Chapter 8 - The Gates of the Capital
The train hissed to a halt as it slipped past the massive iron perimeter walls of the capital district—a sprawling metropolis of gothic stone spires, neon-lit industrial towers, and cobblestone streets patrolled by Victor’s elite security forces.
Clara and Roman slipped off the flatbed in the dead of night, ducking into the labyrinthine alleys of the lower industrial ward.
"The High Citadel sits at the very center of the city," Roman explained, pulling the hood of a heavy wool coat over his dark hair as they walked briskly through the shadows. "To get inside the inner sanctum where the Obsidian Seal is kept, we need help. We need someone inside the Council who hasn't been bought off by Victor."
"Do you know someone like that?" Clara asked, keeping her shotgun hidden beneath her coat.
"Marcus," Roman said. "My former head of security. If he’s still alive, he’ll be running operations out of the old clocktower district."
They navigated the twisting alleyways, dodging patrol drones and armored guards until they reached a dilapidated clocktower whose giant gear hands had stopped moving years ago. Roman rapped three distinct times against a rusted steel service door—two short knocks, one long.
A heavy bolt slid back inside. The door creaked open just an inch, revealing a pair of cautious, weathered eyes.
May you like
"Alpha?" the man gasped, throwing the door wide open. "By the gods... they said you were dead!"
Marcus dragged them both inside, slamming the heavy iron door shut and locking it tight.
