Chapter 416
General Mark sat in the temporary command room overlooking Los Angeles, certain the night would end without trouble.
He had a thousand soldiers under his command. The rebels? Maybe two or three hundred.
Their target was eight thousand ragged, starving people scattered across the streets-bodies thin, hungry, and unarmed.
To Mark, they were nothing. A thousand rifles would erase them easily.
“Hey—what’s happening? Our link’s gone!” one of the comms men suddenly shouted.
Another soldier raised his head, pale. “Same here, sir. We’re dead on this side too p>
“Is the L.A. communications team taking our connection down too?” Mark’s voice cut through the room.
“Get someone over there now. Tell them to bring the feed back online p>
As the soldier hurried out, Mark waved his hand. “We still have military landlines and radios. Bring them up for now p>
The man on radio duty worked the controls. “Sir, the frequencies are jammed— we’re getting nothing p>
General Mark yawned, “Don’t worry. Our soldiers won’t lose to the homeless just because we lost communications. They need to learn responsibility too p>
He straightened his uniform, more for show than comfort. “I’m going out for some air. Call me if the lines return p>
“Yes, General.” The salute snapped, nervous.
“Come with me,” Mark said, gripping the secretary at his elbow in a public, possessive gesture as he walked out.
“After this is over, I want to enjoy myself. You ready with what I asked for p>
The secretary smiled, “Yes, sir. I selected twenty young women, all ready. I’ll have them at your mansion by tomorrow p>
“Perfect. Since Alfred Kingston is Governor, life’s become heaven,” Mark laughed, a bitter, greedy sound.
Outside the base, a sniper watched the compound from a shadowed rooftop. His scope tracked General Mark’s movements.
“Report,” he whispered into his throat mic. “I have a clear view of General Mark as he walks out. Request permission to engage p>
At the command console, one of Bella’s secretaries leaned forward. “Miss Governor, we have visual. Do you authorize a take-down of General Mark p>
“Do it,” Bella said without hesitation.
“Permission granted,” the secretary confirmed into the sniper’s net.
A single breath. A single pull.
The round sliced through the night wind and smashed into General Mark’s skull.
He dropped at once-like a puppet with its strings severed.
The secretary shrieked, stumbling beside his body. She tried to lift him, but his head was half destroyed, blood pouring in rivers, soaking her hands, her dress, the floor.
Her scream tore upward, raw and wild, echoing into the dark sky.
Before death, all were the same. Power, rank, wealth-all of it was nothing but illusion.
“Command, this is Shadow One. Target neutralized. Mission successful. Over.” “Copy that, Shadow One. Excellent work. Stand by for next tasking. We want eyes on the remaining military leadership. You are cleared to proceed at your discretion. Over p>
“Roger, Command. Shadow One moving to secondary objective. Out p>
On the other streets, captains barked orders to soldiers to slaughter the poor, yet panic spread like wildfire.
The poor and the homeless fought back-raw, furious, armed. The shock struck the soldiers like a hammer.
Troops who had expected no resistance suddenly realized death was closer than they thought as bullets poured down on them.
How could those who struggled just to find food now have guns and bullets in their hands?
“Kill them all-forget about detaining!” a captain screamed, his voice snapping commands into the chaos.
Before he finished, a glint answered him: a round from a concealed barrel punched through his temple.
He folded, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Shadow Eleven to Command: Captain neutralized. Casualty confirmed. Over p>
“Command to Shadow Eleven: Copy. Good work. Begin sweep of the area- locate and identify any additional captains or personnel attempting to assume command. You are cleared to engage leadership targets. Maintain ROE. Over p>
“Shadow eleven to Command: Roger. Commencing search for remaining leaders and preparing to engage as authorized. Out p>
Snipers moved through the city like a cold wind.
Captains dropped without warning; with the comms dead, no one could shout a warning to the others. No one was alert.
They thought they were only facing the homeless-weak, worthless—and that arrogance made them reckless.
They left themselves wide open.
Without communication, they scattered like chicks without a mother hen-easy targets, their arrogance making it effortless for the elite soldiers of Vermont to crush them.
On another corner of the street, a massive crowd surged toward the city’s largest bank.
Hidden in the crowd, Vermont’s elite soldiers in disguise moved seamlessly with the flow.
They were the first to smash the bank doors, cracking open the vault and passing out cash and papers like contraband salvation.
Word spread fast-Los Angeles turned inside out overnight.
People poured from their homes, stealing whatever they could carry.
“This is Judge Carl’s house-the rotten judge who always favors the elite,” one protest leader barked. “He buried us in his courtroom. Tonight we take it back.” Judge Carl had been living lavishly, sleeping with two Los Angeles models and enjoying his glamorous life.
Ever since Alfred Kingston appointed him head judge, money and power had flowed easily into his pocket.
He jolted awake at the sound of a gate being torn loose.
He stepped into the hall and saw hundreds of faces forcing their way through the front door.
“What—what is this?” he stammered, backing into the study.
“There he is.” Ten hungry men rushed after him.
Even after the judge locked his door, people kicked at it again and again until finally the lock gave.
A gaunt man, hair matted and face hollow from years behind bars, stepped through the splintered door, a gun clenched in his hand.
“You put me in prison for twenty years for a crime I didn’t commit. You made me
the scapegoat for the rich. You burned my life down. Remember me now p>
“Please please don’t kill me,” Carl begged, his palms raised like a frightened child.
The pistol barked. The sound cracked through marble and chandeliers. It wasn’t elegant. It was final.
Across the city, the pattern repeated.
Banks, mansions, clubhouses, party rooftops places where the wealthy had stacked their laughter like armor-fell silent under the weight of the people they had scorned. s
Workers, servants, porters, the homeless those long scorned by the rich now flooded through velvet halls and silk draped rooms
their
faces gaunt with rage s
They shouted from the depths of their hearts:
You are human, so are we.
You are looking for happiness-so are we.
If your money made us different, then our numbers and our power will make us
different too.
You fear death? So do we.
So let’s kill each other, since there has never been any love in our hearts for one
another.
We fear each other.
As the law of fear always says: kill first to feel safe.
Either you kill us, or we kill you—until nothing is left but lonely darkness.
Without love, humans are born as animals.
To protect their wives, they killed another man’s wife.
To protect their children, they killed other children.
And to protect themselves, they had to kill anyone in their way.
People slaughtered in rage and chaos, tearing the world apart—until there were
no children, no men, no women, nothing left.
Across the state, Bella sat in the command room, directing every crowd alongside the undercover Vermont soldiers.
Each one was targeting Alfred Kingston’s people—the rich, the corrupt, and all who stood with him.
Bella suddenly laughed to herself, startling the secretaries, but they chose to stay
silent.
“Hey, do you want to hear something funny?” Bella suddenly asked her secretary. “Yes, Miss,” Nana replied.
“A year ago I wanted to destroy that bastard Alfred Kingston. I’d made all the plans, all I needed was to launch them then my father said something p>
“What did he say, Miss p>
“Don’t start the war, Bella. Don’t kill Kingston. We already have enough for ourselves-don’t touch another p>
“My father was always my weak link; I followed what he said,” Bella laughed. “Funny thing now. I want to kill Alfred, and no one stop me anymore p>
“Alfred thought that killing my father would weaken Vermont, but he awakened a monster he wasn’t supposed to p>
“He killed the only man who could have stopped me from killing him. What a funny world p>
“Master Jericho is a true gentleman—a man with a heart,” Nana admitted.
“But not me,” Bella smiled. “Now-target Alfred Kingston and his son. I want them
both dead tonight p>
“Yes, Miss p>
Inside his mansion, Alfred Kingston sat in his study, imagining the city would be
clean after this long night.
All the destruction, killings, and chaos in Los Angeles would be fuel
to stoke hatred toward the king. Since it would all happen under the king’s command or at least that’s what the news would report.
s
He pictured Los Angeles purged of filth and poverty, rising into a new era.
With him would come a new order-the power to rise against the king’s cruel rule.
The citizens’ hearts would be with him.
In that vision, he saw himself-crowned as king.
But he had no idea that the very thousands he wanted dead had already gathered
at his gates.
Men and women he had looked down on-labeled garbage to be purged and
erased-now stood at his doorstep: hungry, furious, unafraid, and armed.
Every pair of eyes burned with the same question:
“Why did you want to kill us? Are we not human-or are you p>
Across the city, in Los Angeles Prime Hospital, another group of men stormed through the halls, shouting, “Where is Charles Kingston p>