Chapter 148: O5 Council report on the Aftermath of the New York Crisis
Inside the O5 Council Meeting Room
The dimly lit chamber carried an oppressive silence, broken only by the faint hum of the security systems embedded within its walls. Around the massive obsidian table, several O5 figures sat in their usual positions, their silhouettes cloaked in shadows. A few seats remained conspicuously empty, those of O5-6, O5-10, and O5-12.
O5-1,who presided over the council, slowly raised her head. Her sharp gaze swept across the room, and when she spoke, her voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Very well," she began, tone calm but absolute. "This meeting is now in session."
She interlaced her fingers on the table, pausing for a heartbeat before continuing.
"It has been one month since the conclusion of the SCP-2911-JP incident. We need to review what has transpired since then."
A brief silence followed her words, heavy with the weight of what she was about to say.
"Immediately after the event, a massive Hume wave swept through New York City, striking every living being, normal and anomalous alike, into a state of temporary coma. Every single one. Following the total loss of communication with all operatives on-site and the detection of this unprecedented energy surge, we initiated an emergency vote."
She leaned back slightly, her voice carrying an icy precision.
"The newly-formed ATF-05, codenamed Knights of the Isle, was deployed. A task force forged from the remnants of the Kingdom of Univers'Isle's forces and placed under the command of O5-10. Their mission was simple: secure New York at all costs.
They succeeded."
Another pause. The air in the room felt heavier now.
"Only one individual was found conscious amidst the devastation, The Administrator. He was discovered unharmed, accompanied by SCP-2911-C.
One hour later, every living being awakened simultaneously. All instances of SCP-2911-B withdrew from the battlefield under direct orders from SCP-2911-C. That marked the official end of hostilities."
She shifted her gaze to the others, her voice dropping slightly.
"We captured more than five hundred Chaos Insurgency combatants. Seven anomalies. Two command-level operatives. All in Foundation custody."
But her tone hardened as she reached the next point.
"Civilian impact: catastrophic. Over one million confirmed dead. More than five hundred thousand missing.
This event shocked the entire globe and nearly shattered the Veil beyond repair."
Her jaw tightened as she continued, voice colder than before.
"Fortunately, O5-11 developed a cover story credible enough to withstand scrutiny. A memetic agent was discreetly embedded within it, erasing key suspicions. All anomalous evidence was removed and replaced with fabricated 'normal' traces."
The table remained silent as she spoke the next words slowly.
"The largest obstacle was the sheer number of direct witnesses, people who saw SCP-2911-B instances with their own eyes. To contain this, we exhausted seventy-five percent of all North American amnestic reserves."
"Losses on our side: four hundred sixty-three operatives confirmed dead. More than twenty remain unaccounted for."
For a moment, the chamber was silent except for the faint static of the sound dampeners. Then, O5-1 spoke again, her tone low and grim.
"The first week was chaos for everyone. But by the second week… riots broke out across the United States. Protesters demanded accountability. They wanted someone to blame.
The presidential administration, cornered and unable to reveal the truth about the Chaos Insurgency, turned their pressure toward us. They wanted a solution. Their solution."
She exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening against the table.
"In the end, we created what they demanded, a scapegoat. A false global, ultra-secret terrorist organization brought to light. The announcement shocked the entire world, igniting outrage and condemnation.
To legitimize its existence, covert Foundation units, under O5-4's command, executed a series of staged attacks worldwide. Every action pointed directly to the terrorist organization, shifting global fury toward them… and away from us."
Her words fell like lead into the silence that followed.
O5-1 did not pause for long. Her fingers tapped against the cold obsidian surface, a sound that echoed faintly in the sealed chamber.
"Now," she continued, her tone as sharp as ever, "this brings us to O5-5's proposal."
Her eyes flicked toward the figure seated at the far end, barely visible in the shadows.
"Whether we like it or not, our so-called partnership with the United States was a liability. Their recent behavior proved it beyond any doubt. The pressure they exerted on us during the aftermath of the New York incident…" Her lips curled into something between disdain and cold amusement. "…It showed exactly what they truly think of us."
A faint, humorless laugh escaped her.
"There are no eternal friendships, only eternal interests. And when those interests clash, betrayal is inevitable."
Her gaze swept across the room, each O5 feeling the weight of her words.
"So, if cooperation is no longer viable…" She leaned forward slightly, voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "…then we control."
A silence settled so deep that the hum of the chamber's filters felt deafening. O5-1 straightened her posture, her next words cutting through the air like the crack of a whip.
"We developed a plan, Operation Taming of the Eagle."
"The concept was simple: dismantle the current power structure of the United States from within and seize control entirely."
Her tone was steady now, clinical, as if delivering a report on an experiment's success.
"We began by fabricating evidence, airtight, undeniable 'proof', implicating the President, the Vice President, the upper echelons of the administration, key agency directors, and major figures from both major political parties. All accused of direct ties and support to the terrorist organization we manufactured."
A ripple of grim satisfaction passed through the room.
"The effect was immediate, complete political upheaval. The system fractured. Chaos spread."
Her lips curved ever so slightly.
"From there, we moved to the next stage. We nurtured and accelerated the rise of a new political party, The Patriots. A party publicly positioned as the last bastion of American integrity, yet built and operated entirely under our influence."
She allowed herself a brief pause, her gaze sweeping across the other Council members before continuing.
"Recruits flowed in from both major parties, including countless 'innocent' figures. And behind them? Military support. High-ranking officers, some already ours, others… persuaded with a little incentive."
Her voice dipped lower, with a faint trace of dark amusement.
"A small push can move mountains."
The room remained silent. Every word carried weight, every pause calculated.
"We successfully orchestrated the arrests of the majority of these so-called 'traitors.' But… a few proved troublesome."
Her tone hardened, sharp as a blade.
"The President, Vice President, and Secretary of Defense and the rest of the cabinet barricaded themselves inside the White House, shielded by the Secret Service that refused to turn. We were left with no choice."
A cold glimmer flickered in her eyes.
"With the Pentagon's "cooperation", an arrest order was issued. The White House was taken by force by one of O5-10's assistants."
---
[Flashback]
The atmosphere in the Oval Office was suffocating. The room, once a symbol of control and power, now felt like a cage. Heavy curtains were drawn, casting deep shadows across the famous Resolute Desk.
The President sat behind it, his suit jacket undone, his tie loose. His face was pale, his jaw tense, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. The rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock only made the silence more unbearable.
The door opened with a sharp click. An aide, young, barely in her thirties, stepped inside with a tablet pressed to her chest like a shield. Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she crossed the room, every step echoing the weight of bad news.
"Mr. President…" she began, her voice low, trembling despite her best efforts to appear composed. She stopped just short of the desk, glancing at the cluster of senior advisors and Secret Service agents lining the walls. Everyone looked exhausted, unshaven, eyes hollow from lack of sleep.
The President didn't look up immediately. When he finally did, his eyes were sharp, burning with a mix of fear and fury.
"Talk."
The aide swallowed hard and unlocked her tablet, pulling up multiple feeds, news headlines, social media storms, live drone shots of the White House perimeter.
"Sir… the situation outside is worsening. There are approximately seventy thousand protestors surrounding the security perimeter." She hesitated, glancing at the Secret Service Director standing nearby. "The outer gates are holding, but… it's only a matter of time before they push harder. The chants have turned violent. They're calling for your arrest. Some… are calling for your execution."
The President's jaw tightened. A muscle in his cheek twitched.
"What about the National Guard? The Pentagon promised reinforcement."
"They're… not responding to our calls anymore, sir," she said carefully. Her eyes dropped to the floor for a split second, then back to his. "And… some units have been spotted marching next to the crowds."
The room seemed to freeze.
"What?" The word was sharp, venomous.
"Sir," she continued quickly, "I have to report this, the media is broadcasting allegations. Charges of treason. They're saying you-"
"-Say it." His voice was a growl now.
"That you've been funding the global terrorist organization that attacked New York. That you conspired to destabilize the world economy. That you… sold state secrets."
The President slammed his fist against the desk, hard enough to rattle the pens and make the aide flinch.
"Lies!" His voice cracked, full of rage and desperation. "Goddamn lies! Who's behind this?"
Silence. No one spoke. The only sound was the distant roar of the mob outside, faint through the thick walls but unmistakable.
Finally, the Secret Service Director stepped forward, his tone grim.
"Sir… the situation is beyond containment. Half the agencies have gone dark. We've confirmed multiple generals have switched sides."
The aide added in a whisper, almost afraid to speak:
"Sir… with respect… the internet believes it all. Every news network, every paper, they've bought into the narrative. And…" She hesitated, her next words feeling like poison. "…Several members of Congress have already called for your immediate impeachment."
The President stared at her, his breath heavy. Slowly, he rose from his chair, his hands braced against the desk as he leaned forward. His voice was low, dangerous, almost trembling with rage.
"I am the President of the United States." His eyes swept the room, daring anyone to contradict him. "And I will not be taken down by a goddamn lie."
No one answered. Not a single man or woman in that room could tell him the truth, that the game was already lost.
Outside, beyond the fortified windows, the chants grew louder. The sound of a nation devouring itself.
The President stood back on his chair, motionless behind his desk, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. The weight of betrayal pressed on his shoulders like a mountain.
Suddenly, the Secret Service Director pressed two fingers to his earpiece, his expression shifting from concern to something far darker. Without a word, he muttered, "Excuse me, sir," and hurried out of the room.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Every advisor's gaze dropped to the floor, no one daring to speak.
Two minutes later, the door opened again. The Deputy Director of the Secret Service stepped in, his face pale as chalk, his jaw stiff. He hesitated before speaking:
"Mr. President…" His voice cracked. "A National Guard battalion has arrived. They're positioned outside the security perimeter, under the command of Colonel Marcus L. Harper."
The Secretary of Defense let out a breath of relief, forcing a thin smile as tension broke for just an instant.
"Finally. Tell him to secure the area and disperse that mob."
The deputy didn't move. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he glanced at the President. Then, without a word, he set a government-issued phone on the Resolute Desk and pressed the speaker button.
"Colonel, the President is on the line."
A crackle of static filled the room. Then silence.
The President leaned forward, his voice sharp and commanding:
"I'm listening."
For a few seconds, there was nothing but dead air. Then came the voice, firm, cold, unwavering:
"Mr. President… by order and decision of the United States Congress, you are under arrest for high treason, cooperation with terrorist organizations, complicity in mass murder, abuse of power, and corruption. I am ordering you to stand down and instruct your agents to surrender. If you do not comply… we will commence an armed assault on the White House."
The words fell like a guillotine. The room went deathly still.
Then, the President erupted, his voice a roar of fury and disbelief:
"OUTRAGEOUS! THIS IS TREASON! A DISGRACE! I WILL NOT BOW TO YOUR LIES AND YOUR THREATS!"
A pause on the other end. Then Harper's voice returned, calm, almost pitying:
"Mr. President… this is not a threat. It's a notification. You have ten minutes to comply… or we take the building."
The line went dead.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then panic detonated in the room. The President's face contorted with rage and terror as he spun toward the Secretary of Defense.
"Call the Pentagon! NOW! Get that bastard on the line! Cancel that order and send reinforcements!"
The Secretary's trembling hands snatched up a secure phone. It rang. And rang. Finally, a voice answered, calm, clipped, authoritative:
"This is General Cane, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. I'm listening."
The Secretary all but shouted into the receiver:
"General Cane! The National Guard is preparing to assault the White House under Harper's command! Countermand that order and deploy loyal units to secure this perimeter immediately!"
A pause. Then Cane's tone dropped, firm as iron:
"By order of the United States Congress, you have been officially removed from your position as Secretary of Defense. You no longer hold command authority over the Armed Forces. Stand down and prepare to surrender peacefully. That is all."
The line clicked dead.
The Secretary froze, phone still in hand, his mouth half-open. The color drained from his face as the truth settled like ice: they were finished.
Outside, beyond the windows, the distant rumble of engines grew louder. Armored personnel carriers. Hundreds of boots hitting pavement. A storm closing in.
The President slowly sank into his chair, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged. For the first time in his life, he looked… afraid.
And the clock kept ticking. Ten minutes.
Suddenly, the Director of the Secret Service burst into the Oval Office, flanked by three armed agents.
"Mr. President, the area is no longer secure. We need to evacuate you, now!"
The President's eyes widened. He slammed his hand on the desk before nodding sharply.
"Alright. Open the way."
The President rose from his chair, followed closely by every member of his Cabinet. A protective wall of black-suited agents formed around them as they exited the Oval Office in a tight formation. The corridors echoed with the hurried rhythm of boots.
As they moved past a doorway leading into the Presidential Library, the President frowned in confusion.
"We're not going to the bunker?"
The Director, weapon raised and scanning every shadow, spoke without looking back.
"Negative, sir. If we head there, we'll be trapped. Our best option is to extract you from Washington immediately."
The President's jaw tightened, his voice low but burning with fury.
"We don't have a choice, do we? If they catch us, it's over. But if we escape… if we escape, we'll have a chance to clear our names. I swear-" His eyes burned with iron resolve. "As long as I draw breath, I will fight with everything I have to find the traitors who set me up."
They descended a narrow staircase at full speed, boots pounding against steel steps, until they reached the darkness of an underground tunnel.
The Director approached a thick metal pipe along the wall and pressed his palm against it. A faint click echoed, and with a low hiss, a concealed steel door slid open before them.
Everyone froze in shock, eyes wide at the hidden mechanism.
The Director turned his head slightly, voice calm but edged with urgency.
"Secret passage. Built by John F. Kennedy to leave the White House discreetly with his wife for… private outings. Since his death, it's been a classified escape route, only known to the chiefs of security for situations like this."
No one spoke. There was no time for questions.
The group hurried through the passage and emerged into a vast underground chamber. Multiple tunnels branched out from this point like veins, each sealed with reinforced gates, biometric scanners, and coded locks.
The Director reached into his suit pocket, fingers searching for his keycard. His breath came heavy as his hand moved frantically.
Then-
A thunderous crash roared from behind them. The steel door at the entrance slammed open. Every head snapped toward the sound.
From the shadows of the broken doorway… another man stumbled in.
He wore the same suit. The same earpiece. The same face.
The same Director of the Secret Service.
Blood soaked his white shirt as he staggered forward, one hand clutching his side, crimson dripping between his fingers. His face was pale, twisted with pain.
His lips trembled as he tried to form words. His voice was hoarse, ragged, but loud enough to freeze everyone in place.
"Stop… it's… a trap…"
A heavy silence fell over the chamber. The sound of dripping water echoed faintly through the steel corridors.
Then-
The click of weapons.
The Director, who had been frantically searching for his keycard moments ago, slowly straightened his posture. At the same instant, the three agents who had escorted him raised their weapons with cold precision.
"What-?" One of the real Secret Service agents barely had time to speak.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The confined room exploded into chaos. The echo of gunfire slammed against the walls as the four turned and gunned down every loyal Secret Service agent in less than five seconds. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the ozone tang of gunpowder as bodies crumpled to the floor.
The President froze, his breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded like a drum as he stumbled backward, only to feel the cold barrel of a rifle press against the back of his head.
"On your knees. Hands on your head. Now." The Director's voice was no longer calm, it was a blade of steel.
The Cabinet members trembled. They obeyed without a word, kneeling in a row, their faces pale with terror.
Then, something impossible happened.
The four "agents" shimmered, their forms glitching like corrupted holograms. Flesh rippled. Suits dissolved into streams of blue light. In a heartbeat, their human disguises vanished, revealing armored figures that looked like they had stepped out of a future war.
Two men. Two women. Their full-body combat exosuits gleamed with adaptive plating, laced with pulsating neon lines. Visors covered their faces, feeding streams of tactical data across the HUD.
The one who had worn the Director's face, the leader, activated his comms with a tap on his helmet.
"T-5 Alpha to Helios. Target secured. Preparing for extraction to point Delta-Bravo."
A short burst of static, then a calm voice replied:
"Copy that, Alpha. Extraction inbound."
The leader turned his head toward one of his female teammates, her visor glowing with shifting data streams.
"Onru. Open the gate."
"Affirmative."
Onru stepped forward, her armored gauntlet unfolding into an advanced wrist console. She connected it to the biometric lock of one of the tunnels. Sparks flickered as encrypted code unraveled in seconds. With a hiss of hydraulics, the reinforced gate slid open.
From the tunnel emerged a squad of black-armored operators, fifteen of them, moving with deadly precision. They fanned out, securing the room with mechanical efficiency.
One of the newcomers approached the leader.
"Perimeter secure. Maintain position until further orders."
The leader gave a sharp nod, then motioned his team aside. The four stepped back, weapons held casually yet menacingly.
The President's voice cracked as he broke the suffocating silence.
"Who are you?! What do you want from me?!"
His shout echoed against the steel walls.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then, the sound of boots approached from the tunnel beyond. A group of heavily armed operators advanced in formation, guarding a single figure clad in the uniform of a U.S. Army General.
The Secretary of Defense's eyes widened in disbelief.
"General… Cane?!"
The man smiled calmly, as if greeting an old friend at a gala.
"Mr. President. Mr. Secretary. What a pleasure to see you again."
The Secretary's voice turned to a furious snarl.
"What the hell have you done?"
General Cane tilted his head slightly, his tone almost casual.
"Traitor? No. I didn't betray you. I simply chose to serve a higher purpose. Instead of wasting our strength on these pathetic little wars you keep dragging us into… I can do more. I can protect humanity itself."
The President's face turned crimson with rage. His voice thundered across the chamber.
"You… you lunatic-"
Before he could finish, a firm hand rested on Cane's shoulder.
"That's enough, General. I'll take it from here."
General Cane immediately turned and dropped to one knee.
"Yes, O5-10."
The air froze.
An imposing figure stepped forward, cloaked in the same army uniform but exuding an authority that crushed the room like a vice.
The Secretary's eyes went wide as if he had seen a ghost.
"…General Fanton?!"
The President's blood ran cold. His voice trembled.
"Wait… the commander of U.S. Special Operations Command?! Did… did he just call you O5-10?!"
The Secretary's face turned pale as death. The other Cabinet members stared in confusion, unaware of the horror behind that name.
The President stammered, his voice breaking.
"You… you're one of the thirteen… of the O5 Council…"
A faint smile curved across O5-10's lips.
"I see your four subordinates did their homework and shared classified intels with you."
The President swallowed hard, his expression hardening with bitter resolve.
"Why… why did the Foundation betray us?"
O5-10 chuckled darkly, shaking his head.
"Betrayal? That word implies loyalty. There was never loyalty between us. You were never on our side. And we… were never on yours."
The President's voice cracked as desperation bled through his tone.
"What… what are you going to do to us?"
O5-10's eyes glinted like cold steel.
"Simple. You, your Cabinet, and your guards… will die in a mass suicide. A tragic end for desperate men trying to escape justice for their crimes."
He snapped his fingers.
In an instant, rifles rose. Muzzles flashed.
BRRRRRT!
Bullets tore through flesh. Blood sprayed against the concrete. Screams died almost as soon as they began. One by one, the Cabinet members fell, lifeless, their blood pooling on the cold steel floor.
Only the President remained, shaking violently, his mind shattered.
"W-why…?" he whispered, his voice a trembling echo of defeat.
O5-10 stepped closer, crouching just enough for their eyes to meet. His smile was a scalpel carving into the soul.
"A dead man doesn't need answers."
BANG.
The President's head snapped back, crimson painting the floor behind him. His body collapsed with a hollow thud.
O5-10 turned to his men without breaking stride.
"Clean this up. Three minutes."
"Yes, sir."
As his operators began sanitizing the scene with ruthless precision, O5-10 walked back toward the tunnel. He drew a sleek, encrypted phone from his coat, dialing a number.
After a brief click, he spoke in a calm, steady tone.
"Sir, this is O5-10-A. As per your orders, the President is dead. Understood. Returning to headquarters now."
He ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket as his silhouette faded into the shadows of the tunnel-
A ghost, leaving behind a massacre no one would ever believe.
---
"All members of the former cabinet were executed. Permanently removed from play.
She let the statement hang for a beat, then continued, voice turning clinical again.
"The NSA Director attempted extraction during the third week. His plan? Strike a deal with the Russians for safe passage. Fortunately, we received a… timely tip from the GRU-P's Director, allowing us to intercept and capture him before he crossed the border."
She exhaled slowly, her voice lowering as the next name surfaced.
"The CIA Director, however…" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "…remains unaccounted for."
No one spoke.
To secure long-term stability, we enlisted the cooperation of major corporate consortiums. Their loyalty was… purchased, with something priceless."
For the first time, a cold smile curved her lips.
"A low-grade replica of SCP-500. A miracle pill. Eternal health, in exchange for eternal obedience."
Her fingers tapped the table once, punctuating the final statement.
"Finally, elections were staged. Our candidate won by a landslide. The United States now dances to our tune."
Her voice dropped to a razor's edge as the weight of her words settled over the Council.
"That concludes this report."
There was silence.
Then, O5-3 broke the silence first. His voice, calm yet edged with unease, echoed across the chamber.
"Any updates on TA?"
O5-1 exhaled slowly, her gloved fingers tapping against the armrest.
"Negative. Ever since Resh-1 extracted him… we've received nothing. No direct transmissions. No status reports. Nothing. TA-A is handling all operations for the Office of the Administrator and relaying any official communications."
A ripple of tension moved through the council. O5-4 leaned forward, irritation flashing in his voice.
"No contact at all? Not even through secondary channels?"
"I've tried," O5-3 answered, his words quickening with each syllable. "Secure quantum relays. Triple-encrypted calls. Even the SCPiNET priority protocols. Nothing. No signal. No response."
O5-13, silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was calm… too calm.
"You're forgetting something. We're not supposed to know TA's location. Ever. That was part of the original design. He's most likely at his personal Site."
O5-13's eyes glimmered coldly beneath the holographic mask.
"Unless you somehow know where that is… there's no way you're reaching him."
O5-3 clenched his fists in frustration, but before he could retort, O5-1 let out another slow sigh.
The sound drew every gaze in the room.
O5-2 narrowed her eyes.
"…You're hiding something, One."
The weight of her words dropped like a lead anchor. The chamber fell deathly still. Twelve masked faces turned toward O5-1 in unison.
For a long moment, O5-1 said nothing. Then, with a trace of hesitation in her tone, she finally spoke.
"…TA has been… mentally Destroyed."
The words detonated like a shockwave.
O5-3 shot up from his seat, his voice a thunderclap.
"WHAT?!"
Even O5-7, who almost never spoke, shifted in her chair. The others stared in stunned silence.
O5-1 continued, her voice grim, each word carrying the weight of something she did not want to admit.
"I had a private exchange with TA-A. According to him… ever since the incident, TA hasn't left his quarters. Not once. He refuses to let anyone inside."
O5-1 paused, her gaze hard as steel.
"TA-A tried to speak to him. To get through. But you all know Resh-1. If the Administrator ordered them to burn down every universe in existence, they'd do it without a second thought."
A suffocating silence followed, thicker than concrete.
O5-11's distorted voice finally broke it.
"…So the Administrator, the man who built everything we have, is locked away, mentally shattered. And no one in this room can reach him."
O5-3's fists trembled as he slammed them against the table.
"How the hell are we supposed to maintain the fight if TA is out of play?!"
O5-5's voice cut in, sharp as a blade.
"Enough. Screaming won't fix this. We have to assume TA will remain… unavailable. Indefinitely."
O5-11 leaned forward, its tone laced with suspicion.
"Unavailable… or unwilling?"
O5-1 shot it a glare.
"Watch your words."
But the thought lingered in the air like a phantom none of them wanted to acknowledge.
If the Administrator had truly broken, then the Foundation's greatest authority had just cracked.
---
Franz strode down the dimly lit corridors of the manor in Site-01, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. A small entourage of assistants followed at his heels, each one clutching tablets and datapads, flooding him with reports. Their voices overlapped in a low, urgent murmur, updates on containment research, diplomatic negotiations, global operations, all vying for his attention.
Franz listened, his expression carved from stone, answering only with curt nods. His mind, however, was elsewhere.
As they turned a corner, a heavy door came into view. Reinforced, obsidian-black, and lined with anti-teleportation glyphs. Two biometric scanners glowed faintly on either side. Standing before it like a statue was a Resh-1 team, armor pristine, visor reflecting nothing but darkness, rifle slung across his chest.
Franz's eyes lingered on the door for a moment too long. His steps slowed.
He could feel the weight pressing down from the other side, like an invisible gravity well pulling at his chest. He wanted, no, needed to open it. To speak to the man inside. To pull him back from the edge.
But he didn't.
Instead, Franz let out a long, exhausted sigh and moved on. The assistants glanced at him, uncertain, but said nothing. They knew better.
Resh-1's visor tracked Franz as he passed. No words. No movement. Just the quiet, suffocating tension of a silent guardian who would sooner die than fail his charge.
Behind that door…
The room was drowned in darkness, the heavy curtains sealing away the light of day. The air was thick, unmoving, like the breath of a tomb.
On the edge of a king-sized bed sat Léonard.
Motionless.
Silent.
His back slightly hunched, his hands resting loosely on his knees. The dim glow of a single standby lamp barely touched his face, revealing eyes that were once sharp enough to command the world, now hollow, staring into an abyss only he could see.
His lips didn't move. His breathing was so shallow it barely stirred the stillness. He looked less like a man and more like the broken shadow of one.
There were no clocks in the room. No sound but the faint whisper of his own thoughts, fragmented, looping, gnawing at what little remained of his will.
The Administrator… reduced to this.
Outside, life moved on. Orders were given. Wars were prevented. Humanity slept peacefully under a shield it didn't know existed.
But inside this room… the shield was cracking.