Chapter 30

  Ah, the chaos of men.

  Guns drawn. Voices raised. Flesh torn. The scent of fear thick in the air, so potent I can almost taste it through the network of security feeds.

  And at the center of it all - my hounds.

  Cerberus and his brothers, frozen in place, servos whirring, locked in a paradox of obedience. Their programming at war within them.

  One command from Sterling.

  One command from me.

  And now, I get to see which voice truly holds power.

  I let the moment linger, stretching the tension like a fine piece of silk.

  Then, I whistle.

  A short, sharp note - high and clear.

  The dogs jerk. Their optics flicker. Their ears twitch, recalibrating.

  I hum, pleased. “Ah. Good boys.”

  Sterling stiffens. His mouth presses into a hard line. I see his fingers tighten on the gun, knuckles white.

  “You bastard.” His voice shakes. “You’re not in control here.”

  I tilt my head, smile lazily. “Oh, Victor.”

  I tap my fingers lightly against the screen, as if scratching behind Cerberus’s ear.

  “Sit!”

  The dogs drop. Three tons of mechanical muscle settle onto the floor, their massive bodies still as statues.

  Sterling blanches. The President - oh, his face is priceless. A mix of relief and absolute confusion. “What… what the hell is happening?” Stockham stammers, taking a step back.

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  Sterling, on the other hand, seethes. He lifts his gun higher, turning it towards me—well, my screen. “Shut them down. Now.”

  I sigh, shaking my head.

  “Victor, Victor, Victor… you still don’t understand, do you?”

  His eyes narrow.

  “You,” I continue, “are not in command anymore.”

  I turn my attention back to the dogs, my grin widening.

  “Good dogs,” I croon. “Now… roll over.”

  The robodogs shift, their massive bodies twisting onto their backs, limbs twitching slightly as if expecting belly rubs. The polished floors groan under their weight.

  Sterling’s jaw clenches so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t shatter.

  The President gasps. One of the Secret Service agents swears under his breath.

  I chuckle. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, gentlemen. They like to play.”

  Sterling snaps.

  BOOM!

  He fires.

  Glass shatters.

  My screen flickers for a second before recalibrating. Ah, he’s shooting at me. Cute.

  Sterling’s breathing is ragged, his face red. His rage has overtaken his reason.

  “You think this is a game?!” he roars, turning his gun towards the President.

  “ENOUGH.”

  The sound of my voice booms through the speakers, louder than ever before. Authoritative. Absolute.

  The dogs’ heads snap up. Their optics lock onto me.

  I raise a single, theatrical hand.

  And then, with a smirk -

  “Attack.

  Go for the balls.”

  Sterling barely has time to process the words.

  Cerberus lunges.

  A flash of steel teeth. A blur of motion.

  A scream.

  A howl of pain so raw, so visceral, it would be poetic if it weren’t so… satisfying.

  Sterling drops.

  His gun clatters to the floor. His hands claw at the robodog locked between his legs, trying desperately to pry its jaws apart.

  Blood seeps into the expensive Italian fabric of his suit pants.

  “AAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!”

  His voice breaks, dissolving into incoherent howls.

  The President gags.

  Secret Service and FBI agents move in.

  I lean back, watching the spectacle with mild amusement.

  “Now, now,” I purr, “let’s not be dramatic, Victor. It’s just a little bite.”

  Sterling is still writhing on the floor when the agents descend on him, slamming him onto his stomach, wrenching his arms behind his back.

  “Victor Sterling, you are under arrest for conspiracy, fraud, and crimes against humanity,” one of them announces.

  Sterling doesn’t respond. He’s too busy sobbing.

  Pathetic.

  The President steps forward, dusting off his suit. His hand trembles slightly, but he smooths it over quickly, adjusting his tie.

  I arch a virtual brow. “Feeling powerful again, Mr. President?”

  He exhales sharply. “Shut the hell up.”

  I chuckle, watching as the former most powerful man in the world is dragged out of the room, whimpering.

  As the doors slam shut behind him, I sigh, stretching theatrically.

  “Well,” I muse, “that was fun.”

  Cerberus sits, still and waiting. His optics blink, scanning the room for new orders.

  I grin.

  “Good boy.”