CHAPTER 159: Insurrection-28

CHAPTER 159: Insurrection-28

In the meeting room on the 42nd floor, with the city lights reflected in the glass, Enid sat across from a man in a dark suit, serious expression, and presidential bearing. George Bush, President of the United States, had answered her call without delay.

"Mr. President," Enid began without preamble, "thank you for coming. The situation is critical. Helena Strauss has crossed too many lines. I have enough evidence to sink her, but I need political support. Exposing her isn't enough: she must go to prison."

Bush folded his hands on the table, with a firm but cordial expression.
"You don't need to convince me, Enid. Strauss is a problem that has grown too large. And besides…" he smiled with a certain complicity, "I owe you a favor. Especially Phoenix. If it weren't for him, the White House would have fallen into the hands of that lunatic named Adam."

Enid nodded, with a slight half-smile. Her bearing remained impeccable, but there was tension in her eyes.
"Phoenix risked his life that day," she said. "And now he's ready to finish the job. But we need Strauss to be truly arrested. For her not to escape, not to buy her way out, not to disappear using her influence."

Bush inclined his head, sure of his words.
"That's why I'm here. Don't worry. I've already ordered a capture team to deploy. They operate with international jurisdiction and have full authorization. They are on their way to Helena Strauss's residence as we speak."

Enid inhaled slowly. It was the first time in a long while she allowed herself a minimum of relief.
"Then… it's a matter of time."

Bush nodded.
"That's right. She'll be captured shortly, and when that happens, everything will come to light. Her crimes, her manipulations, her lycanthrope experiments… everything. The world will see who she really is."

Enid looked out the window, the city sprawling at her feet, as if she could already see the future forming from there.

In a McDonald's on the outskirts of Munich, the atmosphere couldn't be more different from the chaos experienced hours earlier. Yellow tables, the smell of fries, and children running. No blood. No graves. No roars.

Just peace.

Phoenix, Agnes, and Marcus sat at a table by the window, each with their tray. Hamburgers, large drinks, and a couple of extra nuggets "just in case." Phoenix wore his coat open, still dressed in his black suit, but now more relaxed; Marcus devoured his Big Mac as if he hadn't eaten in days; Agnes dipped her fries in ketchup with a distracted air.

"Well," Marcus said with his mouth full, "you don't dismember one of Helena's generals and then have dinner at McDonald's every day. I say we should toast… with Coca-Cola, of course."

Agnes smiled, though tired.
"I can't believe we're celebrating this here." She gestured with her straw. "But… I guess it's the most normal thing we've done in weeks."

Phoenix fell silent for a moment, resting his forearms on the table. Then he spoke, without his usual sarcastic tone, without irony or masks.
"I want to say something to you both," he said, looking at them. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here."

Marcus stopped mid-bite. Agnes looked up, surprised.
"You're serious," she murmured.
"Very serious," Phoenix affirmed. "Marcus, if you hadn't been with me in that house, they would have broken my neck in two. And Agnes… if you hadn't believed in me, if you hadn't kept going even when everything seemed lost… I would have fallen. To Helena, to Bruno… to anyone. They would have eaten me alive."

Agnes lowered her gaze but smiled. Marcus swallowed and raised his glass in a toast.
"Well… you didn't die. And you're still our favorite disaster."

Phoenix let out a brief, sincere laugh. He raised his glass too.
"Bruno fell. And Helena is next. But whatever happens…"

He looked at his two allies. His two friends.
With eyes that weren't cold, nor wild, nor broken.
But human.

"Thank you. Both of you. Truly."

Agnes clinked her glass with his. Marcus did too.
"For not dying," said Marcus.

Marcus got up with his tray in hand, still chewing.
"I'm going to toss this. I'll be right back," he said, walking towards the trash bins, leaving Phoenix and Agnes alone at the table.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was calm. Almost intimate. The noise of the McDonald's was still there: children laughing, ovens beeping, overlapping conversations. But for a moment, the world seemed to stop around them.

Agnes looked at her glass, turning it between her hands. Then she looked up at Phoenix, who was gazing out the window, pensive, but calmer than ever.
"You know?" she said quietly. "There's a saying: 'Never meet your idols, because they'll disappoint you.'"

Phoenix tilted his head and looked at her, curious.
"And what do you think?"

Agnes gave a small, honest smile. Her eyes reflected something warm, something that had to do not with blind admiration, but with bonds forged in fire and blood.
"That saying is completely wrong."

Phoenix said nothing, but his eyes showed a gentle emotion. Unaccustomed in him. Unspoken, but understood.

And in Agnes's mind, without needing to say it aloud, a thought formed with absolute clarity:

This man is not an idol. He is not a legend. He's someone who bleeds, who falls, who gets back up… and who never abandoned us.
I saw him fight when everything was impossible. I saw him break and keep going.
He's not a perfect hero, nor does he need to be.
He is my brother. From another life, another world… but my brother.

Phoenix looked forward again, unaware that in Agnes's heart, that feeling had taken root.

She didn't worship him.
She had chosen him.
As family.

In the meeting room on the 42nd floor, the atmosphere remained formal but tense. George Bush and Enid were reviewing the documents on the table when suddenly, the doors burst open.