The lights flickered in the underground chamber, an expansive, clinical room buried far beneath the Earth, shielded by layers of lead, steel, and silence. Around the obsidian conference table sat thirteen men and women, each draped in black suits without insignia. These were not politicians. Not soldiers. Not anything the world could define. Their identities were constructed from birth, their lives carefully scripted. Above ground, they were surgeons, teachers, janitors. But here? Here, they were gods deciding the fate of nations.
A central holoscreen shimmered to life. Lines of data poured in, and then three faces appeared. One by one.
SABLE Alias: Evelyn Blake
IQ Rank: 3rd
Combat Rank: 3rd
Status: Independent Threat
Age: 11
Known Affiliates: The Pale Choir
Classification: Chaotic-Calculative Hybrid
Last Seen: Underground Broadcast Feed – Unknown Location
THE BUTCHER Alias: Adrian Voss
IQ Rank: 2nd
Combat Rank: 2nd
Status: Ex-Operative – Terminated All Ties
Age: 11
Known Affiliates: None
Classification: Logical Executioner
Last Seen: Istanbul – Confirmed Kill Count: 37 (1 Night)
THE OMNISCIENT Alias: Unknown
IQ Rank: 1st
Combat Rank: Unknown – Estimated Peak
Status: Unclassified – Global Shadow Manipulator
Age: Unknown (Approx. 12–13)
Last Seen: Never confirmed visually
A long pause followed.
"If he chooses war," a woman near the end of the table spoke, "we will fall in days. Not months. Not weeks. Days."
Another nodded solemnly. "He doesn't fight battles. He deletes outcomes."
A younger man leaned forward. "We must bring the others in. Sable and The Butcher. If we appeal to their individual motives, maybe we have a shot."
"Bringing them in won't be negotiation," said the Director, a silver-haired man with eyes like broken glass. "It will be seduction. Or nothing."
Suddenly, a chair scraped back. One of the older members, Juliusz Jedynak, a broad-shouldered man with a quiet demeanor, stood.
"Medical emergency. I'll be back in ten."
Juliusz left with no objections. No security escort. He climbed the long corridor up to a disguised civilian hallway and walked calmly to a modest-looking government-run clinic hidden in the ruins of an old subway station.
Inside, the fluorescent lights hummed.
He was told to wait.
Then, a voice: "Come in."
The clinic room was almost bare. One desk. One flickering lamp. And behind it, a doctor in a faded coat with gloved hands. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Strange thing, fate," the man said. "To meet in a place meant for healing… while talking about destruction."
"You're not a doctor," Juliusz said.
"No," the man admitted. "I'm a messenger."
He slid a file across the table. On it was a single chess piece: a pawn.
"He's chosen you. Not because you're important. But because you're dispensable."
Juliusz stiffened. "What do you want?"
"Compliance. And loyalty. You see, your daughter's lovely ballet recital last month? The one in the private garden? He loved it. Especially how vulnerable it made her."
Juliusz's breath hitched.
The man smiled wider. "You belong to him now."
Then he walked away.
Back in the depths of her abandoned cathedral-turned-headquarters, Evelyn paced across stained glass lit by flickering lanterns. Her fox mask hung loosely in one hand. Her crew avoided her gaze.
She had sent them scavenging into digital ruins and even raided a government proxy base in Romania. All of it yielded nothing.
Until a new message arrived.
A voice recording. Distorted. Precise.
"We know who you are. We admire what you've built. If you're interested in playing a game that actually challenges you, come to the coordinates. No tricks. No scripts. Just you, the board, and someone worthy of being your rival."
Attached was a single GPS coordinate.
A church. Long abandoned. Somewhere in Luxembourg.
Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "Finally."
She slid on her mask.
Somewhere else, the ground trembled.
Screams. Gunfire. Concrete sprayed into the air as Adrian Voss moved like a machine through the ruins of Die Schwarzen Hände's last base.
"Mercy," begged a soldier, sobbing.
Adrian replied with silence.
Valkenhook spun through flesh, steel, then retracted into his arm with a mechanical hiss. He burned the facility floor by floor. And when he stood among the ashes, his body was stained in soot and blood, but his eyes were calm.
A man in black waited at the road ahead.
"You've grown," he said, as if speaking to an old friend. "But I suppose they kept you small for a reason."
Adrian didn't flinch. "Who are you?"
"Someone who knows boredom can kill quicker than bullets. You need challenge. And I've got just the thing. She's not like the weaklings you fought earlier. She's the only one on par with you."
A file was offered. Adrian didn't take it.
He just nodded.
"Where?"
"Luxembourg."
Adrian vanished into the woods before the man finished his breath.
Back at the secret facility, Juliusz sat alone.
He trembled as he uploaded a series of files, movement records, contingency strategies, security vulnerabilities, into a cold, untraceable terminal.
A small message box blinked.
Message Received.
And then, just like that, it vanished.