The transition from the sun-drenched beaches of the Azure Coast to the stark, grey militarism of Max's quarters was jarring. He had barely slept, the silence of the room amplifying the questions swirling in his head.
At 0500 hours, the door didn't just slide open; it was overridden.
Max bolted upright, his hand instinctively reaching for the Void energy in his gut, only to realize it was Commander Zog standing in the doorway. The Commander wasn't wearing his usual base fatigues. He was dressed in a pristine, charcoal-grey ceremonial dress uniform, decorated with medals that glinted in the harsh hallway light. His mechanical eye whirred softly, focusing on Max's disheveled state.
"Pack your bags, Agent," Zog rumbled, his voice filling the small room. "Formal wear. You have ten minutes."
Max blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Sir? We just got back. Is there an attack?"
"Not an attack. Politics," Zog said, stepping into the room and checking his watch. "We are leaving for Caremia. It is a neutral nation-state in the Northern Hemisphere. We are attending the ICSH."
"The what?" Max asked, sliding out of bed and grabbing his uniform.
"The International Conference on Saving Humanity," Zog clarified, his tone dry, as if the name tasted bad in his mouth. "One hundred and fifty world leaders from one hundred and fifty nations will be gathering. Presidents, Prime Ministers, Monarchs. They are convening to discuss the escalation of the Guut threat and the funding of the HPF."
Max froze, a boot halfway on his foot. He looked up at Zog, stunned.
"Wait... the governments know?" Max asked, his eyes wide. "I thought the HPF was a secret organization. I thought we operated in the shadows."
"Shadows are cast by something, Max," Zog replied, walking over to the window and staring out at the tarmac. "The HPF is funded by the Global Coalition. We are the shield that allows their societies to function without panic. They know we exist. They know the monsters exist. They just don't tell their citizens the details. We handle the blood; they handle the checkbooks."
"But if they know..." Max started, his mind racing with the implications. If the world leaders knew, why was Oakhaven abandoned? Why were the levels of power kept secret?
"Do not ask anything else," Zog cut him off sharply. "And do not speak unless spoken to at the conference. You are there as my aide and as a symbol of the new generation. Hurry up. The transport waits for no one."
Twenty minutes later, they were airborne.
This wasn't the rattling, tactical troop transport Max was used to. This was a stratospheric executive jet, sleek and silent, cruising at fifty thousand feet. The interior was lined with cream leather and polished wood.
Max sat across from Zog, a crystal glass of water vibrating slightly on the table between them. Zog was reading a dossier on a tablet, his face impassive.
Max stared out the window at the curvature of the Earth. He couldn't hold it in anymore. The silence was suffocating him. He felt the tiny black thread in his pocket—the one he had found on the lighthouse. It felt heavy, like a lead weight.
"Commander," Max said.
Zog didn't look up. "Speak."
"I lied to you," Max said.
Zog's mechanical eye twitched. He slowly lowered the tablet. "Excuse me?"
"At the beach," Max continued, his voice steadying as he committed to the confrontation. "When you asked if I saw something. I lied. I did see something."
Max reached into his pocket and pulled out the shred of black fabric. He placed it on the table between them.
"There was an old lighthouse on the north cliff," Max said. "I saw a figure standing on the catwalk, watching us. Watching me, Eren, and Malina. When I climbed up to confront them, they were gone. Vanished. But I found this snagged on the railing."
Zog picked up the thread. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. He recognized the weave instantly. It was the high-tensile synthetic fiber used in HPF officer-grade tactical gear.
"I saw the uniform, sir," Max pressed, leaning forward. "It wasn't a civilian. It wasn't a spy from another country. It was one of us. An HPF officer was stalking Squad 5 on a private retreat."
Zog remained silent, staring at the thread.
"And it's not just the lighthouse," Max said, the dam breaking. "It's everything. The leather book I found in Oakhaven—why were the first and last pages torn out? Why did the Monarch want it? Why was the Mimic in the Rose District actually a human being? And now, someone from our own organization is watching us from the shadows."
Max slammed his hand on the table, rattling the water glass.
"I am fighting for my life out there, Commander! Eren lost a leg. Malina was gutted. I deserve to know what is going on! Are we fighting monsters, or are we part of some... experiment?"
The cabin was deadly silent. The only sound was the low hum of the jet engines.
Zog closed his hand over the black thread. He looked at Max, and for the first time, Max saw something other than authority in the Commander's face. He saw age. He saw exhaustion.
"You have keen eyes, Maxwell," Zog said softly. "Too keen for your own good."
Zog placed the thread in his own pocket.
"I did not order surveillance on you at the beach," Zog stated clearly. "And I do not know who that officer was. But the fact that they escaped you—a Level 2 operative—without leaving a trace suggests they are highly trained. Elite."
"So you admit it?" Max asked. "There's something wrong with the HPF."
"The Human Protection Force is two hundred years old," Zog said, leaning back in his leather seat. "It is a massive machine. And like any machine, it has rust. It has ghost gears that turn without orders."
Zog sighed, looking out the window. "I know about the book, Max. I know about the human-Guut. Why do you think I am keeping you close? Why do you think I am taking you to Caremia and not a veteran agent?"
Max paused. "I... I don't know."
"Because I trust you," Zog said. "Because you are young, and you are not corrupted by the politics of the upper brass. You asked if the governments are involved? Yes. But there are factions within the HPF, Max. Factions that believe the current methods of fighting Guuts are too slow. Factions that want to... accelerate human evolution."
Max felt a chill. "Accelerate? You mean... like the Mimic? Turning people into monsters?"
"I don't know," Zog admitted, and the admission hit harder than a denial. "I suspect. That is why I interrogated the prisoner alone. That is why I hid the book. If there is a rot inside the HPF, I need to find the source before I cut it out."
Zog leaned forward, his mechanical eye whirring as it locked onto Max.
"You want answers? So do I. That watcher at the lighthouse... they were likely assessing you. Your rapid growth. Your Void potential. You are becoming a player on a very dangerous board, Max."
"So what do we do?" Max asked, feeling the weight of the situation.
"We play the game," Zog said firmly. "We go to Caremia. We shake hands with the Presidents and Kings. We show them that the HPF is strong and united. And while we do that, I will use my clearance to dig into the archives regarding that fabric and the lighthouse."
Zog reached out and took the glass of water, taking a slow sip.
"I promise you this, Max," Zog said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "I will ensure you get your answers. But you must be patient. If you start swinging at shadows now, you will hit nothing, and the shadows will kill you. Do you understand?"
Max looked at his Commander. He saw a man who was walking a tightrope between duty and truth.
"I understand," Max said quietly. "But if they come for my friends..."
"Then we will kill them," Zog finished. "Human or Guut. It makes no difference to me."
The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "Commander, we are beginning our descent into Caremia. ETA ten minutes."
Zog straightened his uniform, the mask of the stoic leader sliding back into place. "Fix your tie, Agent. We have a world to save."
Max adjusted his collar, his heart beating a little faster. He didn't have all the answers, but for the first time, he felt like he wasn't alone in the dark. He and Zog were allies in a war that was much bigger than just killing monsters.
As the jet broke through the clouds, revealing the sprawling, fortified capital city of Caremia below, Max looked at the city lights. Somewhere down there were 150 leaders who controlled the world. And somewhere, hiding in the glare, were the people who had turned a man into a monster and watched from the lighthouse.
Max clenched his fist. I'll find you, he promised. All of you.