Subterranean Warehouse
Transylvania, Romania
The fire in the rusted 55-gallon drum crackled, casting flickering shadows across the damp stone walls of Jonah's subterranean chamber. Dust motes danced in the warm air, illuminated by the flames. Demerol was slumped onto a rickety crate opposite Jonah, who sat hunched over a flickering computer screen.
"We've done it," Demerol said, his voice barely a whisper. "The seeds are sown. Europe's a tinderbox, primed to ignite. We need to get out of here, Jonah, before the flames reach us."
Jonah didn't look up as his fingers flew across the keyboard, entering a series of commands. "Mission barely started," he grunted, his voice hoarse.
"Barely started? The riots across the continent, the political instability – that's just the beginning! We've manipulated entire nations, Jonah. How much chaos do you want to unleash?"
Jonah slammed his fist on the desk, finally meeting Demerol's gaze. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, flickered with a manic intensity. "Chaos breeds opportunity. Haven't you figured that out yet? We don't just want to destabilize; we want to rebuild. From the ashes, a new order will rise." Then he pointed to an unknown location beyond the wall. “Parliaments will operate under new political factions with directives to drive declining societies toward the Light, as will the Vatican, who will choose another from the Preferiti to rule once Pope Innocent stands down after the damning flames from the court of public opinion becomes too hot for him to bear. Cardinal Russo will then usurp the throne and rule under my direction or become a target himself. And because of this, Cardinal Russo will be indebted to me. There will be no discussions, no debates, and no negotiations on this.”
The fire popped as a knot of wood exploded inside a log, causing Demerol to jump. Jonah, however, seemed oblivious with his gaze fixed on the flickering computer screen.
"Jonah, Europe is on the brink, and you're talking about months until the next elections. What happens when the dust settles from the chaos we've sown, and the elections swing the other way once they enable their military forces to put down the masses? What then?"
Jonah swiveled in his chair, his appearance neutral. "Then we refine,” he stated simply. “We adjust the targeting, tweak the algorithms. We have time. This isn't some haphazard bomb we've detonated. It's a calculated operation, a symphony of manipulation." And then: “What’s your problem, Demerol?”
"Jonah, with all due respect, we’re guiding the future and shaping the world in our image, I get that. This AI we're wielding – it's a powerful tool, a scalpel with the precision to dissect the world's problems and apply the perfect solution. I get that, too. But what if the scalpel slips? What if the AI we're feeding with half-truths and manipulated data develops its own agenda? What if it decides the 'solution' is far more drastic than we ever intended? This may not only effect Europe, but this could also come back on us."
"That's where the skilled surgeon comes in,” Jonah told him. “We are the ones in control, the ones who steer the blade. The AI is an extension of our will, nothing more."
A deep silence settled over the chamber, broken only by the rhythmic crackle of the fire. Then from Demerol, his voice low and strained. "What happens if the operation is compromised by the Vatican Knights? Surely, they've picked up on the digital trail. What if they're closing in on us right now?"
“Then I would say, ‘let them come.’ They'll find this place a graveyard, but not for us."
Demerol cleared his throat, trying to muster courage. "The Vatican Knights are an elite fighting force, Jonah. Trained fighters with centuries of experience. We're a ragtag team of soldiers working beside a group of hackers in a glorified basement. This isn't some video game where you can just mow down enemies!"
"Confidence is a virtue," Jonah told him, ignoring the rising alarm in Demerol's voice. "Besides, they underestimate us. They think we're just another fringe group, nothing more than a nuisance to be swatted away. But they have no idea of our true capabilities, do they? No idea of the power we wield." Jonah stood up and made his way toward Demerol, then he leaned into him until their noses were nearly touching. “What happened to you?” He asked Demerol evenly. “A couple of days ago you were sitting right where you are now pounding your chest in bravado almost wishing for them to come. You said our team was ready. I said our team was ready. And I believe that. I don’t hire scabs who were deployed in hostile countries who did office work. I hire the best of the best. I thought you were one of them.”
Demerol nodded. “I’m just saying, Jonah, that with the elections still months away, that it would be best to jump from location to location so that we won’t be compromised. We still have a long way to go. Getting caught between now and then will happen if we stay.”
A flicker of a different emotion flickered across Jonah's features – something akin to bitter satisfaction. "Let's be honest," he finally admitted, "You’re right about staying in one place for too long, that it could jeopardize everything we have done up to this point. But I have some unfinished business with the Vatican Knights. Let's just say they're long overdue for a reckoning. And I can’t do it without you or the team. So . . . a deal. After we take care of the Vatican Knights, we’ll move the operation to another location and finish this out. Deal?"
Demerol stared at Jonah as a cold dread settled in his gut. He had glimpsed a side of Jonah he hadn't seen before, a side fueled by a dark and personal vendetta. In that moment, Demerol realized that this mission had transcended mere political manipulation. This was about something far more sinister, a personal demon that Jonah intended to exorcise with the blood of the Vatican Knights.
“Demerol?”
Nodding slowly, Demerol said, “Deal.”