Chapter 175: Friend or Foe

The holographic projection of Krill Khians flickered and vanished, leaving the vast, ancient chamber in a profound silence. The Seats, members of the Divine Concordance, collectively sighed, a long, drawn-out exhalation that seemed to release a century’s worth of suppressed tension. It was as if the very air had been too thick to breathe with the Apostle’s presence.

As Anton Rothschild, the Seat of Coin, settled back in his chair, a faint, weary smile on his face, Ariana Moore, the Seat of Sight, rose fluidly from her own seat. She glided behind Richard’s doppelganger, her hand coming to rest lightly on its shoulder. Her touch was feather-light, yet undeniably possessive.

"Such gravitas, Mr. Santamo," she purred, her voice a low, alluring murmur, meant only for the doppelganger’s sophisticated auditory sensors. Her fingers traced a slow, almost imperceptible path along the sculpted lines of its suit. "You carry yourself with a... refreshing confidence. A quiet power." He truly is exquisite, she thought, her eyes raking over the doppelganger’s profile. A handsome face, a brilliant mind, and now, the Seat of Circuit. He is the ultimate prize in this game.

Anton Rothschild, observing the interaction with a world-weary sigh, cleared his throat loudly. "Ariana, please. We have matters of Circle business to discuss." His gaze, sharp and commanding, met hers.

Ariana gave a dismissive, almost imperceptible shrug, but ultimately, she retreated, settling back into her seat. A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, quickly masked. She cast a subtle, assessing glance at the other Seats, ensuring her display of interest hadn’t been too overt for the stoic, ancient members. They merely looked back at her with a blend of disinterest and faint, internal amusement.

Anton, now firmly holding the room’s attention, reached under the obsidian table. He pulled out three sleek, black boxes, each no larger than a palm. "For our new Seats," he announced, pushing one box towards Rockwell, one towards Moore, and the last towards the doppelganger. "In order for us to communicate securely and efficiently, take these."

He opened his own box, revealing a device so minimalist it seemed carved from a single piece of dark glass. "These are quantum-encrypted smartphones. They utilize true Quantum Random Number Generation for encryption keys and Quantum Key Distribution for secure communication. Untraceable. Unbreakable."

Richard’s doppelganger picked up the phone, its synthetic fingers meticulously examining the device. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched its lips. To Lina’s superior AI, with her mastery of quantum physics, the phone’s quantum encryption was akin to reading an open book; a basic, albeit advanced for humans, implementation of principles she had already long transcended. Adequate for this level of... sophistication, the doppelganger’s internal systems registered, but hardly groundbreaking.

"The phone already has a dedicated application only meant for us," Anton continued. "Every month, we will have face-to-face meetings here, to discuss the status of our tasks. You will also have to replace your phones with newer models; the old ones will have their hardware replaced, all for maximum security regarding our Table’s main internal operations. Our singular job here, above all else, is to maximize our harvest. With our current, most pressing task being the orchestration of a global pandemic." He gestured to Dr. Natalie Calder, the Seat of Breath. "If you would, Dr. Calder, please enlighten our new members on the plan."



Maximum security, old hardware replaced, the doppelganger’s internal monologue hummed. Careless IT staff might connect these to their network’s main database. If I can plant a Trojan malware on these phones... then everything is over. We can find every hidden base there is, and all lists of persons connected to the Table. A single point of failure, disguised as a security measure.

Natalie Calder, a woman with unnervingly calm eyes and a precisely modulated voice, activated a holographic display. "Certainly, Anton. We have a strain of pathogen that is airborne but can be controlled and we already developed a vaccine. The core strains are HCoV-229E and HCoV-OC43, the first coronaviruses identified in the 1960s. These typically cause mild respiratory illnesses, akin to the common cold."

A new image appeared on the display: a bat. "The subsequent variants, such as the one that caused a global outbreak in China in 2002-2003, were easy to blame on zoonotic transmission—technically, they do originate from bats. However, through our covert wildlife organizations, those specific bats were gene-edited to produce the virulent strain of coronavirus and released into the wild in China in the 1980s. Twenty years later, the outbreak began, just as planned."

"Now, since the timelines have changed so much, and the global climate is ripe for a new redirection, we are planning to release a next-generation global pandemic. It is highly transmissible, of course, but not deadly to the vast majority. It is treatable with rest, and its symptoms are familiar: fever or chills, a cough (usually dry, persistent), overwhelming fatigue, shortness of breath, sudden loss of taste or smell, muscle aches, and headache, sore throat."

She paused, her gaze sweeping across the table, her eyes completely devoid of ethical qualms. "With this strategy, we effectively neutralize the daring moves of other zones to wage direct global war. To be honest, our intelligence indicated their primary objective would be a major trade war to remove the US dollar from global currency dominance."

Anton interjected, a satisfied smile on his face. "And this is where we strike, gentlemen, with the element of surprise. They will be expecting economic warfare, maybe even direct military posturing. They will not be expecting a biological front."

Natalie continued, "But with this biological strategy, only our Circle, the USA Table, possesses the vaccine for this specific, custom-engineered virus."

"Our goal," she articulated with chilling precision, "is to meticulously leak the formula of this vaccine to China, using our embedded scientists and proxies. China will then undoubtedly produce the first vaccine. However, with the virus already having originated from their zone, and then them being the first to produce a vaccine, their allied zones will be furious, viewing this as a blatant confession of orchestrating the global pandemic. This will push the blame squarely onto the China Zone, making them deeply untrusted, not only with the produced vaccine but as a global partner. We can then use our ’developed’ vaccine—which will be superior and produced by a seemingly neutral party—to strengthen relationships and gain concessions from other zones."

Anton Rothschild nodded slowly, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That’s right, Dr. Natalie. Now, with the method secured, we have to meticulously plan how to avoid global panic and riots. The public must remain compliant, fearful but not chaotic."

The remaining time was spent in a meticulous, cold discussion of how to maximize their pandemic plan: distribution vectors, media narratives, financial destabilization, and the psychological manipulation of populations.

As the meeting concluded, the same ritual of departure began. Ariana Moore, ever persistent, once again approached Richard’s doppelganger. "I trust you find your new... responsibilities... stimulating, Mr. Santamo," she purred, her fingers once more brushing his arm as she subtly slipped a quantum-encrypted card into his hand. "Perhaps we could discuss strategies, or anything else, at a more private hour?" Her eyes held a deep, unmasked invitation.

The doppelganger, its internal processors confirming the card’s nature—a direct line, encrypted only for the Seat of Sight—nodded politely. "Perhaps, Ms. Moore. I look forward to it." Having the Seat of Sight as a direct, personal ally, especially one so easily manipulated by perceived charm, is indeed crucial.Her domain over global media will be an invaluable asset in the coming war, a sharp knife to turn against the Krill’s very narrative.



The remaining Seats, including Richard’s doppelganger, then followed Anton and Lex Martin to the descending yellow square. As they plunged into the darkness, the doppelganger’s internal systems recorded every detail of the meeting, ready to transmit back to Lina. The game had just gotten a lot more dangerous, and a lot more personal.

Meanwhile, somewhere high above the Atlantic, on a sleek, private jet, three figures sat in hushed conversation. The cabin was a study in subdued luxury, the only sounds the gentle hum of the engines and the clink of ice in crystal glasses.

Figure 1, a man whose face was etched with the weariness of too many battles fought in the shadows, sighed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "So," he began, his voice gravelly, "this new ’Seat of Circuit,’ Richard Santamo... is he loyal to the Table?"

Figure 2, a woman with sharp, intelligent eyes, leaned forward. "Perhaps yes, perhaps not. It’s too early to tell. He plays his part well. We’ll have Ariana evaluate him. Her instincts for human manipulation are... unparalleled." And her vanity, as well, she thought, a faint, cynical curl to her lip. She’ll be eager to bring him to heel.

Figure 1 scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. "He better not be. I may have a Seat at that damn table, but I am still human. The only reason I’ve maintained this position for so long is by sucking technologies out of those damn lizards." He gestured vaguely, as if swatting away an unseen insect. Every ’gift’ from them is a chain.

Figure 3, a younger man, his face a mix of idealism and a nascent weariness, ran a hand through his hair. "Even if we do fight for humanity’s independence, sir, we’re not entirely sure we can win. Their influence... it’s deeply rooted."

Figure 1’s eyes, normally shadowed, blazed with a fierce, defiant light. "We can win. We have to. Most of the fleet is under my covert control, save for the Echo Legion. That’s my only significant concern right now." He paused, a grim determination setting his jaw. Those enhanced soldiers... a formidable wildcard.

Figure 2 nodded, her gaze distant, focused on the swirling clouds outside the window. "We have to buy ourselves time. Time to build our forces. Time to consolidate our own assets, to free those they’ve enslaved without them realizing the hand that guides them."

"Precisely," Figure 1 affirmed, his voice hardening. "Either way, the choice is simple: either humanity dies fighting for liberation, or we die doing absolutely nothing, letting them be harvested like cattle." He slammed his fist softly on the armrest, the crystal glass rattling. "If that man, Santamo, is on our side, truly committed, we’ll have an unprecedented chance to boost humanity’s technological superiority. His company is already releasing technologies we never thought possible, simultaneously and at an exponential rate. Imagine that power fully unleashed against the Krill, not for their amusement, but for our freedom."

He leaned forward, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "But if he’s swayed by their so-called immortality, if he falls to their insidious gifts, then we’ll just take him down. Swiftly. And find a new one that’s compliant, someone we can control. Project Orion must not, under any circumstances, fall into the hands of those damn reptiles. It’s humanity’s ultimate ace." And our last hope.