Chapter 95: Strangled Events

Chapter 95: Strangled EventsThe heavy-set man grunted. "And if they refuse orders? If they decide their own path is more important than their mission?"

"They won’t... at least the majority." The Chairwoman’s voice carried across the table with unwavering confidence. "We are all fighting for the same thing, and that kind of unity is not as fragile as you believe. Those who waver, those who hesitate—they will be corrected, just as any soldier would be."

"’Corrected?’" The man arched a brow, skepticism thick in his tone. "That’s a polite way of saying you have a contingency plan. Care to share it?"

The Chairwoman’s expression remained unreadable. "Our contingencies are already in place. The System has dictated a reduction to ninety Shard Bearers within two weeks. Those who remain will be the ones capable of following orders, adapting, and proving they deserve the investment placed in them. The rest will... sort themselves out."

That made the table fall silent.

A man with close-cropped silver hair leaned forward, his knuckles pressing into the table. "So we let them fight it out?"

"No." The Chairwoman shook her head. "We let the natural course of selection take place. We observe. We intervene if necessary, but we do not coddle them. The Shard Bearers are not fragile, nor should we treat them as such. Those who falter now would have faltered later when it mattered most."

A woman near the far end of the table, her uniform crisp and adorned with insignia marking years of strategic command, adjusted her seating. "And if they turn against us? If they see us as an obstacle instead of an ally?"

"Then they will have proven they are a liability."

The Chairwoman didn’t blink.

The implication hung heavy in the air.



No one spoke, but glances were exchanged, quiet agreements passing in the space between shifting postures. The discomfort was evident, but not a single soul voiced outright refusal.

"I believe it is a mistake to make enemies where we do not need them," an older man finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of decades in diplomacy. "We should focus on fostering cooperation, not pressing them into submission."

The Chairwoman inclined her head slightly. "And that is exactly what we are doing. We are bringing them into the fold, giving them status, purpose, and direction. This is an opportunity to ensure they do not see themselves as separate from the world, but as an integral part of it. The alternative is to risk them carving their own paths— "With or without our approval."

The Chairwoman’s words left no room for debate.

"Right now, the biggest step is ensuring we are ready for when the aliens attack." She gestured toward the now-darkened projection table. "We still don’t know why they attacked in the first place, why they left, and why they returned causing more damage. Everything we do now is to protect Prime Planet."

A moment of silence followed, the weight of those words pressing down on the room. The screen flickered again, this time showing scattered military reports, redacted intelligence files, and movement patterns of the past alien engagements.

One of the older men, seated near the edge of the table, leaned forward and adjusted his glasses. "We already have a few high-ranking military officers that were given shards. We can use them to help foster a connection. The goal for the next thirteen days is to get these twelve integrated into officer roles."

A sharp scoff from the far side of the room.

"And what about the rest of them?" A sharp-featured man in a dark uniform interjected, voice tinged with irritation. "If I am correct, we have thirty Shard Users living comfortably in the lower block areas? Do they not deserve the same push?"

The Chairwoman’s expression remained impassive. "A lot of those still have things that need to be worked out before they can be considered for leadership. But they will work under the assigned Shard Users in three-man teams. Eventually, they will be integrated into full platoons. When the aliens do return, we will have a fully coordinated force ready to respond."

Her voice didn’t waver, but the room was far from satisfied.

A different man, his uniform pressed to perfection, shifted in his chair. "And this plan of yours, this vision—what about the rebel forces?"

The table grew tense.

"The seventy other Shard Users?" he continued, eyes sharp. "Every time we take a Shard User out, we risk their shard being stolen and another rogue operative being born. The very first operation we attempted—our operation—ended in failure. We lost a soldier and nearly lost a second. And that was under our most controlled circumstances. That was just observation."

He leaned forward. "Not to mention, they have someone who created a nerve gas that counters Shard Users. We are already at risk, and this plan only increases that risk exponentially."

A murmur spread around the table, some nodding in agreement, others tightening their jaws in frustration.



The Chairwoman folded her hands together, waiting for the noise to settle.

"We have a lot of risk," she finally said, her voice even. "But we live in unprecedented times. There is no manual to follow here. We simply have to assess the most likely outcome and act accordingly."

She let that sit for a moment before continuing, her eyes scanning the room.

"When we overthrew the political landscape of this world, we did so because it was too slow to act. Because it was paralyzed by bureaucracy and driven by greed. We can’t afford to fall into the same pitfall of waiting for a vote. There is no time for endless debates. No time for hesitation."

The authority in her voice was final.

She looked toward each of the leaders at the table, her gaze unwavering.

"This is no longer a discussion. It is an action that will be taken."

A beat of silence.

Then, she issued the last command of the meeting.

"All Wardens will be in charge of coordinating training for their respective bases to prepare for this integration. As for the terrorists—" her lips curled slightly, the first sign of emotion breaking through her poised demeanor, "or whatever they want to call themselves—we will handle them when the time comes."

The grumbles settled as they all accepted and then the chairwomen spoke and stated each of the 12 will answer to the Warden directly as well as local ranks higher than them; please standby as they all introduce themselves and then you can ask a few questions.

Elias watched as several sharply dressed Shard Users stepped forward, each one from different blocks he didn’t recognize. They introduced themselves one by one, speaking briefly with the members at the table, some exchanging polite words while others shared a history, prior connections evident in the way they addressed one another.

The process was starting to make sense. Each of them had been selected for this so-called Officer Program, but how? Some had military backgrounds, others seemed to have political ties, and a few carried themselves with a level of experience that suggested they had already been in leadership roles before.

Elias, on the other hand, had no idea why he had been picked.


He hadn’t saved anyone at the resort. If anything, he had slowed everyone down, barely keeping up in the fight. Even his final act—dropping Vincent from the sky—hadn’t finished the job. That thought gnawed at him. Is Vincent even dead?

His mind drifted, replaying the last moments of that battle, trying to recall if he had actually seen Vincent take his final breath. Before he could think too deeply, his focus snapped back at the sound of a familiar phrase.



"D Block."

Something clicked in his memory. Oliver mentioned someone was moved from D Block when I first arrived... why does that name sound familiar?

Elias turned his attention to the speaker.

A tall, lean man stepped forward, his movements smooth and practiced. His black hair was glossed to perfection, his uniform crisp, as if he had stepped right out of a high-society event rather than a military program.

"Good day, gentlemen," he greeted, giving a small bow with a polite tip of his head. "My name is Asurik Gusmen."

Elias wasn’t the only one watching him closely. To his side, Kikaru’s face twitched—just slightly, but enough for Elias to notice. She looked annoyed.

Interesting.

Asurik continued, his voice carrying a refined, rehearsed ease. "It is an honor to meet you all today. My time over the last few weeks has been nothing short of a rollercoaster—" he paused, then corrected himself with a knowing smirk, "scratch that, the last four years, really."

His tone shifted, gaining a certain weight as he placed a hand over his chest.

"It would be an honor to restore my family’s name and lineage through great service in this Officer Program—one that was so graciously put forth by our esteemed Chairwoman, a leader who has bridged generations."

His words dripped with carefully chosen reverence.

Elias glanced at Kikaru again. Her jaw was tight, eyes locked on Asurik with something between disdain and frustration.