Three Years Later.
The air in the Penthouse was scrubbed so clean it had no smell at all. It was a sterile, chilly vacuum located one hundred stories above the ruin.
Darkford Helios stood by the panoramic window, his reflection ghostly against the glass. He was a man composed of sharp angles—a bespoke suit woven from smart-fibers that adjusted to his body temperature, hair swept back with architectural precision, and eyes that were too calm for a man looking at hell.
Below him, the city was a scar. The Rift was visible even from this height—a jagged canyon running through the urban sprawl, glowing with a faint, toxic radiation. On one side, the slums where millions rotted. On the other, the NuCore Citadel, gleaming and fortified.
"Sir," a voice spoke from the air. It was AURA, his personal AI. "General Kael is here. His heart rate is elevated."
"Let him in," Darkford said, not turning away from the window. "And lower the room temperature by two degrees. Let's make him uncomfortable."
The doors hissed open. General Kael, a man wearing a uniform heavy with medals from countries that no longer existed, marched in. He looked tired. Everyone looked tired these days, except Darkford.
"Helios," Kael barked. "We have a situation in Sector 7. The gravity anomalies are spreading. My tanks are floating off the ground. We need the stabilizers you promised."
Darkford took a sip of his drink—a synthesized whiskey that cost more than the General's life. He turned slowly.
"General," Darkford smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "You assume I work for you."
"We have a contract!" Kael slammed a fist on the obsidian desk. "The Coalition protects your factories; you provide the tech to keep the Rift stable. But the Rift is widening!"
Darkford tapped the temple of his glasses. A holographic map materialized in the air between them. It showed the Earth, not as continents, but as energy grids. Red lines pulsed angrily around the Rift.
"The Rift isn't widening, General. It's breathing," Darkford said softly. "You see chaos. I see evolution. The Earth is sick. It's trying to fever-sweat the infection out."
"The infection?" Kael narrowed his eyes. "You mean the radiation?"
"I mean the humanity that parasitic upon it," Darkford corrected. He walked through the hologram, dispersing the light with his hand. "You want stabilizers? I will give them to you. But the price has changed."
"We have no more money, Helios."
"I don't want money. Currency is a fiction for poor people," Darkford said, his voice dropping an octave. "I want full administrative control of the Grid. No more government oversight. No more councils. NuCore takes absolute jurisdiction over energy distribution globally."
Kael went pale. "That's... that's a dictatorship. You'd control who eats, who freezes, who lives."
Darkford walked to the window again, looking down at the broken world.
"Look at them, General. They are messy. Violent. Short-sighted. They broke the world before the Rift even appeared. I am not offering a dictatorship. I am offering design."
He turned back, his face illuminated by the violet glow of the hologram.
"Sign the transfer, or watch your tanks float into the stratosphere. It's your choice."