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.

should stream the real squid game live. We could bet money while they bet their lives.

governor's the best," a voice crowed, pride and cruelty braided

harsh laugh cut

said, voice flat with contempt. "Came from poor Vancouver and now money's

lapdog," another said, eyes cold. “I've heard he'd sell

smile. "No conscience, no restraint. We can do

city burned and clawed at the dark. Crowds shoved, screamed, fought, and killed—each

and money kept the lights bright while

the rooftop suddenly shouted, panic cracking through

that old greedy Kingston

cut

didn't reach his eyes. "Keep the party-after tonight, Los Angeles will belong

dozen people carrying semi-automatic weapons pushed through the revolving

tight with a welcome they'd been waiting to

lean maid cut through

lead you to the rooftop," she

room boys,

them down. They started killing our

handed over the weapons. "Fear not. After tonight,

swiped her access card to the penthouse; the lift hummed upward. Her hands

she whispered

away with it because the Governor shields them. They're bolder, meaner-time to end

delayed, but never lost." The rebel leader lifted

Even some men who didn't believe in God nodded-because

breathed, voice low and raw, "in this hour of

we fall, welcome us home. If we

dinged and the doors slid open to the

staffs burst out at once,

a roar, they

the penthouse, bullets hunting for souls as hot shells

only

elite were still celebrating, drunk on

the distant crack of gunfire—sure that money wrapped them in armor, sure

the first shots ripped through the penthouse,

chaos on the streets below. Rich or pool every face looked the same when fear and death

Men fell mid-toast, beer spilling from their mouths and mixing with blood

screamed, clawing at the wounds,

either. The poor had broken through, and now the rich stood face-to-face with

its work-tearing flesh,