The Grand Covenant Order — known simply as the The Order — was the branch of law that handled the kind of cases the public was never allowed to hear about.
They answered to no one, bound by no nation's laws.
Once, they had moved in the shadows to protect without exception.
Now… after the shifts in government, their authority had been twisted, their influence exploited. The GCO had become a stage for political theater, its once-noble reputation a ghost of the past.
SWEET DREAM CAFE — 8:30 AM
Morning sunlight spilled through the glass window, glinting off the rim of Evah's coffee cup. She sat alone, scrolling lazily through news articles on her laptop. Steam from the drink curled upward, warm and comforting against the crisp air inside the café.
On the screen:
Crime rates continue to drop in Zone Four: Y'Ruen
Out of boredom, she clicked the headline.
A video loaded.
The reporter's voice carried over soft background music.
"The city's safety continues to improve, shifting from a full-blown crime zone to a much safer place. This is attributed to the Grand Covenant Order's Major General stationed here for the past three years. However, the police remain dissatisfied with his jurisdiction."
Evah's lips pressed into a thin line. The GCO was powerful, dangerous even — especially in recent months. She recalled an article she'd stumbled upon late one night, about civilians shot dead by police… officially ruled as self-defense.
Yet some swore the GCO were the only ones holding the city together.
She sighed, tangled in her own contradictions.
She lifted her cup for another sip — only to realize it was empty.
In her peripheral vision, another cup sat on the table beside her.
Yuka.
She glanced at the clock. Past 8:30.
Yuka was never late.
Before she could dwell on it, a shrill alarm burst from her phone. The sound seemed to slice through the gentle café chatter. Evah fumbled to silence it, cheeks burning as she bowed in apology to the patrons now staring.
Her phone screen glowed.
Coordinates. A timestamp.
Her breath caught.
Something happened.
Shoving her laptop into her bag, she bolted out the café door.
GRAND COVENANT ORDER HEADQUARTERS — 9:30 AM
Erion Macquiade sat alone in his office, eyes fixed on a map spread across his desk. The titleplate at the edge of the table read:
Erion Macquiade — Major General, Zone 4
At twenty-seven, he had commanded this jurisdiction for three years, his blue eyes as cold and unreadable as ice. Jet-black hair fell partly over one eye, a shadow to match the storm in his mind.
Red markers dotted the map before him — each one a recent crime scene.
A knock broke the silence.
"Come in," he said without looking up.
A man, perhaps three years his senior, entered and stood at attention.
"Major, permission to report."
Erion gave a short nod.
"There's been another kidnapping near the Perigo Cube." The officer's voice was steady, but tense.
Erion's gaze shifted to the large wall map on the right. Four red pins connected by yarn formed a perfect square — the Perigo Cube. The city's most lawless sector.
"The victim is a twenty-year-old student," the officer continued. "Witnesses say she was last seen running along Origo Street, just past the Damian Tunnel."
That tunnel was a gate to hell. Erion knew it.
"This makes the third victim this week… the twenty-fifth, if we link all the disappearances we suspect are connected. And possibly the same group responsible for the K'ryos massacre — fifty dead."
Erion's jaw tightened. The police in that zone were useless. The Order stationed there even more so.
But he couldn't storm in without cause.
"Deploy the Phantom to patrol Damian," he ordered, "but keep clear of the tunnel."
"Yes, Major."
The Phantom — the Order's most discreet unit — was tasked with silent observation… and silent elimination, if necessary.
The officer saluted and left.
Erion exhaled, eyes lingering on the map.
Leon should have acted by now, he thought bitterly. But he's just a spoiled brat in uniform.
A soft ping pulled his attention back to the desk. His laptop screen flickered with a notification.
An email.
On his corporate address.
That was strange. His secretary usually filtered these before they ever reached him.
Sender: [email protected]
Subject: Help me.
Brows furrowing, he clicked it.
Help me, please! My friend was kidnapped! I think it's the same case on the news. Please, I need your help!
*Here is her location: ..*1.90 — this link will send you a real-time feed.
The police won't help me. I'm begging you!
Erion stared at the screen.
How did this person get past GCO's firewalls?