Cassian woke up from sleep. Today was not like any other day. Today marked the execution of Karl—a day when the lesson would be carved into the collective memory of all who stood opposed to AU.
Although he had no intention of attending the spectacle, he prepared himself mentally.
There was something he was curious about—a need to observe whether Karl would have any parting words, especially since he never revealed where his Band was.
If any intel could be gleaned, Cassian felt it was worth the effort.
His destination was the heavily guarded prison facility. This particular prison was devoid of normal inmates who committed petty crimes. This place was silent, filled only with Bandits and their past transgressions.
Upon arrival, he was greeted by a pair of guards who had looks of surprise. They instantly recognized him—the son of Magnus—but the prohibition against visitors for death-row inmates was a firm rule.
Cassian regarded them coolly, fixating on their faces, and they shifted nervously under his gaze.
"I need to speak with Karl," he asserted, piercing through their hesitance.
"But, sir, we're told that—"
"Now…"
Their reluctance was plain, but also their recognition of the futility of denying him access. With a glance exchanged between the guards, they relented, opening the door that led to the darkened interior of the cellblock.
Inside, the atmosphere was melancholic—marked by despair.
This was a refuge for the unwanted, the outcasts stripped of their Bands, and each cell bore the notion of man's recklessness.
Cassian walked along the iron bars of the second floor, a view that overlooked the hollowed-out shells of what remained of the individuals imprisoned here. It was a spooky sight, aimed to serve as a reminder of what could befall anyone who dared take a misstep in Ekoris.
He soon found Karl huddled in a corner of his cell, a mere remnant of the man he used to be. The stubble on his face showed how neglected he was, and his eyes now looked like voids, reflecting his misery.
As Cassian approached, Karl's gaze moved towards him but then fell away. Was he full of resentment, disillusioned, or perhaps both?
"I'd like to know who in Libra gave you your Band," Cassian flatly said.
Silence stretched.
He had expected this reaction and prepared a means to break through Karl's apathy. If there was one thing Cassian knew how to do, it was to use his words carefully.
The first thing he did was remind the man of his past and the family he knew. Karl shifted slightly, which got his attention.
"What do you want to know…?" he wondered.
"Who gave you your Band?"
It was less a question now and more a command that coaxed the truth, whether the man wanted to answer or not.
Karl's expression altered slightly. Yet, when he spoke, it was with a tone devoid of conviction.
"I never saw his face, and I didn't hear his name. He just offered me a chance… and I wasted it."
His admission was laced with regret, but it wasn't the information Cassian sought.
"Where are Libra's other bases?" he asked.
Karl's brow furrowed in concentration as he answered, "There are several… West Point… South Ridge… and… the old factory by the docks."
The pieces fell together, and Cassian maintained a calm demeanor. Satisfied, he turned to leave. Yet Karl's faint voice called after him.
"Wait… I don't really care what you came here for, but I have a last-minute request."
Cassian paused, intrigued. He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing Karl as he asked, "What is it?"
"I've hidden a special box beneath my home. I'd like it delivered to my grave after they kill me."
The request was simple, yet Cassian sensed an unaccounted layer beneath it. He considered this.
Karl was about to be executed; this was presumably his last opportunity to pass on something of significance.
"What's in the box?"
"Just what's left of me…"
There was no sincerity in Karl's eyes, just desperation that made Cassian feel a little uneasy. Still, he nodded, intending to fulfill the request.
With a farewell, he exited the cell and the prison facility. Little had Cassian known, Karl had slowly plastered his face with a big grin.
Boarding his motorcycle, Cassian sailed through the empty streets, heading over to Karl's home.
Upon arrival at the house, he found a scene that was both expected and jarring: the premises were cordoned off with police tape.
Striding past the barriers, his eyes scanned the expanse. The house had been stripped of virtually everything—a shell of vacant rooms.
He edged cautiously inside.
The interior seemed hollow, as if there might not have been any box here. Cassian therefore moved to the staircase leading to the basement.
As he descended into the darkness, the musty scent of decay filled his nostrils. He flicked a switch and saw that this area was also devoid of anything worthwhile.
So, he inspected the space yet found nothing of note—empty crates, scattered dust, just remnants of an abandoned lot.
And then he heard it—a soft ticking sound. The noise echoed in the silence, drawing his attention to the dirt beneath him.
He knelt and began to dig through it. His hands unearthed something solid like a box. When he opened it, it soon revealed a small, meticulously hidden device—a timed bomb!
Cassian remained calm and collected.
He looked at the bomb. The timer displayed twenty-three minutes remaining, constantly ticking down.
It had to have been set strategically, designed to obliterate everything within the vicinity. Whoever had planted this—Karl or someone else—had intended it for a grander purpose.
Without even panicking, he put the device back into its place, knowing that he wasn't equipped with the necessary tools to disarm it.
General protocol dictated he should inform AU and the guards. However, he assessed the area—the house was far removed from civilians, and no one would be around, especially with the quarantine.
Knowing nothing good would come from sitting here, at least for the next twenty-two minutes, he departed.
It dawned on him why this had been put here. Karl had to have been the one to set the stage, a final act of vengeance hidden beneath his helplessness.
Was that really what was left of him, or did he intend to have Cassian die, only to have miscalculated the time?
It would have been impossible to know that one's plans would have failed and then set a bomb for the person that disrupted those plans on the day of the execution.
Perhaps he intended for Cassian to simply know that there truly was nothing left for Karl, to not be remembered in this world.
With a flick of the throttle, he accelerated away from the scene.
Riding always helped clear the man. Cassian understood now that Karl, in his final moments, was not the broken man he had perceived. Karl had become expendable, a piece that someone else in Libra was using.
As he was racing down the street, something out of the ordinary caught his eye: a black limousine glided along the road in the opposite direction, its window lowered just enough to reveal a familiar face within—Cyrus!
Cassian's mind was faster than the interaction.
There was no mistaking it. Cyrus was someone not easily forgotten due to his ice Band and his ties to Libra.
His association with the most dangerous rebel faction in the world made him a prime target for Cassian's curiosity and caution alike. He couldn't let this opportunity slip away.
The moment was fleeting, but he had a plan.
Just as the bike was veering toward the limo's path, he pulled a small tracking device from his jacket pocket and threw it toward the vehicle the moment they passed.
The device stuck against the glossy surface, blending into the car's exterior.
Satisfied, Cassian accelerated away from the momentary chase, knowing he had done enough to follow the trail.
Once he felt safe on a stretch of road, he pulled over to the side, unmounted his bike, and pulled out his phone to check the tracking app. The screen showed the limo's position—still moving, still heading somewhere that seemed to be of unimportance.
He watched as the icon meandered along the streets. Minutes passed, and the tracking device had not faltered.
Soon, it arrived at an all-too-familiar location: Karl's house!
The bomb he had discovered earlier was still ticking down. Just what was Cyrus thinking heading there of all places? No, this couldn't have been a coincidence. He couldn't waste another moment.