Chapter 414
Inside the study, Alfred was deep in conversation with Doctor Harris when his phone suddenly buzzed against the polished desk.
“Father,” Charles’s voice came through the loudspeaker, ragged, breathless. “The rebels opened fire on us. I’m hit p>
Alfred shot up from his chair, panic cutting through his usual iron composure. “Son! Are you alright? Tell me where you’re hurt p>
Charles gave a short, shaky laugh.
“It’s nothing-just bruises on my arms. Kelly shoved me too hard when she pushed me down. She still needs to be taught a lesson-you should punish her later. But my girlfriend… she’s bleeding bad p>
His eyes dropped to the tiny, bloody cut running down her arm. Honestly, most villagers would just spit on it, slap some dirt over, and call it “Done p>
But the way she carried on, you’d think she was nine months pregnant and about to deliver triplets in the middle of the street.
Suddenly this little scratch had become a full-blown emergency, complete with “rush me to the hospital, I’m dying” theatrics.
“Where are you now?” Alfred demanded.
“I’m taking her to Los Angeles Prime Hospital. We’re already on the way p>
“Good. Stay there. I’ll send men to guard you.” Alfred’s relief was sharp, almost bitter, but Charles wasn’t done.
“Father,” Charles said suddenly with anger, “it’s time that we waiting for so long p>
“We need to retaliate by launching ‘that’ plan. No more waiting. No more holding back. It’s time to wipe out the rebels – and cleanse our Los Angeles of all the filth and worthless maggots once and for all p>
Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting p>
Charles didn’t hesitate.
“My contact’s already confirmed. They’ll buy everything – young women sold as slaves, some children and strong men trained as assassins, others thrown into blood games for the dark ring p>
“Every adult we send brings top dollar. And the poor? Their organs fetch a fortune. Just say it’s revenge for their attack, and that we’re doing all of this for the safety of Los Angeles p>
His voice grew sharper, almost fevered.
“The money will flood in. And when it’s done, your name will blaze in history as the governor who erased poverty itself p>
“No beggars, no outcasts, no vermin dragging down the streets. On paper-zero poor p>
“In reality-none alive to stain the records. Los Angeles reborn as a shining fortress for the elite alone. A city purified, perfect, untouchable p>
His voice climbed, bright with a savage kind of glee. “And it won’t stop there. Elites from every nation will flood in. We’ll build casinos, temples of pleasure, arenas that never close p>
“Endless entertainment! They’ll throw fortunes at this city and the money will never dry up. They’ll chase every appetite, every forbidden thrill. Los Angeles becomes their paradise-our paradise p>
Alfred leaned back, breath even but thoughts racing. A slow smile split his face like a blade.
“Fine. They started this war. We’ll finish it-completely. No one will protest. We’re doing it for the citizens p>
He snapped the call shut and sat a beat, fingers tapping the desk. Then he dialed another number.
“General Mark,” he said, voice smooth as lacquer. “You heard about rebels attacking my mansion p>
“We received the report, sir p>
“They’ve armed themselves. Weapons in their hands now-dangerous for the women and children of Los Angeles,” Alfred said, almost reasonable.
“They threaten the city’s security. It’s time. Launch the operation we planned last month. Begin the cleaning p>
“How thorough, sir?” Mark asked.
“Thorough,” Alfred said, smile tightening. “Anyone with a record, the homeless, migrants with no one to claim them, anyone labeled worthless-we treat them as rebels. Sweep them out. Purge the rot. Los Angeles cannot carry the burden of poverty p>
“Understood,” Mark replied. “We’ll make Los Angeles great again. So our children can walk the streets without fear p>
Alfred’s voice softened. “Yes. We’re doing this for our children. And remember- one thousand dollars per head. The elites will pay. They want safe streets for their children; they’ll bankroll it. Their money will make this happen p>
‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others p>
Mark’s laugh rolled over the line, low and dangerous. “Understood. They’re harmless people-easy to clean. But how do we spin this to the press? They’ll swarm p>
“Simple,” Alfred said, cold and precise
“If anyone praises us, we claim it. If anyone protests, we pin it on the King. Tell them this: the King wanted a perfect country-so he ordered a cleanse. He’s the kind of ruler who only knows how to waste time with women and pleasure while
neglecting his duties p>
belongs to s
“He gave the perfect command by choosing erasure over education, a decree no
one could refuse. Make it sound inevitable. We’ve already bought the right reporters. They’ll turn our line into the truth p>
“Got it.” Mark’s chuckle was a dry rumble. “So it’s all under the King’s name. Killings, kidnappings-everything. We’ve already got eight thousand names on the list. Want them all gone from Los Angeles p>
“Every last one,” Alfred said without blinking.
“Totally.” Alfred didn’t hesitate.
“Wipe them out. Los Angeles has no room for trash. Let the King take the blame. When the city turns on him, we’ll step in as saviors. The people will lose faith- and we’ll be ready to take his place p>
He cut the call and leaned back, a crooked smile carving across his face. The war he’d been building for months had finally been set in motion.
Meanwhile Alex paused at the doorway, about to step out to kill Alfred, when Jasmine’s voice drifted-thin, raw, half-drowned in sleep.
when Jasmine’s voice slipped from the bed-muddled, scared, half-dreaming.
“Please… don’t kill my father. Please… I’ll do anything. Just-please don’t kill him. Kill me instead p>
Her words trembled into the dark like a child’s prayer. Alex froze at the threshold, heartbeat loud in his ears.
For a heartbeat he pictured the King — himself. If he killed the governor, the streets would call him a bully. He let out a slow, bitter breath.
“Lucky bastard,” he muttered – part cruelty, part pity- “you try to kill your daughter and she still begs for you p>
He crossed the room in two strides, dropped to his knees, and gathered Jasmine into his arms. Her body was thin and light, fever-warm against his chest. For a beat he watched her sleep-pale, trembling, trusting.
Without a second thought, he hauled her toward the open window.
The military rolled out like a black tide. Trucks filled the avenues, hulks of steel and canvas bristling with rifles and cold men.
They fanned through the streets, systematic and patient, hunting.
Homeless camps were the first to feel it. Men who’d slept on cardboard rose to faces framed by muzzles. Some tried to run; some tried to fight. Bullets answered both.
Then the city went dead online.
No feeds, no frantic clips, no warning posts-just a quiet blackout while the boots moved. No one could call the world to tell it what was burning.
The rebels, watching their city go dark, scrambled a satellite line and called their weapons sponsor: Bella.
“Miss Bella,” the voice crackled urgent. “Alfred Kingston’s forces just hit us. What’s your order p>
Bella sat in a glass-walled command room, a battered map of Los Angeles spread under her palms.
Twenty aides hovered like satellites around her desk. She’d been waiting for this moment.
“Listen,” she
said, her voice clean
and cold. “In Los Angeles, out of
every thousand people, four are soldiers, ten are the elite rich, about
a hundred and ten are poor.
The i
rest
scrape by Meaning you poopfolk.
outnumber the elite and the military
combined p>
s
She didn’t hesitate. “Issue every weapon we have to the poor. Give them guns, ammo-everything p>
“Tell them to strike the soldiers and the elite. Seize the cash, burn the banks, wreck their boutiques. Turn their wealth into the people’s arms p>
“Our Vermont unit is already in position inside the city, targeting military leaders. Don’t worry-we’re on you p>
The rebel captains listened, some with relief, some with bitter pride.
They knew they’d been used-sacrificed by others’ schemes-but they weren’t
going down quiet.
Corner a rat and it will bite; hunt a desperate man with gun and he’ll pull the
trigger.
This was no neat revolution. It was survival.
Night in Los Angeles was filled with
a new kind of weather-gunfire and the flare of explosions, the harsh light of burning cars, the staccato percussion of mortars and shouts, Concrete bled sparks Windows became toothy mouths of flame. s
The governor sipped wine in a warm, gilded room, untouched by the chaos
outside. The elite danced in safety, blind to the screams.
On the streets, soldiers pulled their triggers through tears, killing because orders demanded it. People cried out in rage, groaned in pain, and death spread across the pavement like a shadow that would never lift.
In the command room, Bella smiled-small, fierce.
“Father, these are your fireworks. Let Los Angeles burn p>