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.

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

the best," a voice crowed, pride and

harsh laugh cut

contempt. "Came from poor Vancouver and now

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

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

Crowds shoved, screamed, fought, and killed—each one

parties still glittered. Champagne poured, music roared, and money kept the lights bright while the city below drowned in

someone at the rooftop suddenly shouted, panic cracking

"But that old greedy Kingston promised the feeds for

wifi are cut

it," someone else barked, forcing a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Keep the party-after tonight, Los Angeles

dozen people carrying semi-automatic weapons pushed through the revolving doors and stormed into the

forward, faces tight with a welcome they'd

through the crowd without

rooftop," she said,

men, room boys, and

take them down. They started killing our people-now it's time to

not. After tonight,

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

whispered through

been molesting us for years. They get away with it because the Governor

delayed, but never lost." The rebel leader lifted his hand.

in God nodded-because tonight there was no choice between

the leader breathed, voice low and raw, "in this hour of kill or be killed, we have

and free this place. If we fall, welcome us home. If

and the doors slid open to

burst out at once, rifles

a roar, they pulled

gunfire thundered through the penthouse, bullets hunting for souls as

become beasts, driven only by the need to

celebrating,

the distant crack of

through the penthouse, cutting the

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

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

screamed, clawing at the wounds, smearing

weren't invisible either. The poor had broken through, and now the rich stood face-to-face with

its work-tearing flesh,