BLADE PROLOGUE – AniontingProsper
Before the assembled masses—those who had placed their faith in him—stood the newly elected President, his figure a beacon of confidence. Flashes lit up the room, cameras perched in every corner, even on lapels, as the nation sat rapt before their screens, anticipating his address. This moment was crucial, his first speech to the people as their leader, one meant to offer both solace and a plan for the national crisis that gripped the country.
The President, a man in his fifties, exuded an almost palpable charisma. His well-tailored appearance, coupled with a smile that seemed to embrace the weight of his responsibility, conveyed a sense of pride in this milestone. It was his first opportunity to thank the citizens for their trust and, more importantly, to outline his vision for their collective salvation.
The conference room, despite the hum of air conditioning, was packed to near suffocation. The air was thick, stifling, and the space seemed to press in on everyone. Yet, not a single person dared to take a break—except for those with respiratory conditions, who struggled with the oppressive heat. The President, however, appeared untouched by it all, as though his very aura deflected the discomfort surrounding him.
In this sea of faces, both in the room and across the nation, anticipation crackled in the air. Even those who harbored skepticism or resentment toward his victory had their attention fixed on him.
To the people, he was a symbol of hope, a man of justice and vision. But to the shadowy elite, he was an imminent threat—a rising force that could not be allowed to grow unchecked. Their silence was a warning, and their plans for him were already in motion.
“Today is the only day we can act,” the Minister of Works and Revenue muttered to his associate, his voice barely audible.
His partner nodded absentmindedly, scanning the room as if searching for something—or someone.
“Have you made the arrangements?” the Minister pressed, impatience creeping into his tone. Time was slipping away.
His partner, with a gesture that bordered on dismissive, raised a finger to his lips and whispered, “Shhh.”
It was a quiet reprimand, but the Minister swallowed his pride and turned his attention back to the unfolding event.
The President’s voice broke through the tension, lighthearted and warm. “I’m finally here. It’s hard to believe. It doesn’t quite feel the same as the debates I used to have as a teenager,” he quipped, prompting laughter from the crowd.
On the right side of the room, the President’s supporters sat, their faces marked with a mix of pride and wariness. One of them, seated motionless, kept a sharp eye on the opposition like a hawk awaiting its prey.
“The President is quite charming,” the Minister of Education observed with a smile.
But his companion, lost in thought, barely heard him. He was watching, focused, his mind racing.
“Do you think they’re planning something?” the Minister of Education asked, concern creeping into his voice.
“I’m sure of it,” the other Minister replied. “And I fear my defenses won’t be enough this time.”
“Relax,” the Minister of Education reassured him, leaning back in his chair. “No one would dare strike while we’re all watching. They can’t kill the President right under our noses.”
But the other Minister remained tense, his gaze fixed on the stage.
The laughter died down, and the President continued, his tone sincere. “As a child, I would stand in an empty room and imagine speaking to thousands of people. And now, that dream has come true,” he said, pausing briefly to compose himself. He coughed once, then again. “I’m grateful to all of you for voting me in, for placing your trust in me—” Another cough interrupted him, harsher this time.
It wasn’t just a single cough—it came in rapid succession. The crowd shifted uncomfortably, concern spreading through the room.
One of the President’s aides, a lieutenant, hurried forward with a bottle of water, already opened, offering it to him.
But as the President tilted his head to take a sip, the lieutenant moved with chilling precision. In a single, swift motion, a nail was driven into the President’s throat, piercing his larynx. He was dead before the water could even touch his lips.
The assassination happened in an instant, and the perpetrator was gone before anyone could react. The room exploded into chaos, but it was far too late.
The Minister of Works and Revenue turned to his partner, his voice laced with grim satisfaction. “The Black Robes never fail.”
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Lesson: No matter the stage you’ve reached in achieving your dream, always remember there are people, ever ready to murder them for you.
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