The Almighty Dominance

Bella sat in the command room like a queen on a high throne.

Around her, twenty secretaries waited-each one a machine with a name and a job. Their eyes tracked every screen; their fingers hovered over keyboards.

They waited for Bella's next order.

"The Los Angeles internet is down," Bella said.

"Alfred ordered a blackout-no feeds, no leaks. He wants this city blind while he does what he's doing."

Outside the blackout, the military, police, and the truly connected elite still got updates through satellite links.

They weren't going blind. Only the masses were.

"I want every line severed. Cut the city off from the world-land, cellular, and satellite. Six hours. Absolute blackout."

She looked at two secretaries. "You two, make that happen?"

"Roger. We'll link to the hackers and fire up the jammers-sweep starts now," one replied immediate.

"Good." Bella nodded and the two moved to the console, fingers already dialing, voices already routing contacts.

"Last week we set the special comms for our people and the rebel leaders," Bella added.

"Keep that channel secure. We will move them to the target on my mark."

"We're linking with the rebels, Vermont's elite soldiers, the homeless leaders, LA gangsters, and VIPs," another five secretaries said as they slid into their stations and took over the logistics feed.

They were now responsible for every connection.

Bella began issuing orders-sharp and exact-directing thousands like a conductor bringing an orchestra to a single, brutal note.

Her commands were small, clean bullets: one instruction, then the next, no wasted breath.

The field answered in rhythm.

Up on a famous Los Angeles rooftop, a different kind of storm was unfolding.

LA's rich and bored gathered to watch the city burn. They stood with champagne, smoke and light painting their faces.

"This is the best party ever," one young adult shouted, voice thin with inherited arrogance, raising a glass.

"After this purge, Charles Kingston promised me fifty young women," another slurred, grinning like a wolf. "Imagine what we can do with that many."

"He promised me one hundred twenty strong people to play the life-and-death game," someone else said, eyes glittering with excitement.

real squid game live. We could

best," a voice crowed, pride and cruelty braided

laugh cut the

said, voice flat with contempt. "Came from poor Vancouver

and he'll become your lapdog," another said, eyes cold. “I've heard he'd sell his only daughter for

slow smile. "No conscience, no restraint. We

clawed at the dark. Crowds shoved, screamed, fought, and killed—each one desperate to

poured, music roared, and money kept the lights bright while the city below drowned

internet's dead!" someone at the rooftop suddenly shouted, panic cracking

frowned. "But that old greedy Kingston promised the feeds

wifi are cut

someone else barked, forcing a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Keep the

the revolving doors and stormed into

faces tight with a

lean maid cut through the crowd without

to the rooftop," she said, low

security men, room boys, and kitchen hands fell in behind-shoulders squared, eyes

down. They started killing our people-now

not. After tonight, Los Angeles will

elevator. The maid swiped her access card to the penthouse;

whispered through

us for years. They get away with it because the Governor shields them. They're bolder,

lost." The

God nodded-because tonight

voice low and raw, "in this

we must do. Let us punish the wicked and free this place. If we fall, welcome us home. If we

and the doors

burst out

a roar, they pulled their

through the penthouse, bullets hunting for

beasts, driven only by the need to

elite were still celebrating, drunk on

screams, at the moans, at the distant crack of gunfire—sure that money wrapped them in armor, sure they

ripped through the penthouse, cutting the

the chaos on the streets below. Rich or pool every face looked the

the night, shredding silk and flesh alike. Men fell mid-toast, beer spilling from their mouths and mixing with blood on the

clawing at the wounds, smearing their

and now the rich

work-tearing flesh, snapping bones,