The night before, during the Villabosque incident-- elsewhere.
The glass doors of the Mirador Lux slid open, revealing the large, three-story casino inside. Light from the entrance spilled onto the night street, mixing with the neon glow of nearby buildings and apartments.
The scent of cologne and expensive spirits drifted into the night air as a man stepped inside, accompanied by his bodyguards in dark formal suit.
He moved as if the building itself bent to greet him. He paused for a while to adjust his onyx-inlayed cufflinks, and breathed out through his nose with a smile on his face afterwards.
The whispers followed.
They always did.
By the time he passed the baccarat tables, even the high-rollers in the mezzanine had started murmuring.
"That's him," someone said in a tone between awe and fear.
He didn't look up.
He didn't need to.
Every chandelier above him, every poker chip, every camera in the corners of the establishment belonged to him.
The Mirador Lux
Hotel, casino, fortress-- whatever you call it, it belongs to Him.
And his name was Miguel Alvarez
He stepped into the violet glow of the private elevator. The biometric scanner lit up, verifying his iris with the intimacy of an escort.
She sauntered in behind him, swaying in her crimson dress with a plunging neckline, accentuating her generous figure. As the doors closed, she pressed the PENTHOUSE button, then turned to him, eyes hungry.
"You move like a man who's never been told no," she purred, tracing a finger up his chest. "Bet you fuck the same way."
Miguel smirked, slow and smug. "No, darling. I ruin with style."
She laughed, draping her arms around his shoulders. "Is that a threat or a promise?"
"It's a tax bracket," he murmured, sliding a hand down to cup her ass. "And you just got audited."
She pressed her hips against him, lips brushing his neck. "Then take me apart, Mr. Alvarez. I want to feel what wealth tastes like."
He leaned in, voice smooth
"Careful, sweetheart. Some tastes don't wash off." His eyes roamed lazily across her cleavage.
"That dress," he said, fingers brushing the hem. "It's not bad. Screams a little. But it knows what it wants."
She grinned. "And what's that?"
He tilted his head closer to her ear. "To be ripped off. Preferably somewhere expensive."
She laughed again.
But then his gaze turned cold. A distant kind of indulgence.
"Lindy Ramsay wore that color once. But on her? It didn't look like a fuck-me dress. It looked like she's offering you a challenge"
The escort blinked. "Really?"
He didn't stop. "She walked in that gala once, looking like the solution to every problem and the very problem itself. Every man in the room wanted to fuck her or fear her-- or both. Her tits sat like thrones above men."
"See, Lindy didn't wear a dress. She made it beg to stay on her. You? You look like the dress wore you out before we even got upstairs."
The smile on her lips twitched. Miguel leaned in close again, his breath hot against her ear.
"You're sexy, sweetheart. Don't get me wrong. You're the kind of pretty men tip big for. But Lindy? She's the kind they die for."
Ding.
The elevator slid open.
"Still," he said, tossing her one last glance, "cheap thrills have their place. Right between a bottle of bourbon and a forgettable night."
Miguel stepped out, straightening his collar like nothing happened.
The doors opened. Two massive men, both taller than the elevator, stood on either side of the hallway dressed in black. Their faces were expressionless, their uniforms marked with a crown and sword.
The symbol of the Monarchy
Their eyes fixed on Miguel.
"Mutants by the looks of it, what the hell are they doing here? Is there a celebrity around here or something..."
As he neared the door to his suite, they silently stepped aside. The door hissed open with biometric compliance. Miguel stepped inside, loosening his tie, thoughts still swirling around the curve of the escort's shoulder.
He froze.
In the dim corners of his room, a man sat calmly in his velvet armchair. Tall, with long hair tied back, dressed in a perfect dark tuxedo and glowing white shirt. His hand swirled bourbon, amber light catching the crystal glass. His eyes were hidden behind dark shades.
The man raised a hand. The door hissed open again. The two massive guards outside stepped in, blocking the entrance.
"Miguel"
Miguel's jaw clenched.
"Lysander." He stepped forward, half-angry, half-wary. "You have a peculiar definition of an invitation."
Lysander smiled faintly, barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth. "And you have a peculiar sense of hospitality. I knocked."
"Bullshit. My system would've screamed."
"It did," Lysander said, and raised his glass. "But only after I was already inside."
Miguel signaled the escort to leave. She didn't hesitate. Her face showed fear after seeing what happened. He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a bourbon. Then he turned his back on Lysander on purpose. Making him feel a little uneasy.
"I assume this isn't a social call," he said, voice cold. "You've never been the type."
"No," Lysander replied, setting his glass down with a gentle clink. "You and I have never had that luxury."
Miguel turned,
"So what is this about now? I've already pulled out of Millard like you asked. My subsidies in the Eastern division are withdrawing too just as planned. My intuition tells me either you're desperate or you're trying to play a hand you don't have."
"I came for clarity. You've been running acquisitions across the Eastern Division through shell companies tied to defunct military logistics firms. I know this because the Monarchy owns three of them. Imagine my delight when I saw your signature on a shipment of Laudanum bound for Cordoba. Specifically, at El Pueblo."
Miguel's brow twitched. "Business is business."
Lysander stepped forward. "No, Miguel. Somethings more going on here than just mere business."
Miguel chuckled darkly, sipping his drink. "So is this about His Majesty's precious neutrality pact with the Cartel? You afraid that with the protection they had, they might've involved themselves with your Verschollen business? Papillona couldn't take a break could she?"
Lysander stopped two steps away, just beyond arm's reach. His voice dropped. "You know El Pueblo and the Verschollen had a friendly past. And honestly, that's not a smart way to make money. It's reckless. And when things get reckless, people like me get dragged in."
The silence cracked. Miguel downed the rest of his bourbon, eyes on Lysander. "You came here to threaten me and my business?"
"I came here," Lysander said softly, "to give you a warning. Shut down the Laudanum smuggling to Cordoba. And stop feeding the Verschollen intel on our deployments."
Miguel stared at Lysander, his expression hard. "Papillona never dared to involve herself with the Cartel," His gaze sharpened. "You're leaving something out, Lysander. This feels more like a personal favor."
He sighed then finally, "Maximilian is alive. Wiped out all of my Hunters."
"Oh? What does any of that have to do with my business?"
"You don't take me for a fool, do you? You're giving him intel. So tell me, how much did he pay you? Or is it loyalty? Because you were once one of the Verschollen, and now you think you owe him something?" Lysander slowly pulls out a revolver from his pocket.
Miguel crossed his arms, "Whatever he's doing now, he'll never bring the Verschollen back to what it once was. I won't align myself with such weakness. In the end, all I've ever cared about is profit."
Lysander leaned in, eyes sharp. "So let me ask you again. How much did he pay you? Or are you doing this of your own free will?" a chuckle escapes him, "Or Is this about your fondness for Lord Ramsay's daughter? Lindy, was it? Should I pay her a visit too?"
Miguel's expression darkened.
"Leave her the fuck out of this, Lysander."
Lysander gave a cold smile.
"I spoke with her. She said Millard would never side with the Monarchy. But if I start removing her shareholders one by one, including you, my friend-- let's see how quickly Laurel moves in on the ruins of her company."
Miguel's fists clenched.
"We don't have anything to discuss anymore."
Before Miguel could reach for the device hidden beneath his tuxedo, a sharp crack rang out-- Lysander's bullet hit his arm.
He screamed, collapsing to the floor in pain.
In the nearby suites, guests heard the shot but brushed it off until a second gunshot followed. Panic erupted. Doors flung open, people spilled into the hall, half-dressed and terrified.
Guards stationed outside near Miguel's suite sprang into action, raising their rifles as the two giant men in black stepped out.
They fired.
But the bullets did nothing.
"What the fuck are these things?!"
The men didn't flinch. Their uniforms shredded themselves, revealing pale skin and a hulking mass of veiny, flesh-like armor that covered them from head to torso.
The guards froze in horror. Their rounds couldn't pierce them.
The two giants covered their eyes with one hand and charged forward. Their steel-hard skin made them unstoppable. They rampaged down the hallway, smashing every guards shooting at them, and everything in their path. Blood splattered against the walls.
Lysander stepped outside his suite, reaching for a cigarette. The elevator arrived, and its doors slid open.
Out stepped a woman-- short, with ashen hair and cold, bloodshot red eyes. Her hands were tucked deep in the pockets of her dark jacket. A smile played on her lips.
"Yuan, where have you been?",
"Just getting some fresh air on the top floor. I'm getting sick of all these expensive perfumes--" She stopped as gunshots rang out in the distance, followed by screams and explosions echoing through the hallway.
"You've made a mess again, Lysander." she snickered mockingly, "Oh, what am I saying? Of course you do. You've always been the one giving Momma Papillona headaches, haven't you?"
She playfully hop-skipped down the hallway, stopping at the entrance of Miguel's suite. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Miguel's bloodied body sprawled across the floor. His face was gone-- gray matter and blood splattered everywhere.
"Wow, your resume definitely wasn't exaggerating." She sat down beside Miguel's corpse, casually rifling through his pockets. "So, anything good before you blew this bastard's head off?" she muttered with a grin. "His inheritance, maybe? I could use a bit of it-- running low on credits again!"
Lysander took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling from his lips as he exhaled slowly. "He's still in contact with Maximilian," He said, voice flat. "Sent a bulk shipment to El Pueblo-- keeping their Verschollen operations alive. I should've known… that man's not so easy to kill."
"Oh really?" She smiled knowingly, "What are you gonna do about that then?"
"I was thinking… maybe it's time Otto paid them a visit," Lysander mused, flicking ash to the floor. "It's been a while since I checked in on them."
"That's dangerous," she replied, "The Cartel could wipe your SMITH bastards in a firefight... and knowing you, it'll be messy like always."
She leaned back slightly, eyes towards his silhouette. "So consider this a friendly warning: they're not the kind you want to play games with."
Silence don on him for a moment before snuffing out the cigarette, and turning toward the elevator.
"Do what you need to... and hurry before the Sullivan Police show up. Meet me at the High-Rise after."
At Sulliva Academy, in the present,
At the canteen, murmurs filled the air. Conversations flowing in hushed waves, occasionally covered by metallic clinks of cutlery. Sharp scent of fried food filling the air.
Liberty sat at a corner table, the half-eaten sandwich dangling from one hand while she tossed a grape into her mouth with the other. Across from her, Lincoln's arm crossed at himself, eyes flicking between Liberty and the students milling past.
Liberty's foot bounced lightly under the table. "Do you think people notice we're twins? Like, really notice?" she asked, voice bright and curious.
Lincoln didn't look up. "They notice. That's all that matters."
"Not what I meant," Liberty said, sticking out her tongue. "I meant… do they see us as two separate people or something like... errr... oh like a packaged deal?"
"They see what they want to see." He replied, coldly.
Before Liberty could retort, a figure fell over their table.
Anneliese entered, with a drink in hand. The girl with the pink-feathered hair from the processional. Lincoln immediately noticed her. Liberty paused mid-bite of her sandwich, realizing someone had arrived.
"I knew I would find you here. Mind if I join you?" Her voice was smooth, layered with amusement.
Liberty grinned. "You're that pretty girl from earlier! Sure why not!"
Lincoln's eyes narrowed subtly but he made no move to object.
Anneliese settled into the seat beside Lincoln.
"You're settling in well, I hope?" she said softly. "The Academy can be… overwhelming." She sipped from her drink and then leaned in slightly, her voice lowering just enough to be private.
"So, Lincoln," she began, eyes locked onto his face, "have you decided whether you're going to join the Student Council? I assume you've talked it over with your sister?"
Lincoln's head turned away from her, clearly disinterested.
Anneliese smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. "That's understandable. You two are still new here, so it's a big decision. But give it some time and you'll see."
Liberty blinked, a little lost. "Wait… what did you say? About joining what...?"
Anneliese gave a small laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned an elbow on the table. "You know, for a school full of diplomat's kids, things get oddly... immodest around here."
Liberty blinked. "Huh?"
"Factions. Most of them formed by seniors who think they're playing chess. Remember my friend Keevah?"
Lincoln nodded.
"Well, Keevah's got the general student body eating out of her hand. She's the poster girl for merit such as the 'scholarship kids', the ones who truly clawed their way here. She's... beloved, in that gritty, down-to-earth way. Those students screaming at the processional? Those were her 'cohorts' as she addresses them."
Lincoln looked intrigued. "So people actually follow her?"
"Oh, like she's a saint in uniform.. well... if only I could stress enough the 'saint' part of her" she sighed, "And Lord Althann... he's noble blood. His group's more... disciplined, militaristic, respects rules. Think chessboard, not fan club. He doesn't care about popularity. Selene sides with him as well."
Lincoln's gaze sharpened. "And what does this have to do with us?"
Anneliese's expression turned light again, but her eyes didn't lose their edge. "You're both new here-- and you, especially, come from a household full of secrets. That makes you... interesting. To everyone. Even to me."
She continued, "So I figured I'd offer a simpler route. The Council isn't just about votes and speeches... it's some sort of a neutral ground. You get access, a little cushion, and most importantly, you don't have to pick a side."
Lincoln blinked. "Pick a side for what? Is there, like, a fight happening?"
"Not yet," Anneliese said with a chuckle. "Anyway, enjoy the quiet while it lasts. This afternoon's physical training with Lord Garibaldi might change that."
"Oh? Is it gonna be hard? Like obstacle courses?" Liberty looked up to her
She smiled. "Not exactly. Though you'll want to be at your best. Lord Althann and Keevah will be there observing."
His brows lifted faintly. "Why?"
"To recruit," she said simply, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. "They'll be watching, evaluating. Anyone who stands out might get an invitation."
Liberty's eyes widened. "Ooh, sounds exciting!"
"Not the good kind of exciting. They don't just hand out invites. Once you're in, you're in. And you won't like how tightly they pull the strings." Anneliese's smile didn't quite reach her eyes this time.
"And you want us to reject them." replied Lincoln
"I'm advising you, no matter how flattering their offer sounds, say no. Politely, if you must. But firmly." Anneliese said, folding her hands together.
Liberty frowned slightly. "But what if they're nice?"
Anneliese gave a dry laugh.
"Keevah's a knucklehead, but she'll find a way to make you bow even if she has to do it by force. Lord Althann... well, he'll probably let Lady Selene do the talking. And she talks like a diplomat. They play to win. And they don't stop when they leave the field."
She met Lincoln's eyes directly. "So join the Student Council instead."
A brief beat of silence passed.
END OF CHAPTER EIGHT - PART ONE