioning me. They were baiting me.
I breathed once. Twice. Thank goodness for Adawe's lesson. Now that you knew to look for it, Talon's tricks weren't that hard to counter. After today they should figure out they can't bait me like this and change tactics, right?
I pulled my own files from the case I'd brought that was worn, water-stained, but real.
"Here are my numbers," I said, voice steady. I laid them across the table, pages fanned out like cards. "Receipts. Crates logged. Cables bought. Food shipments signed. All co-signed by your own civil engineers and medics."
I held them up to the cameras. To the chamber. To anyone who wanted truth. They were broadcasted on the holograph before everyone.
"Every pound spent is here. Every hour worked. We've taken nothing more than was authorized. Anything more, actually came out of my own pocket, not even Overwatch's. And in return, you have thirty kilometers of stabilized tunnel, fifty functioning pumps, and the first lights in neighborhoods dark for years."
Silence spread, reluctant but heavy. Pages were passed, checked, muttered over. A few ministers frowned, not at my numbers, but at each other. Because the truth cut their lies apart. It was apparent that not everyone was fully on the same page.
The Prime Minister finally spoke, voice measured. "The documents presented by Rose match verified ledgers. The discrepancies appear to lie elsewhere." She let the words hang, sharp as any sentence. "Staff Sergeant, you are dismissed."
I saluted, turned, and walked out. My jaw was clenched so tight I could taste blood. Got called a liar, a thief, and a hoodlum on television. Not even an apology was offered.
Outside, the rain still fell, but the air felt colder now. I replayed the faces in my head. The smirk. The false fury. The voices that shouted the loudest for me to fall. I knew those names now. Wrote them in my mind like scars. Not all the chamber was Talon. Some wanted answers. Some wanted to believe. But a few, just a few, weren't asking questions at all. They were delivering scripts to spread their corruption.
I went to Adawe, just as promised.
"I have no proof, but these are my accusers. I won't do anything rash, just try to find a link to them and Talon." I told her.
She nodded. "I have no doubt of your... controversial background. However, we should assume that this within itself is bait for you to do this as well. Tread carefully. Absolutely no direct confrontations with anyone." She ordered.
So that night, when the enclave slept and the tunnels hummed low, I slipped aboveground into the wet streets of London.
I picked three names. Ministers who I saw were too clean. Too well off for their position. I followed them, being the shadow's shadow.
Now that I felt peace, I was fully intent on keeping it.