CHAPTER 52: The Washington Incident - Part II

CHAPTER 52: The Washington Incident - Part II

The White House. Oval Office.

The silence was the most terrifying thing. Not the silence of peace, but that of the sudden absence of life. The air, heavy and laden with the cloying, metallic smell of dried blood, did not move. The majestic walls of the Oval Office were spattered with dark red and brown, a grotesque fresco narrating a massacre. Remains of what were once guards and staff lay scattered, mere props on the stage of a macabre play.

In the center of this Dante-esque scene, Adam rested with his back against the imposing Resolute desk, his stained boots brazenly propped up on the noble wood surface. A white linen towel, absurdly clean, covered his face. His chest rose and fell with a slow rhythm, like that of a man in a deep sleep.

The door opened without a sound. Irene stopped on the threshold, her cold eyes scanning the carnage without blinking. She advanced, her steps silent on the bloodied marble.

"Adam," she called, her voice a sharp thread of sound in the stillness.

There was no response. Only the steady breathing.

"Adam," she repeated, firmer. "Wake up."

A slow, almost lazy movement. The towel slid off, revealing eyes that held no trace of drowsiness. They shone with a disturbing lucidity. A slow smile spread across his lips.

"Irene… you just ruined a perfect moment."

She kept her arms crossed, impassive.
"Perfect?"

"Oh, yes," he murmured, sitting up with the fluid grace of a big cat. "I was dreaming of Fénix. I had him right where I wanted him. Begging. Broken. And just as I was about to burst his skull… you show up. What a disappointment."

Irene let out a sigh, a spark of exasperation in her gaze.
"Fantasies can wait. Reality cannot."

Adam got to his feet, stretching as if he had just gotten out of a pleasant bed. He adjusted his cuffs, stained crimson.
"Fantasies? That dream, Irene, was a premonition. An inspiration. Fénix isn't just an obstacle… he is my final entertainment. His defeat will be my masterpiece. A lesson the world will never forget."

"To give that lesson, you must first write it," she replied, turning toward the door. "Concentration. This is just the prologue."

Before leaving, she stopped.
"And next time, don't make me come wake you."

Adam's laugh, low and resonant, filled the empty room.
"Always so pragmatic, dear. Very well. Let's finish this. Let the boy know his hour has come."

He sank into the presidential armchair, his smile as wide and dark as the promise of pain floating in the air. The hunt, at last, was beginning.

National Mall. Washington D.C.

The afternoon was serene. The autumn breeze played with the leaves and carried the distant echo of tourists' laughter around the Washington Monument. Fénix walked across the green esplanade, but his mind was miles away, in a place of shadows and piercing memories. He didn't see the obelisk, nor the clear sky. Only Adam's face and the ghost of his last, humiliating defeat.

A pair of hands landed firmly on his shoulders. He tensed instantly, his instincts firing, before a familiar voice anchored him back to reality.

"If you focus more on your demons than on your surroundings, you'll end up dead, Fénix."

He turned and found Enid standing behind him. She wore an elegant coat and an expression that wavered between concern and annoyance.

"New stealth tactics, Enid? You almost gave me a heart attack," he grumbled, though the tension in his shoulders dissipated a bit.

She positioned herself beside him, following his distant gaze.
"Someone has to keep your feet on the ground. What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing," he lied, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Lie," she stated bluntly. "You only make that face when you're about to do something stupid or when you're scared. And it's usually both."

Fénix was silent for a moment, watching as the sun began to tinge the sky orange.
"Maybe."

The silence stretched, comfortable in its own way. Finally, Enid got to the point, as always.
"What do you expect from today? Truly."

The question took him by surprise. He considered it.
"To win."

"Is that all?"
"It's the only thing that matters," he stated, and for the first time, there was a spark of genuine conviction in his voice. "I don't know how. I don't know at what cost. But I am going to defeat him."

Enid studied him, looking for some trace of his usual bravado. She found none.
"Do you really believe that?"

"Yes," he replied, looking her directly in the eyes. "And I don't just believe it. I need it."

An almost imperceptible smile touched Enid's lips.
"You're an arrogant idiot."

"It's part of my charm."
"But you're our arrogant idiot," she acknowledged, giving him a sharp tap on the arm. "Just… don't do anything crazy. The plan is the plan."

Fénix flashed his characteristic sardonic smile.
"Me? Follow a plan? Never."

She rolled her eyes, but her next sentence was completely serious.
"Adam is like no one you've ever faced. If you truly believe you can handle him, then I trust that. But don't forget you're not in this alone. Don't carry it all yourself."

Fénix nodded slowly.
"I know. And that's why we can win."

The tension at the White House Perimeter, at the Forward Command Post, was palpable. Armored vehicles, snipers on the rooftops, searchlights sweeping the darkness. The heart of American power had become a fortress under siege.

Inside a command tent crowded with screens and tactical maps, the Enid Corp team met with General Hayes, a man with a scarred face and the authority of one who has commanded wars.

"The President has given the order," declared the General, his voice a low rumble. "You have tactical command. My men will follow your instructions. Don't fail me."