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DATE:24th of August, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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The man currently speaking was well-kept, his suit pressed to perfection and his hair slicked back with the kind of precision that screamed corporate politician. He droned on about unity or something equally generic—the usual bullshit about collective responsibility and working together for the greater good. I couldn't really focus on his words.
That woman kept looking at me. Her grey hair was striking—not the dull, lifeless grey of old age, but a vibrant silver that seemed to catch the overhead lights. It was styled in a sharp bob that framed her face, and every time I glanced in her direction, it seemed as if she was probing for something.
I was supposed to be careful or something like that. Alice had briefed me before we arrived, rattling off names and warning me about various personalities in the room, but most of it had gone in one ear and out the other.
"Who is that gal over there?" I whispered to Alice, who had taken the seat of some Leader who apparently couldn't be bothered to attend this circus himself.
"That is Maia Frank. Her hero name is Madame Luane. You really don't remember her?" Alice's voice carried a note of disbelief. Quite a cringe stage name if I'm being honest. It sounded like something out of a low-budget superhero flick from the seventies.
"Nah." Technically I shouldn't even think freely if she's able to read minds, but fuck her. Let her dig around in my head and see exactly how little I think of this whole charade.
Let her see just how unimportant she is to me.
"But you must certainly know Morgan Lefeil, the spokesperson? The Matrix?" Alice gestured subtly toward the well-dressed man still pontificating at the front of the room.
"No, not one bit. You're my secretary now, remember?" I kept my voice low, but the irritation was creeping in.
"Gosh..." Alice went pale, her face draining of color like I'd just told her we were about to be executed. Why was she so surprised? Back when we were both teachers, I barely knew anyone's names then either. I wasn't exactly the social butterfly of the faculty.
But it seemed like our little exchange hadn't gone unnoticed. Several heads had turned in our direction, and I could feel the weight of their collective stares.
"Mister Carter, is there something you wish to add to our discussion?" Morgan—I think that's what Alice called him—had stopped mid-sentence and was now looking directly at me. His tone was polite enough, but there was an edge to it. The kind of fake courtesy that barely masked annoyance. He should mind his own damn business. I was already irritated enough just being here.
Alice jumped in before I could respond, her voice taking on that overly helpful tone she used when trying to smooth over awkward situations.
"Carter is just confused. He was gravely injured recently." She sounded genuinely concerned, though I couldn't figure out what she was so worried about. It's not like I was about to start a fight in the middle of their precious meeting.
"Yes, on that note, are you really capable of attending this meeting? I heard you took the brunt of a Ventium explosion." Morgan's fake concern was almost insulting. Like he actually gave a shit about my wellbeing.
Alice opened her mouth to intervene again, but I cut her off before she could coddle me any further. What was I, some kind of cripple?
"Yes, I am more than healthy enough. I have hyper regeneration." My irritation was bleeding through now, and I didn't particularly care who noticed. These people needed to stop treating me like I was made of glass.
"Interesting." He flashed me one of those politician smiles—all teeth and no warmth—before turning back to his presentation about some sponsorship deal that probably involved more corporate doublespeak.
Now that I think about it, I'm lucky that my face is covered in scar tissue from the explosion. The marks run across my cheek and jaw like a roadmap of violence, and they serve as a convenient mask. I wouldn't want these losers to remember exactly how I look when this whole charade is over.
I saw the lady across the table—Maia, or whatever her real name was—chuckle softly behind her hand. Her eyes were still fixed on me, and there was something almost amused in her expression.
Was my irritation really that entertaining to her?
Hey bitch, mind your own business.
"Secundo Manus—" the words brought me back to whatever the hell Morgan was droning on about "—is said to have the backing of certain strands of the city administration. There is no other explanation for how he avoided discovery despite supposedly having all his labs inside the region of The Concord."
I straightened in my chair, suddenly paying attention. Finally something that I cared about.
"Well, it's either that or some of us are traitors, but I wouldn't want to start pointing fingers." Morgan's tone was carefully neutral, but there was something slimy about the way he delivered the line. Like he was testing the waters, seeing how people would react.
"This is exactly what you were implying!" A guy who looked to be about thirty years old with wild red hair that stuck out in all directions shot up from his seat. His voice cracked with indignation, the kind of raw anger that came from being backed into a corner. Was he perhaps bullied growing up? "If you were going to say it, at least spare us all that bullshit dance around it!"
Finally, a reasonable person in this room. At least someone else could see through Morgan's political theater.
"Now, now, Mr. Durr." Morgan raised his hands in a mock gesture of peace, like he was trying to calm down an overexcited child. "I just said I wouldn't advise pointing fingers at anyone specifically."
"City officials haven't been in real power for decades here. Are you implying I'm retarded and can't see through your pathetic lie?" Durr's face was getting redder by the second, matching his unruly hair. This guy was definitely winning me over with his directness.
"No, no. It's because you really are a little slow on the uptake." Morgan chuckled, that same condescending laugh that made my skin crawl. "Mr. Durr, take a look around the room. Don't you notice that someone important is missing from our little gathering?"
"Huh?" Durr gave a hurried glance around the conference table, his eyes darting from face to face before he started scratching his head in genuine confusion. "No? Everyone who's supposed to be here is here."
"Look next to Mr. Carter there. Liliam is occupying a president's seat. Do you remember whose seat that originally was?"
I felt a chill run down my spine. Alice shifted uncomfortably beside me, and I could practically feel the tension radiating off her.
"Yes, of course. It's Karl's seat. But you can't seriously be implying that he's helping Secundo Manus!" Durr's anger reached a boiling point, and something strange started happening to his face. His teeth seemed to elongate and sharpen, becoming more animalistic—pointed canines that looked like they could tear through flesh. So the guy could transform. Interesting.
"No, not necessarily working directly with them." Morgan's voice took on that lecturing tone that professors used when they thought they were being clever. "But Doctor Meyer isn't really in charge of his own Agency these days, is he? His deep involvement in Matthew D.A.'s research leaves him far too busy to actually run day-to-day operations. I have what I consider to be reasonable evidence suggesting that his second in command—the person who's actually calling the shots—the Hero known as Scarlet Myth, has been involved with The Combine gang. At least partially."
An older hero with a perfectly twirled mustache that belonged in a Victorian photograph. His battle-scarred hands settled heavily on the table, voice gruff with seasoned skepticism. "This isn't some courtroom drama. You're tossing graveside rumors. What proof do you really have?"
This made Morgan's grin widen in a way that made my stomach turn. There was something predatory about it, like a cat that had just cornered a particularly juicy mouse. No, that was a nice, pun, but this guy really ticked me off.
What kind of airs was he giving? Psycho? Crazy? No... He was too calculated.
"In fact, I do have evidence." He pressed a button on a small remote, and suddenly the walls of the conference room flickered to life with digital displays. The image that appeared was a photograph of what looked like a handwritten note, the text large enough for everyone to read clearly.
This made Morgan's grin widen menacingly.
" In fact I do." He pressed on a remote and the room's walls blinked on with the photo of a note.
Were the walls actually giant TVs? Seemed like an excessive budget for something that could have been handled with a simple wall projector. But I guess when you're dealing with hero politics, everything has to be unnecessarily flashy and expensive.
"This letter I personally retrieved was meant to reach a Combine agent. Of course, the 'hero' who was carrying it is no longer among the living." Morgan's voice carried that casual tone people used when discussing the weather, not murder. "In it, you can clearly see how Mrs. Myth helped in silencing detectives who were getting too close to researching Secundo Manus's whereabouts."
"It could very well be a forgery!" The older man with the mustache protested, leaning forward to squint at the displayed note. His voice carried the kind of skepticism that came from years of dealing with political bullshit.
"Why even bother debating the authenticity? This is precisely why I brought all of us together." Morgan turned to look at the man sitting to my right. "Omar?"
The dark-skinned man—clearly North Salvian from his features—rose from his seat with fluid grace and walked over to Morgan's side. Without warning, he grabbed Morgan by the back of his head, his fingers threading through the slicked-back hair. Omar's eyes suddenly blazed with an electric blue light that lasted for several seconds before he released his grip.
"He is telling the truth." Omar's voice was matter-of-fact as he began walking back to his seat, like he'd just confirmed the time of day rather than verified someone's honesty through what was obviously some kind of mind-reading ability.
Silence and shock seemed to grab hold of the entire room. At least, I think that's what happened—faces went pale, people shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and the air felt thick with tension. Hard to tell for sure since I didn't know any of these people well enough to be genuinely surprised by their reactions.
A woman sitting next to Durr raised her hand like she was in a classroom asking permission to speak. She had oversized glasses that dominated her face—I supposed it was just her style, though it made her look like an owl. "So what do you suggest, Lefy? You want us to purge the Wondrous?" I assumed that was Karl's Agency based on the context. God, I missed Emily. She would have briefed me properly on all this political garbage.
"Not necessarily a full purge. Acting against them before we locate Secundo Manus's main base would just alert him to move his equipment elsewhere. We need someone on the inside who can gather intelligence without raising suspicions."
"Maybe we would have had someone perfect for infiltration if they hadn't been convicted as 'too dangerous' for our delicate sensibilities!" Durr's voice was bitter, loaded with old grievances that ran deeper than this current crisis.
"Now, now. What's done is done. There's no point in relitigating past decisions." Ugh. Even as a killer myself... whatever. Morgan's dismissive wave was infuriating in its casualness. He had that arrogant attitude newbies came with. Although in his case he was quite old to be called one.
"You killed her! You fucking monster!" Durr shot up from his seat, his face contorted with rage and grief, but the heavily muscled man beside him grabbed his arm and yanked him back down into his chair.
"Shut the hades up, Diago—" I assumed that was Durr's hero name "—Morgan is right about this. We all voted on that decision." What the fuck happened? They executed one of their own?
"How about I try to infiltrate the agency myself?" The grey-haired woman—Maia—interjected, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "I can certainly disguise myself effectively enough, and if I can arrange a meeting with Myth, I should be able to find out exactly what's happening behind the scenes."
The woman with oversized glasses adjusted them with a habitual twitch of her slender fingers, a smirk curling on her lips as she let out a dry, sharp chuckle—like a cat flicking away a fly. She shot Maia a pointed look. "Maia, darling, age hasn't dulled your tongue one bit, but let's be honest, you aren't exactly in your youth anymore. Seducing some Gate guardian isn't going to be much help in this situation."
"Yeah, and boring him to death with chemistry facts certainly will be more effective." Maia's response was sharp and immediate. I wasn't sure about the history between these two, but there was clearly bad blood that went way back.
"Ladies, ladies. There's no point in fighting among ourselves." Morgan clapped his hands together with theatrical flair, and suddenly detailed maps materialized in front of each person at the table.
They were covered with dozens of colored dots scattered across what looked like city districts. "We technically don't even need to resort to elaborate subterfuge anyway. What reason would the people at Wondrous have to suspect a coordinated purge?"
"What exactly is this, Morgan?" The old man with the mustache sounded genuinely perplexed as he leaned over his map, squinting at the various markings.
"This? These are the home addresses of every single member of Wondrous Agency. We need to take them all out simultaneously—quick, clean, coordinated strikes." Morgan's voice carried the casual tone of someone discussing a grocery list, not mass murder.
The old man—Surge, apparently—shot up from his seat like he'd been electrocuted and grabbed Morgan by the collar, bunching the expensive fabric in his weathered fists. "I've put up with a lot of your psychotic bullshit over the years, you Normandian piece of shit, but this crosses every line imaginable."
"You really want to go at it again, Surge? Don't you remember how badly the last confrontation between us ended?" Morgan pointed a single finger at the hand gripping his collar, his voice carrying a quiet threat that made the temperature in the room seem to drop.
Surge released his grip and scoffed, but he didn't back away from his position. "I don't see any of you actually doing anything constructive to stop this threat. It's easy enough to say that you 'will' handle it or that you 'could' find another way..." Bitch. What have I been doing this whole time? I don't hear an exception for the great Aionis.
"Mass murder isn't the fucking solution to our problems!" Surge dropped into a fighting stance, his aged fists beginning to glow with some kind of energy that cast dancing shadows across his face. The light pulsed like a heartbeat, growing brighter with his anger.
This only made Morgan's grin stretch wider, more predatory. There was something genuinely unsettling about the expression—like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
What the hell was wrong with these people? Why wasn't anyone trying to de-escalate or stop them from coming to blows? Were they all scared of getting caught in the crossfire, or did they just enjoy watching the drama unfold?
Everyone else around the table had frozen completely, like mannequins in a store window. The tension was so thick you could practically taste it.
I caught sight of the grey-haired woman's face, and she was actually smiling. Not a nervous smile or an uncomfortable grimace—a genuine expression of enjoyment. Disgusting. Fuck her and whatever sick entertainment she was getting from this.
Morgan's face twisted into something truly evil as his body language shifted. He was preparing to do something, and whatever it was, I had the distinct feeling it wasn't going to end well for anyone in this room.
I want to get the hell out of here. Now.
This whole circus was exactly the kind of bureaucratic nightmare I wanted to avoid. Mass murder, betrayal accusations, conspiracy theories—and meanwhile, the actual threat was still out there, still moving. While these idiots argued about who to blame, Secundo Manus was probably preparing his next move.
Someone needed to cut through the bullshit and focus on what actually mattered.
"Hey Mr. Eisel. Cut it out."
"It's Lefeil, Mr. Carter." Whatever.
I stood up, cutting through the silence like a blade. Every head turned toward me. "All this finger-pointing and threats—what's the actual plan here? Because if you're just going to keep screaming at each other, I've got better things to do."
"Mr. Carter," Morgan began, but I cut him off. This bastard was fuming. His face was red, but I didn't give a shit about his wounded ego.
"If we need someone on the inside to find out about the base, can't we just ask this Karl guy directly? From what you've said, it doesn't seem like he was personally involved with the conspiracy."
The logic seemed obvious enough to me—why overcomplicate things with elaborate infiltration schemes when you could just have a conversation?
"Mr. Carter, Matthew's research offices where Mr. Karl frequently works aren't exactly open for casual visitors. Not even for registered heroes." Morgan's tone carried that condescending edge again, like he was explaining basic physics to a child. As if bureaucratic red tape had ever actually stopped anyone determined enough.
"So I'll just infiltrate the place and talk to this Karl person directly. Any objections to that plan?" I looked around the room and saw murmurs ripple through the group, but it didn't seem like anyone was eager to volunteer themselves for the job.
Morgan actually looked somewhat impressed, which was probably the first genuine expression I'd seen from him all day.
"You really think you can manage something like that in your current physical condition?"
"Yeah, whatever." I pushed back from the table and stood up, already mentally checking out of this whole circus. I started heading toward the door, but then I remembered Alice was still sitting there looking shell-shocked. "Let's go."
My words seemed to snap her out of whatever trance of disbelief she'd fallen into, and she quickly gathered herself to follow me toward the exit.
"Aren't you going to explain to us exactly what your infiltration plan will involve?" The woman with the oversized glasses called after me, her voice carrying that annoying tone of someone who needed every detail spelled out for them.
"What is there to say?" I didn't bother turning around to look at any of them as I headed straight for the door. Either I'd get in and talk to Karl, or I wouldn't. Planning beyond that seemed like a waste of everyone's time.-*-*-*-*-*-*