Inside the cold, clinical conference room of Department 77, Langston stood in front of a board of high-ranking military officials, scientists, and key players in the Bureau of Justice, briefing them on the latest development. The room was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the glowing holographic projections that hovered above the long, rectangular table.
Langston's voice echoed through the quiet room as he laid out his findings.
"Gentlemen, I've made significant progress in deciphering the alien insecticoid communication system. They are known as the Zirathkrill, a name that reflects their nature—cold, calculating, and highly organized. Their faction, or rather, their Hive, is called the Zirath Brood."
The board members exchanged murmurs, and a few expressions tightened, clearly intrigued but cautious. General Reynolds, a high-ranking officer with an imposing presence, leaned forward.
"So you're telling us these creatures have a hierarchy? A whole structured society?"
Langston nodded, the edges of his lips curling into a small smile, his pride evident. "Yes, indeed. Their communication system is unlike anything we've encountered before. But I've made a breakthrough. I believe the first wave of the Zirath Brood didn't send a report back to their home faction. The reason we're picking up another wave of signals is likely because they've received no feedback, which means they are coming."
The room grew tense at the realization. One of the board members, an official from the Bureau of Justice, stood up.
"How soon are they coming?"
Langston adjusted his glasses, bringing up a map of cosmic signals intercepted by military satellites. "Based on our calculations, they'll arrive within two weeks, give or take. The signals are clear, and this second wave seems much more organized. They'll be prepared for whatever we throw at them."
"So, we're looking at another invasion," General Reynolds muttered under his breath, clearly uneasy.
Langston didn't hesitate to push his agenda. "I suggest that we take advantage of the time we have. If I can get access to those supers I mentioned earlier, we could create a squad of super soldiers, capable of facing the incoming wave. We need to move quickly."
The room fell silent as the board members exchanged uneasy glances. Finally, the Director of the Bureau of Justice, Richard Caldwell, spoke.
"You've made a strong case, Langston. But we're not going to act hastily. Using supers for these experiments is a dangerous proposition, and you already know how the higher-ups feel about involving certain people."
Langston, clearly frustrated, glanced at the faces of those around him. "I'm aware of the political intricacies, but we need these supers. They've already proven themselves in the Wilderness Program against the alien insectoids. They are ready."
One of the other board members, Admiral Mendez, nodded reluctantly. "Yes, but you have to understand—Logan Holt and his team are not just ordinary people. There are too many political implications surrounding them. We can't just use them as assets like you're asking."
Langston's eyes flashed with a hint of confusion. "What do you mean by 'political implications'?"
The board members didn't answer him immediately. Instead, the conversation turned to other matters, and Langston, frustrated but trying to keep his composure, pushed once again.
"I understand that we have to tread lightly, but I'm offering you a way to gain the upper hand in this war. These supers are critical. What do you want to gain by holding back?"
One of the officials finally spoke, his voice low but firm. "It's not just about holding back, Langston. It's about who these people are connected to."
At that moment, Langston realized they weren't just talking about the supers themselves—they were talking about their families.
"We're talking about Jessica Cortez, William Dawson, Matthew Carter... but most importantly, Logan Holt," the official continued. "Do you know who his father is?"
Langston, caught off guard, paused for a moment. "George Holt, yes. A former accountant, right?"
The room grew tense again. Director Caldwell leaned forward, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "George Holt may have been an accountant, but he's also the one who's been pulling strings behind the scenes for years. He's helped nearly everyone on this board with shady deals, including embezzling funds and laundering money. Holt is the guy who ensures that none of our dirty laundry shows up in official records. He's been instrumental in securing investments for us that keep our operations running without the government ever finding out."
Langston's face twisted into an expression of surprise. "Wait, you're saying he's been helping you all—illegally?"
The director nodded, his tone gravely serious. "Exactly. And you're asking us to take his son and use him in your experiments? Langston, do you have any idea what kind of political storm that could cause? You might want to rethink your approach."
Langston was silent for a long moment, absorbing the weight of the director's words. He had underestimated the influence and reach of George Holt. The man might have been human, but he had a vast network of powerful allies. His connection to the board was deeper than Langston had ever imagined.
As Langston turned to leave the meeting, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had stepped into a much larger game than he had anticipated. The Zirath Brood was coming—the supers were ready—but now, Langston had to tread carefully. The political landscape had shifted beneath him. And Logan Holt's fate was no longer just a matter of military strategy. It was a family affair.
"This isn't over," Langston muttered to himself as he left the conference room, "Not by a long shot."
The room fell into a heavy silence as Langston's question lingered in the air. His words hung in the balance between defiance and confusion. It was clear that he was frustrated, but the board was equally resolute in their decision. Langston's tone softened as he tried once more, his eyes scanning the faces of the members before him.
"What has George Holt done to deserve this kind of protection?" he asked, his voice edged with disbelief. "He's just a man—a former cartel accountant. How does that justify withholding one of our most valuable assets in this war?"
The silence grew thicker. Then, as if on cue, the Director of the Bureau of Justice, Richard Caldwell, leaned back in his chair, his expression hardening. His eyes locked with Langston's, unwavering, as he spoke with a weight that carried the history of countless deals made behind closed doors.
"It's not about George Holt being just a man, Langston," Caldwell began, his voice steady but laden with the gravity of his words. "It's about what he represents. George Holt has been an invaluable ally to those who sit at this table."
Langston blinked, taken aback. He hadn't expected this. Caldwell continued, his tone growing more measured.
"Holt's been helping us cover our tracks for years. Whenever there were financial irregularities, when we needed dirty money cleaned up or deals swept under the rug, Holt was the one we called. He has connections—people in positions of power, people with influence in places you wouldn't even imagine. He's the go-to accountant for a lot of us when we want things to disappear."
Langston's face darkened with realization. He understood now why the board was so protective of George Holt. The implications were far-reaching. Holt wasn't just a former cartel accountant; he was an untouchable—a man with the means to destroy careers, to expose secrets that could unravel the entire establishment.
Caldwell's eyes never left Langston's as he finished his thought.
"Holt is untouchable for a reason, Langston. And Logan—his son—has his own value. Do not mistake the political weight of this family. If we take action against Logan, if we touch him, we will be inviting trouble far beyond what you're prepared to handle."
Langston's anger flared, but he was careful not to let it show. He understood the gravity of the situation, but he still believed in the necessity of acquiring Logan and his team for the war to come. They needed the supers, and they needed them fast.
"So, what now? Are we supposed to sit on our hands while the Zirathkrill arrive? Do you really think we can face them with regular soldiers and untrained recruits?" Langston snapped, frustration creeping into his voice. "You're telling me that we should wait—wait for our enemies to arrive at our doorstep, and we'll just pray we're ready in time?"
Caldwell's eyes narrowed. "You can't force people like Logan into this war, Langston. He's not just some tool we can use." He paused before adding, his voice carrying a warning. "You'd better start thinking about the bigger picture. There are other ways to prepare for the Zirathkrill—ways that don't involve us crossing lines we can't uncross."
Langston clenched his jaw. It was clear the board had made its decision. Logan's team was off-limits, at least for now. But Langston wasn't one to give up so easily. As the meeting concluded, the director's words still echoed in his mind, and the weight of the bureau's connections settled heavily on his shoulders.
"For now, we hold off," Caldwell said one final time, his tone final. "But be ready. The Zirathkrill are coming. And when they do, we'll need to be prepared—fully prepared."
Langston left the room, frustration bubbling beneath his surface. But the seed had been planted. Logan and his team might be untouchable for now, but Langston knew better than to let a golden opportunity slip away.
As he walked down the sterile halls of the facility, his mind raced with possibilities. He would find another way. Logan and his team would be his, sooner or later. He just needed time to make it happen—by any means necessary.
The clock was ticking, and the Zirathkrill were on their way. Langston wasn't going to let the political intricacies of the board slow him down. Earth's survival depended on power, and he would do whatever it took to seize it.