Osa hauled himself into the truck beside Noah. Behind them, a sea of five thousand men tramped the dirt road, rifles banging against their backs. Sweat and dust streaked their green tunics; red scarves masked everything but their eyes. The air quivered with the sound of boots and the metallic click of loaded weapons.
When the truck screeched to a stop at the edge of Zo-Zo City, Osa climbed down and raised his fist.
"Today," he growled, "the government falls."
The mob poured in behind him like a flood.
Across the city, Jared stumbled out of the hospital. His face drained of colour. The streets were a slaughterhouse—police officers lay scattered like discarded dolls, holes punched through their bodies, rifles slipping from their hands. Blood crept across the pavement and gurgled into the storm drains. The air reeked of iron and cordite.
"Cindy!" he shouted to his former nurse beside her parked car on the road.
She spun around, eyes wild. "It's a coup! Run, Jared—run home before you're cut down!"
He bolted into the undergrowth behind the hospital, branches raking his arms as gunfire cracked closer.
Meanwhile, Osa's lips curled as he led the charge toward the palace. His eyes glistened with hunger.
At the iron gate, a lone guard lifted his rifle. "Halt! You have no authorization—"
Osa leaned into Noah's ear. His voice was almost tender. "Kill him."
Noah's pistol barked. The guard's chest exploded, spraying the bars with gore. He crumpled sideways, mouth opening and closing like a fish. One of Osa's men ripped the keys from the dying man's pocket before his body even hit the ground. The gate groaned open.
Boots echoed through the palace halls, shouts ricocheting off marble. They found Milton on the throne, hands already raised, lip trembling.
"Please," he begged, voice cracking. "Osa, you used to work for me. You know I'm a good man. Don't do this. Apa-ti-osk—"
Osa's pistol flared. The bullet slammed into Milton's chest. He tumbled down the stairs. Blood sprayed in arcs across the marble. He gurgled once, then lay still.
"I don't understand your gibberish," Osa sneered.
He ripped the golden necklace from Milton's neck. The chain snapped with a sharp pop. The ancient pendant—etched with the symbols of Cascadian rule—had crowned every legitimate ruler for generations.
Now it hung from Osa's blood-smeared fist, glinting beneath the palace lights.
He slipped it over his head. The pendant settled against his crimson tunic like a hunter's trophy.
Two officers dragged the body away, leaving a smeared trail of red down to the door. Osa strode over the mess, boots squelching. Flung himself onto the throne, his tunic spattered with blood.
"Now," he said, almost laughing, "I am ruler of Cascadia. Every Cascadian will kneel, or choke in the dirt."