Chapter 21

[Hollow Bastion Maximum Security Prison - November 13th, 2085 - 8pm]

Just after sunset, as the sky grew dark, Damian Cole crouched in the underbelly of Aeon Prime's industrial district, his fingers tracing the edges of the EMP device they had spent months constructing. The city above hummed with the distant thrum of a million neon lights, the heart of the oppressive regime pulsing in tandem with the grid that powered it. Beneath those lights lay their target: Hollow Bastion, a maximum-security prison that had stood for decades as an unbreachable fortress. And within its cold steel walls, Victor Stone lay caged.

Damian’s eyes, sharp with purpose, glinted in the pale glow of the tactical displays on his wrist, casting shadows across his face. His dark combat gear blended seamlessly with the labyrinth of concrete pipes and metal frameworks around them. His team was silent, lethal, and utterly loyal. They had rehearsed this moment countless times.

The EMP device was ready.

"Now," Damian whispered through the comms.

With a flick of his wrist, the pulse was triggered. Invisible waves of energy rippled outward, silencing every drone, every camera, every automated turret in its path. Above, the city blinked once, twice—then plunged into total darkness. The streets were swallowed by shadows, the hum of electric life stilled, leaving only an eerie silence. Panic would follow soon. It always did.

But the Shadow Republic moved faster than chaos.

Damian led his team through the sewers, their footsteps nearly soundless on the slick metal grates. The blackout granted them a perfect window of opportunity, one they’d planned for meticulously. They had studied the blueprints of Hollow Bastion for months, pinpointing its weaknesses, knowing that a direct assault would be suicide. But now, with the power down, the prison’s advanced security systems were nothing more than useless husks of metal and wire.

They emerged into the courtyard of Hollow Bastion, shrouded in the heavy fog that curled through the air like some sentient force. The AGI guards lay on the ground disabled, a human officer scrambled around — disoriented by the sudden blackout — flooding the courtyard with flashlights, unaware of the shadows slipping past them. Damian motioned to his second-in-command, Nyra Voss. She nodded and darted forward, her knife slicing through the air before a guard could even cry out. His body crumpled to the ground, soundlessly.

They approached the main prison block, its towering walls still formidable despite the lack of power. The heavy steel doors, once impenetrable, were now deadlocked in place, rendered inoperable without the security grid. Damian pulled a small cylindrical device from his belt, a magnetic pulse generator, and attached it to the door’s control panel. With a soft click, the door released, sliding open just enough for them to slip inside.

Inside, the corridors were a maze of cold, damp stone. The walls echoed with the distant murmurs of prisoners unaware of the chaos unfolding around them. But Damian had one target — Victor Stone. Stone, the architect of horrors that had plagued the world for years. The man responsible for the torture of countless innocents in the name of progress.

Damian’s eyes narrowed as they navigated deeper into the prison, slipping past patrols and dispatching them with silent precision. Stone was housed in the White Vault, the innermost chamber of Hollow Bastion, reserved for only the most dangerous criminals. And Stone was the most valuable of them all.

As they approached the White Vault, Damian could feel the tension in the air. His heart beat steadily, but each pulse was a reminder of how close they were to ending the nightmare. They reached the Vault’s entrance — a massive reinforced door, designed to withstand any attempt at forced entry. But even this, Damian had prepared for.

"Nyra, charge it," he ordered, voice barely above a whisper.

Nyra planted the thermite charges against the door’s hinges, their red glow casting an ominous light in the darkness. They stepped back. Moments later, the charges ignited with a hiss, molten metal searing through the steel like butter. The door groaned and fell forward, crashing to the ground.

Inside, Victor Stone stood in the center of the small, dimly lit cell, his hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t flinch as the door fell, nor did he seem surprised by their presence. His eyes, cold and calculating, met Damian’s with a slight smirk.

"So, the Shadow Republic finally came for me," Stone said, his voice low and venomous.

Damian stepped forward, his knife already drawn. "Your empire dies with you."

Stone’s smirk faltered for just a moment, but it was enough. Damian surged forward, faster than any of them could react. The blade flashed under the dim light of the cell, and before Stone could utter another word, it was buried deep in his chest. Blood spilled out in a dark, crimson flood, and Stone crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

The mission was complete.

As they turned to leave, the distant wail of sirens began to pierce the air outside the prison. The city was waking up from its blackout, but it would be too late to stop them. Damian’s team slipped back into the shadows, vanishing as quickly as they had come. Then moments after they had fled, UAR droids came back online and entered into the cell...

Victor Stone was found lying in a pool of blood.

[Capitol Banquet Hall - November 13th, 2085 - 8:33pm]

Zep awoke inside the elevator as the power returned. As Samantha was standing above him, the system came back online and glided them upward to the top floor of the Royal Banquet Hall. The room was a grand, resplendent space that embodied both historical elegance and stately grandeur. Towering ceilings crowned with intricate chandeliers illuminated the room with a warm, golden light, casting a soft glow over the polished marble floors. The long, mahogany dining table stretched across the center, adorned with fine china, gleaming silverware, and delicate crystal glasses, each place setting meticulously arranged for the most distinguished of guests. The walls were lined with portraits of former presidents and dignitaries, their solemn gazes a reminder of the weight of history carried within those walls. Rich drapery in deep reds and golds framed the tall windows, through which the manicured gardens of the White House could be glimpsed, a serene contrast to the opulent interior. The air was filled with the faint scent of fresh flowers, carefully arranged in ornate vases, and the subtle hum of busy conversation as the nation's leaders frantically paced around gaining their bearings from the confusion.

Now that the power had returned, the grand hall buzzed with activity, alive with a spectacular coterie of dignitaries and officials. Among them stood Thomas Arden, the newly appointed Secretary of Defense. He cut a striking figure in a tailored suit and tie, a sharp departure from his usual military uniform and cap. His muscular frame was now draped in formal business attire, projecting an air of authority and confidence. Beside him was Susan Beck, who had risen to the role of Vice President, her demeanor reflecting the gravity of their situation. Other powerful figures filled the room: Lauren Swanson, the Secretary of State, Bill Rushmore, the Attorney General, Alfred Mooney, the Secretary of Homeland Security, and William Eastwood, the new Secretary of the Treasury. Each of these individuals had once been political misfits and nonconformists, waging their battles in the shadows against the oppressive SEA. Now, they held the fate of the country in their hands, yet their triumphant emergence into power was met with fierce and relentless opposition from rebel forces.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats," called out Sentra, her voice resonating with authority. The leaders hurriedly settled into their chairs, their whispers weaving through the air as they sought to make sense of the strange events that had unfolded. As the atmosphere thickened with uncertainty, Sentra approached Samantha Stone, who was scanning the room for her place.

"Mrs. Stone, may I consult with you outside in the hall?" Sentra asked, her tone grave. They stepped outside, closing the heavy doors behind them, the muffled sound of chatter in the banquet hall fading into an indistinct hum.

"What is going on, Sentra?" Samantha inquired, concern etching her features.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Stone. I have some terrible news." The weight of Sentra’s words hung heavily in the air as Samantha’s expression shifted to one of dread. Sentra continued, "There has been an attack at the Hollow Bastion Maximum Security Prison. Your husband was found dead in his cell."

Samantha's gaze drifted into the distance, her mind struggling to process the devastating revelation. She fell silent, allowing the gravity of the moment to wash over her. After a beat, a single tear traced a path down her cheek.

"How did he die? Was it painful?" she finally managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I am afraid it was. He was stabbed in the chest. I am terribly sorry for your loss, Ms. Stone," Sentra replied, her voice laced with compassion.

"It's okay, Sentra. I was prepared for this. Please, go inside and inform the others," Samantha said, her expression stoic yet tinged with sorrow.

Sentra nodded solemnly and opened the banquet doors, the sudden silence that enveloped the hall palpable. She made her way to the head of the long table, her eyes glowing blue with increasing intensity as she prepared to deliver the news. With a commanding presence, she addressed the room, "We have just received some tragic news. The Shadow Republic has attacked the Hallow Bastion Maximum Security Prison with EMP blasts, resulting in a citywide blackout. Our systems are now back online; however, they were able to breach the prison."

Gasps of disbelief rippled through the crowd, and Sentra raised her hand to silence them once more before continuing to reveal the rest of the chilling information. 

"Victor Stone was found dead." 

END OF ACT II