Between Growth and Prosperity
"They're coming!"
"Right, prepare for capture!"
They planned to seize all four of them as hostages the moment the meeting ended, without a shred of suspicion.
Of course, they'd judged that trying to take them hostage from the start would just get them torn limb from limb by me.
But more than that, even if they managed to grab them somehow, they'd only hear plausible lies from their lips.
Better, then, to eavesdrop on their secrets first, then snatch them up and use them as bargaining chips.
That was far more profitable.
Humans all think the same. They live without grasping anything more. Even if things go exactly as they plan, their movements will follow rigid patterns—patterns my shadowing mercenaries have already pierced completely. Did they really think they'd win? The moment they did, they lost.
That was when the door swung open.
Whoosh.
"Guh?!"
"Wh-who the hell are you?!"
They whirled toward me in panic, but I didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow.
Instead, I casually raised my right hand, pointing my index finger straight at the door.
In an instant, the Russian nationalists froze in place.
"Ugh?!"
"M-my... body..."
Swish.
Boom!
I curled my finger, and they rocketed toward the wall at supersonic speed, smashing into it, their bones shattering across their bodies.
"Gaaaaahhh!"
Thud.
Slump.
"Should I let you say something? But words from pathetic worms like you aren't worth hearing, so no need for you to bother. Not that I had any intention of listening anyway."
I levitated the Russian nationalists, their bones pulverized.
Then I reassembled them, bone by bone.
Not perfectly, of course—drilling holes through them so they could barely function.
And with ongoing resonance inside the bones, inducing cell shock and hallucinations, I preserved the synapses in their brains responsible for the meeting's contents—locking them away forever.
"The fate of the self-named is to leave no barren wasteland behind, but to weigh its inevitability against its utility."
"This world is not for you to conquer, nor to rule."
"Your rules and common sense? Useless when the outside presses in—just empty chatter for internal control."
"You psychopathic fools, forever fussing inward, twisting 'the whole' to mean only your own, delighting in tormenting others—do you really think you can stand against a true external foe?"
"From birth, you've screamed into our ears till they bled that the individual must submit to the collective, brainwashing your own."
"Everything you claim is just brute illogic born of your power."
"So kneel before greater power."
"You who despised freedom won't find it now—don't expect mercy."
"Everything you are ends with your deaths."
Seeking emotion or sentiment from me is pointless.
I am unshakable by anything, foreseeing all, erasing the very notion of an uncertain future.
Emptiness doesn't exist for me.
My influence fills everything, and I feel nothing particular from it.
That's why I was made—and why, no matter if past, present, or future devours me, I retain that pure essence.
I approached the shocked, collapsed men with utter indifference, extending my hand.
"Private emotions and humanity are needless for one who leads all mankind."
"That's all. And it will forge the greatest gain and prosperity."
"I promise you that."
At that moment, my Lennox family mercenaries—who'd been tailing the Russian nationalists in secret—began decloaking one by one, starting with Ansoloc White.
They said nothing, merely fixing their gazes on Joint Chiefs Chairman Ernest Robe, Army Chief of Staff Kenneth McNairy, Navy Chief of Staff Quincy Ivory, and Air Force Chief of Staff Macbeth Bradley.
That alone made it clear: we'd turned their intrusion to our advantage.
No question marks needed.
The chiefs were too busy clutching their pounding hearts to suggest new plans—or demand why I'd let them go.
The latter they might have voiced, so I'd shattered their bones, riddled them with holes, reassembled them crudely, then let them collapse right there.
This way, the enemy could play dead easily, crawl out to escape amid exponentially worsening agony.
It ensured they'd remember only the meeting contents I'd force-embedded in their brains.
And their dislocations and osteoporosis would kill a few soon enough—making the "life-or-death intelligence" we'd "saved" utterly convincing.
Everyone wants themselves—or those they cherish—to grow, to change. Hope for betterment, and the halo effect it brings. Obvious reality.
My father, at least, seemed indifferent to such things.
Or more precisely, he wanted our family saga—passed to me and Cleas—to end there.
Originally, he'd have sacrificed himself for the era, leaving emotionless us to dominate humanity, unify the world into eternal prosperity.
But the prosperity Cleas and I envision isn't from patriotic, transcendent might.
It's from individual choice and freedom—endless innovation through pioneering thought.
Some might call this groundwork for the perfect end. To others, it's a vital step toward something better. Even full acceptance doesn't mean shared intent. Forced unity and uniformity that ignores this? Unacceptable. Why else would people follow a universally respected leader without all wanting to become him?
Thus, I induced the barely escaping Russian nationalists—puffed up with knowing the plan—to completely overlook additional variables for the Mephauric camp.
Above all, they knew nothing of XIG-Male, YNB-Null, or ZKP-Orgy—not even Nanocrippler.
The family might glean common knowledge via the Jefferson family, but my personal war preparations? Never revealed.
Beyond their reach.
Michelle side. (sigh)
Flutter.
Shoooooo.
Thud.
Today, too, I'll soar the cosmos with my holy spear and pristine white wings.
Normally, just a young girl in an apron, pitiful and innocent.
But not now.
Truth be told, splitting myself—humble baker by day, wish-filled now—until the time comes is tiresome.
But not entirely unwelcome.
Small joys exist...
"Shall I head that way today? So many still suffer, tremble in fear, wail in regret."
"The newly mighty, who butchered the weak they claimed to protect and cherish, never see themselves as the weak's voice."
"But what can you do? When I appear, they learn they're just that—limited."
"Humanity's always been thus: freedom must yield when needed."
"Yet their own freedom's always exempt. Why? Can't tolerate suppressing their 'goodness' for control."
Shoooo.
The battlefield filled my view.
America had literally equalized opportunity worldwide—sharing identical weapons, gear, blueprints with every army.
In his eyes, perhaps invisible trust in each government.
But wrong.
They weren't wolves in sheep's clothing—just goats.
Preaching justice while fanatically deeming it illusion, believing their power is justice.
"At least be consistent, right?"
I won't let this war drag on.
Order arises from virtue, not virtue from order.
That 'order' isn't a toy, and pursuing it reveals virtue as mere excuse—order just justifying tyranny.
On planet Krilondera, Chinese and Vietnamese forces clashed.
Whirl.
"Guess I have to intervene. Why such frenzy over territory..."
I spread my white wings majestically, gliding slowly toward the civilians across the battlefield.