Scarlett's patience was visibly thinning as she stood across from Anderson Silva, her arms crossed tightly, her expression tense. They were in a side hallway, away from the main offices, where no one could overhear their exchange. Her voice, controlled but edged with frustration, broke the silence first.
"Anderson, this isn't the most efficient way to handle security," she said, barely disguising her disdain. "I get that you're aiming for results, but your approach—it's reckless."
Anderson gave her a lazy, dismissive smile, leaning casually against the wall with a look that was all-too-familiar. "Ah, Scarlett," he said, drawing out her name with a tone that bordered on mocking. "I see you still think you know best. Some things really don't change, do they?"
Scarlett's jaw tightened, but she kept her voice steady. "This isn't about me," she replied sharply. "It's about the risks you're introducing. Your methods aren't secure, and if they backfire, the entire operation could collapse."
Anderson raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "So dramatic. Since when did you start thinking you could predict everything, Scarlett? I remember a time when you couldn't even decide where to have dinner."
Her face flushed, but she didn't break. "This isn't some trivial choice, Anderson. You're dealing with real lives, real consequences. But that seems lost on you."
He chuckled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I see. You're here to keep me morally in check, is that it? How noble of you. You know, if you're so concerned about 'real consequences,' maybe you should focus on V's own—what should I call them?—'unique methods.'"
Scarlett's expression hardened, her fists clenching at her sides. "Leave him out of this. I'm talking about your actions, Anderson. I'm not here to let your ego get in the way of actual progress."
His gaze shifted, amused. "Progress? Right. Because I'm clearly the one with an ego problem," he retorted, his smirk widening. "And here I thought you'd come to make a peace offering. Or maybe… relive some old memories."
Her cheeks flushed again, this time with anger. "Whatever we had is over, Anderson. I'm here because I care about my work—something you might consider doing once in a while."
"Whatever you say," he replied, feigning boredom as he inspected his nails. "Just remember, Scarlett: in this game, everyone's methods are questionable. Including yours." He gave her a final, pointed look before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving her simmering in place, struggling to keep her composure.
From my spot behind the corner, I'd had the perfect view of Scarlett's encounter with Anderson. She hadn't seen me; none of them ever did when I didn't want them to. Shadows and silence were my natural allies, and here in this dimly lit corridor, I was as invisible to the security system as I was to the people it was supposed to protect.
Their conversation had been... illuminating. I watched as Scarlett, her composure already paper-thin, tried to demand answers from Anderson. But, as expected, he met her with that infuriating brand of sarcasm, taunting her with hints of their shared past. She knew he could dismantle her confidence with just a few well-chosen words, and I could see how it grated on her, how she struggled to keep herself steady.
Anderson was clever, I'd give him that. He'd sensed exactly how to prod Scarlett's defenses, chipping away at her control to turn her accusations back on herself. His entire demeanor was built around this thin veil of charm hiding a ruthlessness—just enough to remind her who held the power in their little exchange. And it was effective. By the time he'd walked away, she looked like she was barely holding herself together, anger simmering just beneath the surface.
Interesting. Scarlett was growing restless, more frustrated by Anderson's way of doing things. I made a mental note of it, sensing how this little crack in her armor could be useful. Perhaps there was a way to amplify her discontent with Anderson's methods, and in turn, leverage that to my advantage.
I waited until Anderson had disappeared down the hall, his echoing footsteps fading into silence. Scarlett stood there a moment longer, visibly deflating as she released a breath, staring at the spot where he'd last been, her thoughts clearly racing. She was smart, careful, but Anderson had a knack for getting under her skin, making her feel as though she was the one losing control. If he kept pushing, she might start to look elsewhere for a way to maintain her grip—perhaps even at me.
A faint smile crept to my lips as I considered it. This "rivalry" between them was hardly professional. Anderson, with his superiority complex and quick sarcasm, and Scarlett, bound by whatever loyalty still tied her to him, clearly had unresolved history. The way he'd reduced her from a confident agent to someone clawing for footing… yes, I could use that.
Scarlett wanted results, and she wasn't getting them from Anderson. That much was obvious. If she approached me, desperate for any assistance outside of Silva's circle, it could put a crack in the alliance between her and Anderson. And if I happened to offer her the answers she craved, I might have a way to widen that rift, steering it into something more volatile, something I could control.
Silently, I stepped back into the shadows, my mind racing through the possibilities. The pieces were in place; now all I had to do was move them carefully. However, more is less. As I step back into my office I sit and think, I think about what the stakes are, what is happening, and why is it happening. The sound of my pen taping against the wood desk, the touch of the metallic in hand, accommodating my feeling of nothingness.
Scarlett eventually returns to the office also, sitting down before going blank. Several minutes later she speaks up.
The silence in my office felt almost absolute, broken only by the rhythmic tap of my pen against the desk. A deliberate beat, grounding me as I unraveled the complex threads of the situation. Anderson's paranoia, Scarlett's impatience, Monroe's shadow in every corner of this place. Each of them moving like pieces on a board, intersecting, clashing—yet none of them seeing the full picture.
And why? For what purpose did they cling to their small measures of power, constantly circling one another, never fully committing to a decisive move? It was almost laughable, the way they sought control over something that eluded them at every turn. But that's why I was here—to pull their strings, if only they knew.
The door clicked open quietly, and I glanced up to see Scarlett slipping in, her face pale and slightly drawn. She moved almost on autopilot to her desk, sinking into her chair without a word, her eyes unfocused. She looked lost, haunted even, as though Anderson's words were still echoing in her mind.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye, resuming my rhythmic tapping of the pen against the desk, giving her a subtle signal of my presence. After a few minutes, her gaze slowly drifted toward me, as if she'd finally woken up to where she was.
Her eyes lingered on the pen, its steady, almost hypnotic sound pulling her back from whatever tension still had a grip on her. For a moment, she was quiet, then finally, she spoke, her voice low and almost hollow.
"Do you ever wonder what all of this is for, V?" She looked at me, something vulnerable beneath the sharp edge of her stare. "We work so hard, maneuvering around people like Anderson, struggling to stay on top of all these power plays… but where does it lead?"
I stopped tapping, meeting her gaze steadily. "It leads to control, Scarlett. Of ourselves, of others, of outcomes. And that control—if you wield it properly—determines who stands when everyone else has fallen."
She looked away, her expression pained. "And is that enough? Just… winning?"
I leaned forward slightly, voice calm but with a calculated weight. "Winning is a necessity. Purpose is optional. Don't conflate the two."
She stared at her hands for a long moment, digesting my words. "I thought Anderson had a vision once. Something greater than just his constant jockeying for position. But he's… lost himself, V. He's so caught up in all the games, he's forgotten what the end goal even is. And now I don't even know what I'm fighting for."
Her voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying a hint of emotion. She was unraveling, each conversation with Anderson drawing her deeper into doubt. Perfect.
I softened my tone, feigning a touch of sympathy. "Perhaps you need a new goal, Scarlett. A better one."
She looked up, her gaze suddenly sharp, a flicker of intrigue there. "And what would that look like?"
I shrugged, leaning back. "That depends on what you're willing to let go of. Perhaps… there's a way to work around Anderson. To do what he refuses to, but in a way that serves a larger purpose."
She held my gaze, something lighting in her eyes—hope, maybe, or just desperation searching for an anchor. "You think we could get around him?"
I gave her a slow nod, letting the implication hang in the air. "If you want results, Scarlett, then maybe it's time to stop relying on others' visions. Carve out your own path, and take the allies who are truly invested in it." I paused, letting the words settle, feeling the weight of my own calculation in them. "I could help."
She didn't answer right away, but I could see the consideration in her eyes, a spark of something more certain, more dangerous. It was exactly what I'd been waiting for—her doubt taking root and her need for something real, something she could control, finally surfacing.
"Maybe you're right," she murmured after a long silence, more to herself than to me. "Maybe it's time to stop waiting on Anderson."
I leaned back, watching as she wrestled with this realization, feeling my own satisfaction grow. The first move had been made, subtle but profound, and now all I had to do was wait. Scarlett was finally open to the idea of breaking away, and when the moment came, she would come to me willingly. The stakes had just shifted, and soon enough, they'd shift even more—on my terms.
Scarlett sat in silence for a while longer, eyes distant, her mind clearly tangled in the implications of our conversation. She didn't know yet just how much she'd committed to in that small exchange, or how deeply it played into my plans. But that was how these things worked. People rarely recognized the strings until they felt them tightening around their wrists.
As she gathered her things, her expression took on a renewed determination. She had accepted my suggestion, if only subconsciously. Now, it was just a matter of waiting for her to act on it.
The moment she left the room, I let myself relax, leaning back in my chair with a quiet satisfaction. The path I'd laid out was falling into place. Anderson's control over Scarlett, his influence, was already starting to crumble. All I needed was one more push.
The facility was quiet, cloaked in that deceptive calm of late evening. The kind that made people think they were safe, that they could move about undetected. But safety was just an illusion here, and quiet—quiet was opportunity.
I'd set up a small data relay in my office for moments just like this. I pulled up the latest feed from the surveillance system, the one I'd quietly rerouted before Monroe's new AI security upgrade came online. It was my own private network, an eye into the parts of this facility that Anderson, Monroe, or anyone else couldn't see. And right now, it showed Anderson walking down the main hall, his phone held to his ear, speaking in that clipped, self-assured tone he reserved for people who didn't know how he really operated.
I watched him with an analytical detachment, considering every angle, every choice he might make. If Scarlett was truly breaking away from him, Anderson's options would narrow quickly. He'd feel her absence like a fracture in his control—a wound that would eventually bleed him dry if he couldn't patch it. And I was counting on it.
I flicked off the screen and returned to my notes. The next step would require a more direct involvement on my part—subtle, yes, but unmistakably mine. A suggestion here, a well-placed piece of information there. Something that would reach Scarlett's ears and nudge her just enough. Because if she was going to start playing by her own rules, she'd need to know where Anderson's weaknesses lay. And I was more than willing to provide her with that knowledge.
Just as I was making my final notes, the office door clicked open again. I glanced up, surprised to see Scarlett stepping back inside, her expression unreadable.
"V," she said quietly, closing the door behind her. "I was thinking… you mentioned working around Anderson." She looked at me, searching for something in my expression. "Do you think… do you think you could really help me with that?"
The look in her eyes was somewhere between hope and hesitation, a woman torn between her frustration and her need to regain control. She was giving me an opening, an opportunity to draw her further into my web, and the stakes had just risen.
I inclined my head slightly, a calm assurance in my voice. "Yes, Scarlett. I think I can help you see this through." I waited a beat, letting the words sink in. "All I need to know is… how far you're willing to go."
She straightened, her jaw tightening as she made a decision right then and there. "As far as it takes."
Her answer was simple but absolute. And in that moment, she didn't realize that she had just committed herself entirely to my plan.
"Good," I replied, standing up and motioning for her to sit. "Let's start with the basics. Tell me everything you know about Anderson's most recent security measures."
And so we began. She talked, and I listened, every detail falling into place in my mind, forming a picture that only I could see. Scarlett thought she was securing her freedom, her control. What she didn't know was that every word she spoke, every secret she handed me, only tightened my grip on both her and Anderson.
By the time we were done, Scarlett had unwittingly armed me with the keys to dismantle Anderson's influence piece by piece. And when it all came crashing down, she'd be left with no one to rely on but me.
As she left the office, her determination renewed, I leaned back once more, that quiet satisfaction returning. The pieces were moving just as I'd intended, and soon enough, Anderson would feel the full weight of Scarlett's rebellion. Or, more accurately, the rebellion I had planted in her mind.
And when the dust settled, I'd be the one left standing in control of it all.