The sound of sirens filled the air as the city descended into full-blown chaos. The first phase of the operation had gone off without a hitch. The protestors, now fueled by fear and confusion, had scattered in all directions, and the authorities were struggling to regain control. But the truth was, control was already slipping away from them. The streets were no longer their domain.
I moved through the crowds, staying low, keeping my distance from the police lines that were slowly tightening around the chaos. The flashbang had done its job. Panic had set in, and now the media was playing its part, broadcasting images of violence and destruction to every corner of the city. The people were seeing what we wanted them to see.
It felt like the air itself was thick with tension. There was an electric charge to everything now—the protests, the media, the fear—everything was feeding into the narrative we had carefully crafted.
As I made my way down an alley, I received another message from Solomon: Phase two is underway. The government's communications are down. It's time to make your move.
I didn't waste a second. The moment I received that message, everything else blurred into the background. The time for subtlety was over. We had spent months carefully building the pieces, but now it was time for the final act.
The government had no idea what was coming. They were too preoccupied with controlling the crowds, too focused on putting out fires in the streets. But we had the power now. They were isolated, their leadership fractured. And they had no idea how deeply we had infiltrated their ranks.
I stepped into the heart of the protest zone. A few blocks away, the National Guard had been called in, their armored vehicles rolling down the street. But they were too late. The city was already lost.
I approached the central square, where one of the most influential government figures had been scheduled to speak. The square was packed with people, a perfect opportunity to show the world that the government was no longer in control. The speech was supposed to be a rallying cry, a final stand to calm the public. Instead, it would be the moment when everything crumbled.
As I moved through the crowd, I could feel the weight of their eyes. They didn't know me, not yet. But they would. Solomon's people had already started to spread rumors, whispers of the one who would bring order to the chaos, the one who could save them from the destruction. I had already been built up as a savior in the media, even if no one had seen my face yet.
I made my way toward the stage where the government figure was preparing to speak. A handful of guards stood by, but they were focused on the crowd, not on me. They wouldn't know what hit them.
I pulled the hood of my jacket over my head to keep my identity concealed. My heart was pounding in my chest, but my mind was cold, calculating. This was what we had been waiting for. The moment that would define everything.
The moment the government leader stepped up to the podium, everything stopped. The crowd grew quiet, waiting for the speech. And that's when we hit them.
One of Solomon's people, positioned on a nearby rooftop, fired a single shot—a soundless, precise shot that struck the government figure in the shoulder. The figure collapsed, and chaos erupted immediately. The crowd screamed in shock and fear. The police rushed forward, but they were too slow, too disorganized. The media immediately latched onto the moment, broadcasting the scene to the entire city.
People didn't know what had just happened. They didn't know if it was an assassination attempt or a protest gone too far. But they didn't need to know. All they needed to know was that everything was unraveling. That the government couldn't protect them. That the streets were now ours.
In the confusion, I slipped to the front of the stage, my face hidden by the hood. I moved quickly, positioning myself in front of the podium. The camera crews were focused on the chaos, but a few were starting to pan toward me.
And then I stepped into the light.
For the first time, the world saw my face—the man who had been pulling the strings from the shadows. The savior. The revolutionary. The one who would lead them into a new world.
The cameras caught my image, and for a moment, the entire city seemed to hold its breath.
I raised my hand, signaling for silence. And somehow, despite the chaos, the crowd obeyed. The air was thick with tension. Every eye was on me.
"Look around you," I said, my voice carrying through the microphone. "This is the world you've been living in—broken, fractured, corrupt. But it doesn't have to be this way. I am here to show you that there is a new way. A new beginning. No more lies. No more false promises. We can rebuild. Together."
The crowd was silent, hanging on my every word. They didn't know yet how deep the trap went, how little choice they had in the matter. But it didn't matter. They wanted a leader, someone who could make them feel powerful again. And I was that leader.
"We have a choice now," I continued. "A choice to take control of our lives, to take control of our future. But first, we must rid ourselves of the old world. The weak, the corrupt, the traitors. And I am here to lead you in that fight."
A slow murmur rippled through the crowd. Some looked uncertain, but others were already beginning to cheer. The spark had been lit, and it was spreading.
The revolution had begun in earnest. And this time, it wouldn't stop until I was standing at the top.
________
Jabrane
pa treon /Jabrane
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