The air inside the Emerald Palace was chilled to a crisp eighteen degrees, a stark contrast to the humid, suffocating heat of the city outside.
Senator Augustus Vargo sat at the head of a mahogany table long enough to land a helicopter on. He swirled a glass of vintage wine—a 1985 Château Margaux worth more than a schoolteacher's annual salary—and smiled at his guests.
"To the Flood Control Project," Vargo toasted, his voice smooth as oil.
Around the table, five men raised their glasses. They were the architects of Estovia's misery: The Police Chief, the Construction Tycoon, the Rice Cartel Lord (Don Gomez), and the Bishop of the Grand Cathedral.
"To the Flood Control Project," Don Gomez chuckled, his gold tooth glinting under the crystal chandelier. "May it never be finished."
The room erupted in laughter.
"It's a masterpiece," the Construction Tycoon said, slicing into a wagyu steak. "We dug a hole, we filled it back up, and we charged the taxpayers two hundred million dollars. And the best part? When the rains come next month and the city floods again, they'll beg us to build another one."
Vargo took a sip of wine. "Let them beg. Desperation keeps them obedient. If we gave them good roads and full bellies, they might start thinking they deserve rights."
He pulled out his phone. He opened his offshore banking app. [Balance: $540,000,000.00]
It was a beautiful number. Half a billion dollars, safe in Switzerland, far away from the dirty hands of the Estovian people.
"Gentlemen," Vargo said, wiping his mouth with a silk napkin. "The polls show unrest is rising. The delivery boys, the construction workers... they're getting angry."
The Police Chief waved a dismissive hand. "Let them be angry. My boys have new tear gas launchers. If they march, we break their legs. Simple."
"Excellent," Vargo nodded. "Now, about the budget for the new hospital... I propose we cut the medicine supply by 40%. We can replace the antibiotics with sugar pills. Who's going to notice? The dead don't complain."
Don Gomez raised his glass again. "You are a genius, Augustus. A true patriot."
Vargo smiled. He opened his mouth to speak, to propose another toast to their brilliance.
BZZZZT.
A sound, sharp and violent like a dentist's drill, erupted from the center of the table.
The crystal chandelier above them rattled. The wine in their glasses began to vibrate, creating ripples.
"Earthquake?" the Tycoon asked, gripping the table.
"No," the Police Chief stood up, hand on his holster. "That sound... it's coming from outside."
Suddenly, the lights died.
The dining hall plunged into darkness. The hum of the air conditioning cut out. The silence was absolute.
"Augustus! Pay your electric bill!" Gomez joked nervously in the dark.
"I have backup generators!" Vargo shouted, standing up. "Security! Get the lights on!"
No one answered.
Then, a light appeared. But it wasn't the warm yellow of a bulb.
It was a cold, digital blue light. It was emanating from Vargo's pocket. Then Gomez's pocket. Then the Chief's.
Their phones were glowing.
Vargo pulled his phone out. The screen was locked. No signal. Just a single line of text pulsing in a terrifying, jagged font.
[SYSTEM AUDIT INITIATED.]
"What is this?" Vargo hissed. "Who is hacking us?"
The text changed.
[DETECTED: THEFT OF PUBLIC FUNDS.] [SOURCE: FLOOD CONTROL PROJECT #44.] [AMOUNT: $200,000,000.]
[VERDICT: GUILTY.]
"It knows," the Tycoon whispered, his voice trembling. "How does it know?"
Vargo's phone turned red. A countdown appeared.
[ASSET RECOVERY: PROCESSING...] [3... 2... 1...]
Vargo watched in horror as his bank app opened itself. The numbers—his beautiful $540,000,000—started to spin backward.
"No!" Vargo screamed. He tapped the screen frantically. "Stop! Cancel! Stop!"
[Balance: $0.00]
"My money!" Gomez shrieked from across the table. "It's gone! My Swiss accounts! My Cayman accounts! It's all zero!"
A booming voice, synthetic and omnipresent, crushed the air in the room.
"THE FEAST IS OVER."
The windows of the dining hall shattered inward. A shockwave of purple energy blasted through the room, knocking the men to the floor.
Vargo crawled across his expensive carpet, gasping for air. He looked up. Through the broken window, he saw the sky over Estovia.
It was bleeding violet light. And in the center of the chaos, a massive obsidian pillar was descending from the heavens, driving itself like a stake into the heart of his city.
"ADMINISTRATOR PROTOCOL ENGAGED." "TRANSFERRING WEALTH TO THE PEOPLE."
Vargo lay on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and spilled wine that looked like blood. His phone buzzed one last time.
[Notification: Your status has been updated.] [New Role: Unemployed.]