New York. Queens. Deep within the subway tracks.
A man curled up in the shadow of a concrete pipe; the coat on his body was covered in grime and reeked of damp mildew.
His name had long been forgotten, and people only called him "Rat."
Several large brown rats gathered around him, quietly chewing on half a pizza he had scavenged from a trash can.
They were his only subjects and his informants in this underground kingdom.
One rat suddenly stopped, pricked its ears, and let out a sharp "squeak."
A flash of alertness crossed Rat's murky eyes. He could understand them.
Strangers were approaching; their footsteps were light, and there was more than one.
This was not some glorious ability. It couldn't make him breathe fire, nor could it grant him immense strength.
It only allowed him to survive a little longer than others in this city's sewer kingdom.
He chose not to trust the smiling face of the man on the Vought International television.
Because he knew clearly that when someone smiles at you so perfectly, they must want to take something from you.
And for someone like him, he had nothing but this wretched life.
Rat pulled an old laptop, tightly wrapped in oilcloth, from his chest.
He opened an encrypted forum and skillfully entered a long string of random characters.
The screen lit up, and a waterfall of ghostly green data streams scrolled past.
A pinned post had a glaring, bright red title.
"Beneath the Sugar Coating Lies Soul-Devouring Poison — Prophet."
The post contained no long-winded arguments, only a few short sentences.
"They promise immunity to make you let down your guard."
"They promise money to put a price tag on you."
"They promise a ladder to make you walk into the slaughterhouse yourself."
"Do not register, do not trust, do not approach."
"Huddle together for warmth, hide in the Shadow."
"Wait for the true dawn."
Rat looked at the last sentence, his dry, cracked lips moving slightly.
He didn't know what dawn looked like. But the only thing he knew was that the Shadow could at least let him live until tomorrow.
This underground network, called the "Awakened Mutual Aid Society," was their Shadow.
"Beware! Vought's 'Elite Training' has already begun! Chicago's 'Fire God' is their first sample! They will polish you into a product, slap a label on you, and put you on the shelf! Forget who you are, remember only their trademark!"
Rat's pupils constricted. He had seen that boy called "Fire God" on the news.
The hero touted by the media as a "prodigal son returning." So... that was fake too.
He quickly typed a line on the keyboard: "Coordinates: Queens, subway track maintenance tunnel 17,'Suits' approaching, suspected Vought agents, two of them."
After sending the message, he closed the laptop, wrapped it in oilcloth, and tucked it into his chest.
"Squeak!" The rats became restless and scattered, fleeing deeper into the pipes.
Rat did not hesitate; he crouched down and, like his subjects, nimbly dove into another, narrower ventilation shaft, his figure quickly disappearing into the endless darkness.
...
The top floor of Vought Tower was the complete opposite of the filth in the underground World. Here, the air was filtered to be spotless.
Motoko Kusanagi placed a report on Lynn's desk.
"This is the preliminary report on the 'Awakened Mutual Aid Society.'"
"An underground network spontaneously formed by newly awakened superpowered individuals. Most members are from the bottom of society, their ability assessment levels are generally low, and their commercial value is minimal."
"Their method of communication is an encrypted BBS. The leader's code name is 'Prophet,' identity unknown, and highly inflammatory."
"They just issued a warning regarding the 'Fire God' project. Our infiltrators confirm that the other party possesses a certain degree of intelligence-gathering capability, or perhaps sharp intuition."
Motoko's voice was steady and efficient. "According to our infiltration, the core demands of this organization are: Distrust, Non-cooperation, and Undefined."
Lynn tapped his fingers lightly on the desk, listening to those words swirl in his mind without stirring any emotional waves.
Distrust, Non-cooperation, Undefined? This didn't sound like resistance; it sounded more like a flock of lambs waiting for the slaughter, praying in vain.
"Dr. Hannibal Lecter, come to my office." He did not order their elimination, nor did he instruct for surveillance.
Before long, Hannibal Lecter walked in. Today, he was wearing a dark brown vest paired with a silk cravat, as elegant as an art critic about to attend a concert.
He noticed the report on the table. "It seems some lost lambs have refused the shepherd's guidance."
Lynn gestured for him to sit. "Take a look. A group of interesting experimental samples."
Dr. Hannibal Lecter browsed through the materials, his face showing no disgust or vigilance.
"A vagrant who communicates with rats..." "A repairman who makes metal rust..." "A fortune teller who can briefly foresee the future..."
He recited a few cases softly, a gleam of pleasure flashing in his chestnut eyes. "Such simple, such primitive, untamed vitality."
"Eliminating them directly is a waste, Boss." Dr. Hannibal Lecter looked up at Lynn.
"It's like preparing a feast; if there is only a main course, it would be too monotonous. These... little appetizers can make the entire dining experience more layered."
"My suggestion is that not only should we not suppress them, but we should actually support them."
Dr. Hannibal Lecter clasped his fingers together in front of him.
"I will send someone to pose as a philanthropist who sympathizes with their plight, a wealthy person who also holds 'doubts' about Vought. For some of the groups with the most radical thoughts and impulsive behaviors, we will provide funding, supplies, and even some... misleading guidance."
"We must give them weapons, and we must also give them reasons for anger."
"We want the public to see with their own eyes where superpowered individuals who have left the management of the Vought system will eventually end up."
His voice was gentle and magnetic, yet the content he described was chilling.
"They will become thieves, become robbers, become thugs who abuse their powers on the streets."
"They will use their own stupidity and lack of control to set off the order and brilliance of our heroes."
"They will become a perfect, controllable opposition."
"A living negative example used to prove that all your decisions are impeccably correct."
Dr. Hannibal Lecter stood up and bowed slightly.
"When people scream in fear of these uncontrolled 'weeds,' they will be even more grateful to you, the only 'gardener.'"
Lynn picked up his wine glass; the liquid inside reflected his bottomless eyes. He did not evaluate the cruelty of this plan. He only cared about the results.
"I need a target that is sufficiently conspicuous."
"Of course." A satisfied smile appeared on Dr. Hannibal Lecter's face.
"I will carefully select the most magnificent stage for them."
"After all, for a successful tragedy, the protagonist's destruction must be spectacular enough to leave a deep impression on the audience."
plz support me if you can
readfictional.com
patreon.com/AZFANFICTION
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/AZofficial
All the novel and fanfiction are 30 chapter ahead there.