Scene: Blackwood High-Speed Return Jet — En Route to the Capital
B.A.M. General Soren Vask's POV
He hadn't said a word since we left the summit.
Not one.
Chris Blackwood sat across from me in the royal military jet, gazing out the window at clouds we'd long conquered. His silence wasn't peace. It was pressure—like the pause before a nuclear strike.
I've served B.A.M. since the Second Border Reforms. I've marched through riots, crushed coups, and broken five resistance rings in under two hours.
But there's only one man I fear.
And I protect him.
> "Do you want the official transcript of the summit uploaded to central command, sire?" I asked, voice level, controlled.
He didn't look at me.
> "No. Let the world interpret it in silence."
That meant: Let them sweat.
I nodded once.
He leaned back, hands clasped in his lap. Calm. Still. But I could see it—the gears behind his eyes were moving. Plans. Decisions. Executions. Entire nations could live or die depending on what he thought in that chair.
> "Begin preparation for integration," he said suddenly.
> "Of the council?" I asked.
> "Of the world," he answered. "Start identifying cracks. Soft leaders. Weak economies. Places where fear outweighs pride. We won't fire bombs next—we'll fire systems. Laws. Currency. Identity."
His words chilled even me.
> "And if they resist?"
He looked at me now.
> "Then we remind them why we built B.A.M."
I stood a little straighter.
> "Understood."
> "Also..." he added, "assign a shadow crew to monitor the summit delegates. All of them. The moment one of them whispers rebellion, I want their bloodline erased before dinner."
> "Consider it done."
He closed his eyes then. Resting—not sleeping.
And I watched him, the way one watches a weapon that hasn't fired yet, but could level the earth when it does.
He's not a man anymore.
He's a system.
And we… are just the machinery around him.
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