The rooftop of the Federal Reserve Skytower was a desolate plateau eighty stories above the dying city. It offered a chilling, panoramic view of the chaos Kwandezi had unleashed. Fires raged across the Capital, plumes of smoke mixing with the ash of the Citadel to paint the sky a perpetual, ominous gray.
"We're exposed up here," Aisha said, scanning the skyline. She was already working. Using her knowledge of VDC standard procedures, she checked the roof access hatches and secured the only two visible stairwells with scavenged blast-lock mechanisms. "Any long-range VDC patrol that hasn't melted down will spot us. And we're not alone."
She pointed to the massive, shattered array of radio antennae at the center of the helipad. "The comms array is fried, but the tower still has residual power. It's drawing looters—or worse, surviving Ironclad units."
Kwandezi didn't bother with the skyline. His focus was on the internal architecture of the skyscraper. He slammed his fist against the reinforced concrete surrounding the central core. "The vault. Akanni, talk to the rock. Where is the main access?"
Akanni, resting his large frame against a ventilation unit, was still recovering, his energy dangerously low. He closed his eyes, his Geokinesis acting as a sophisticated, passive sensor. "Three floors down. The Primary Secure Vault. It's a meter-thick shell of hyper-dense, non-ferrous alloy. No one can touch it. Not even a Scion."
"A traditional Scion can't," Kwandezi corrected, walking toward the rooftop access door. "A traditional Scion can't change the atomic composition of the metal. I can. But I need to preserve my strength. We'll go down slow. Akanni, you're the eyes. Aisha, you're the anchor. No power unless absolutely necessary."
They descended the interior stairwell, a tense, silent unit. The air inside the tower was stagnant, heated by the proximity of the raging street fires.
On the 78th floor, they encountered the first sign of life. Three figures, their Aegis Mesh battle suits scuffed but functional, were looting the offices. They were Scholar Chapter Operatives, identifiable by the bright silver trim on their armor—typically the VDC's researchers and analysts, not frontline fighters. They were loading cases of rare earth minerals and medical supplies into specialized drones.
Kwandezi froze instantly, pressing his back into the stairwell corner. Aisha and Akanni followed suit.
"They're not Ironclads," Aisha whispered, lowering her plasma pistol. "Scholars. They usually avoid confrontation. They're seizing assets, capitalizing on the chaos."
"They will report us," Akanni grunted. "And the Scholars will know exactly what the briefcase contains."
"They're not the threat," Kwandezi whispered, his eyes narrowed. He was listening. Through the walls, beneath the noise of the drones, he heard a heavy, rhythmic thump, thump, thump.
"Movement," he hissed. "Below us. Heavy armor. Not Scholars."
The Scholar operatives on the 78th floor were distracted by their greed. Kwandezi, using the last of his subtlety, placed his hand on the concrete wall. He performed a silent, minute Molecular Transmutation, creating a barely visible seam in the wall behind the Scholars' position, converting a line of concrete into a fine, unstable dust.
A moment later, the heavy thump grew louder. A six-man squad of Ironclad Vanguards—the lowest, most expendable soldiers—came stomping up the main elevator shaft, responding to a localized power surge.
The Ironclads burst through the flimsy partition into the 78th floor. They saw the Scholars—rival VDC, hoarding supplies—and instantly went on the offensive.
"Scholar scum! Stand down! These assets are under Capital jurisdiction!" the Ironclad leader bellowed.
"The Capital is ash, Vanguard!" a Scholar shouted back, raising a specialized disruptor.
The two VDC factions instantly devolved into a chaotic firefight.
"Move," Kwandezi ordered, slipping past the open stairwell door.
They continued their descent, the sounds of the VDC Civil War echoing above them. Kwandezi's eyes held a cold triumph. He hadn't lifted a finger, but he had orchestrated the chaos, conserving his strength for the real fight.
They reached the 75th floor—the administrative level above the vault. The air here was colder, the walls thicker. A massive circular access door, forged from the non-ferrous alloy Akanni had described, sealed the stairwell exit.
"This is it," Akanni confirmed, pressing his hand to the alloy. "The main vault door. It has five magnetic locks and two molecular seals. It's meant to survive a direct nuclear strike."
"Good," Kwandezi said. "A perfect defense means a perfect base."
He looked at the door. It wasn't just thick; it was designed to neutralize any form of energy or kinetic attack. A brute force Null-Kinetic blast would simply rebound and kill them.
Aisha pulled out the Void-sealed briefcase. "The locket. Zaire had the keys, but he had a fail-safe. If this vault was part of the conspiracy, the key to the vault should be connected to the key to the experiment."
She placed the silver locket—Kwandezi's last connection to his mother—against the alloy door.
Nothing happened.
"It's not a keycard, Operative," Kwandezi said, his voice flat. "It's a conduit."
He placed his hand on the vault door, directly over the locket. He closed his eyes and began the process of Molecular Transmutation.
He didn't target the alloy. He targeted the locket. He began to unweave the silver's molecular structure, slowly and precisely converting it into a liquid conduit of perfect, zero-resistance energy. The locket, his only keepsake, melted into a stream of shimmering, glowing liquid that flowed into the molecular seals of the vault door.
Kwandezi grit his teeth, the effort of such a minute, sustained transmutation pushing him to the edge. The Vault's molecular seals were designed to withstand this, but they weren't designed to resist a perfect conduit.
With a heavy, grinding CLUNK, the primary seals clicked open. The liquid locket, now an exhausted, dull sludge, fell to the floor.
Kwandezi had traded his last memory for a key.
"Accessing," the vault's automated voice announced, its speaker remarkably pristine. The massive circular door began to grind inward, revealing a dimly lit, silent chamber.
"The perfect base," Kwandezi repeated, stepping into the vault.
📞 The Call
The chamber inside was huge, temperature-controlled, and utterly sterile. Row upon row of metal shelves held massive stores of non-ferrous bullion and old-world gold—useless wealth in the age of the VDC.
"A perfect shell," Akanni said, collapsing onto a pile of crates. "We can hold off a hundred men in here. But we can't communicate."
Kwandezi walked past the crates to the center of the vault. He placed his hand on the floor and closed his eyes. He wasn't looking for a weakness. He was looking for an asset.
"The power," he stated. "This vault has an isolated generator array. And an independent antenna." He looked at Aisha. "Aisha, you're the anchor. You know the protocols. We have three minutes of localized power before the city notices the surge. You transmit the data from the briefcase. Everything. You open the floodgates."
Aisha didn't need to be told. She pulled the black, military-grade data chip (the one containing Project Integrate data, which she'd retrieved from Kwandezi's clothes) from her pocket. She located a hidden, pristine communication port in the wall.
"They'll track the signal," she warned. "Everyone will know we're here."
"Good," Kwandezi replied. He walked to a far corner of the vault, an area where the vault's secondary defense systems were housed—a series of kinetic coil emitters. "Let them come. We need an army, and they need a truth. You give them the truth. I'll give them a welcome."
Aisha plugged the chip into the port. A green light flashed. She was broadcasting the entire, horrifying truth of the Founding Families, the corruption, the conspiracy, and Project Integrate across all open VDC emergency frequencies.
The silence in the vault was broken by the sharp ringing of a communication line. The signal was clean, crisp, and direct. Someone had intercepted the transmission and was making a direct, retaliatory call.
Aisha hit the speaker function, her hand hovering over the kill switch.
A voice—cool, measured, and heavily synthesized—came through the vault speakers.
"Captain Akanni. Operative Aisha. And Anomaly 001."
The voice was not Zaire's. It was a woman's voice. High-class VDC.
"I am Chapter Commander Elara, of the Scholar Chapter. Your transmission has been received, and I understand your desperation. You have exposed the Banisher corruption, but you have made a terrible mistake. You have crippled the Capital and risked the lives of millions."
Kwandezi stopped manipulating the coil emitters and turned to the speaker.
"We, the Scholars, will restore order. But we require the source data to legitimize our claim to leadership. Surrender yourselves to the Scholar Chapter's care. We will protect the truth. And we will offer Anomaly 001 a position in our research division—a chance for controlled integration."
Kwandezi walked to the speaker. He looked at Akanni, who shook his head silently—It's a trap.
Kwandezi reached out and hit the transmit button. His voice, cold, flat, and hard with newfound authority, filled the secure channel.
"No," Kwandezi said. "There is no more Scholar Chapter. There is no more Veil. There is only Protocol Zero."
He paused, a terrifying smile touching his lips. "We don't surrender the truth, Commander. We are the truth. Come and take it."
He cut the transmission. The line went dead. The silence returned.
Akanni and Aisha stared at him. He hadn't asked for their input. He hadn't sought approval. He had just declared war on the most intelligent, technologically advanced VDC faction.
"Well," Akanni muttered, pushing himself to his feet. "At least we know who's coming for dinner."
Kwandezi was already back at the kinetic coil emitters, his eyes glowing faintly purple. He was no longer running. He was waiting.
"They won't send troops," Kwandezi said, his eyes focused on the emitter's wiring. "The Scholars are smart. They'll send something engineered."
He began to rewire the vault's defense system, a terrible idea of an enemy welcome taking shape in his mind.