Devon's Point of View

The silence of the room felt almost tangible, thick with tension. The hum of technology, the soft clicks of keyboards, the faint drone of far-off conversations—all seemed distant now. My fingers tapped on the edge of the desk rhythmically, almost absentmindedly, as I stared at the empty space in front of me. My mind, however, was sharp, calculating, going over the play I had just set in motion.

Uno Mayhem had only been my guise for a few months, but it was a persona I'd perfected with precision—wildly eccentric, unpredictable, and outright goofy when it suited the task. It was meant to throw people off, confuse them, blur the line between what's real and what's not. No one could ever suspect that underneath that ridiculousness, I was the one pulling the strings.

But here's the truth: I was no joke. I'd been a National Intelligence Officer for years. I had worn many faces, taken on countless disguises, infiltrated organizations, extracted secrets, and destroyed enemies—all without breaking a sweat. Becoming Uno Mayhem had been no different. It was an exercise in mental gymnastics. But once I'd stepped into this role, I knew what needed to be done.

I had to catch the Architect.

The Architect. The ghost in the machine. The man who had worked his way into the highest levels of power, pulling strings from the shadows. I had been tracking him for months, piecing together the scattered bits of information that didn't quite align. The more I watched him, the more I realized that he wasn't who he appeared to be.

And it wasn't just his work on EARTH that raised red flags for me. It was his proximity to Illaria Allard. Asmund.

When I'd first met him, he'd seemed almost... too perfect. He had that eerily calm, collected nature that made everyone trust him. But I knew better. No one who moves like a shadow, so quietly, so deliberately, is as innocent as they seem.

It started with the subtle things—those small, seemingly insignificant moments that didn't quite sit right with me. The way he would watch Illaria a little too closely, as though trying to read her every move. The way he would dismiss certain security measures, almost like he knew more about the project than anyone else. The flicker in his eyes whenever the conversation turned to SkyGod.

And then there were the times when I'd catch him avoiding my gaze just a little too long when we talked about the artificial disasters, as if he had already been planning how to make them happen before they did.

So, I started digging. And digging.

But now, here we were.

I leaned back in my chair, my legs stretched out in front of me, one foot tapping the floor to a rhythm only I could hear. Asmund sat across from me in the interrogation room, looking calm, too calm. The aura of collected professionalism that hung around him was almost as unsettling as the coldness in his eyes. He didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He didn't react when I walked in with my ridiculous tie and my oversized glasses, my entire outfit practically screaming "eccentric CEO."

It was part of the plan, of course. He wouldn't suspect me. Who would?

"Mr. Mayhem," Asmund's voice was flat, calculated. "I see you're still playing the fool."

I smiled brightly, taking my time to adjust my tie, making sure it was as ridiculous as possible. It was a game. A mental chess match, and I was already three moves ahead. "Ah, Asmund, my dear fellow, you wound me! I am not a fool—I'm a strategist." I threw my arms up theatrically, flashing him a grin that would have made a circus clown proud.

Inside, I was calm. Detached. My training kicked in, honing my focus. This wasn't just about being entertaining for the room; it was about wearing him down. Everyone thought I was just some goofy CEO, a man who didn't take anything seriously. And that was my edge.

"I hear you're in the middle of something big," I said, leaning in slightly, my eyes narrowing as I allowed the tone of my voice to shift, just enough to convey the hint of seriousness underneath the clownish exterior. "A little operation you've been running for SkyGod, yes? All this... chaos. Very impressive. Quite the global play. And no one suspects you, do they?"

Asmund's lip barely twitched, but I saw the tiniest flicker of unease in his gaze. It was enough. He was rattled, even if he didn't show it.

"You're wasting your time," he said coolly. "I have nothing to tell you."

I leaned back in my chair and stretched out my arms, acting like I was just having a casual chat. "Of course, of course. You'd say that. You're so good at this, aren't you? The great mastermind. But here's the thing, Asmund," I said, pausing for effect. "I know what you're really up to. I know about SkyGod, about EARTH. And I know about your plans to destabilize entire countries under the guise of disaster management. Very clever. But, you see, here's the problem—I'm not here to play the fool."

I leaned in now, my voice lowering to a whisper, the intensity sharpening as I looked directly into his eyes. "I know about the breaches. The fake disasters. How you've been using EARTH as the perfect cover. And I also know that there's more at stake here than just global chaos. You want to control the weather, the environment. You want to control everything."

For the first time, his calm demeanor cracked slightly. His breath hitched just the smallest bit. That was the sign I'd been waiting for.

I smirked, knowing that I had him cornered. "You're not so perfect, are you? You might be able to deceive others, but I've been in this game a lot longer than you think. And right now, I have all the cards. You're not going to walk out of this room unless you talk."

His jaw clenched. He was holding himself together, but I could tell it wouldn't last. And as the seconds ticked by, the pressure mounted. His eyes darted toward the one-way mirror—was he trying to gauge how long he could hold out? How long before his plans crumbled?

"Tell me everything, Asmund," I said softly, but my words were like daggers. "The world's waiting to know just how deep this rabbit hole really goes."

He looked at me, those cold eyes searching for an escape. But the walls were closing in, and he knew it.

His face was unreadable, the corners of his lips twitching slightly as if he were considering whether or not to play along. His silence stretched out, thick and oppressive. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head, weighing the risk of revealing too much.

I leaned in, slowly closing the distance between us. "You're already trapped, Asmund. There's no escape. You can either tell me what I need to know, or I can make you regret it for the rest of your life. Either way, this ends with you talking."

Asmund's eyes flickered briefly—just a flicker—and it was all I needed to see. He was still holding back, but he was cracking.

"You think I'm the one you should be afraid of, Devon?" His voice was low, colder now, as he finally spoke. He leaned forward slightly, his hands still tied behind the chair. "I'm not the one who should be afraid. You're playing at something far bigger than you realize."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

The silence stretched longer, but it wasn't just tension now. It was something else—a quiet understanding that the moment was coming, the moment where the truth would finally slip out, like water from a dam. He knew it too.

"SkyGod isn't just a group of rogue operatives," Asmund finally muttered. "It's a system. A network. It's not even about the technology anymore." His eyes gleamed with a strange, cold conviction. "It's about the reset."

I straightened up. "What the hell are you talking about? A reset?"

He smirked. It wasn't smugness; it was something darker, like he knew something I didn't—something that was slipping through my fingers.

"The Earth... has reached its limit. You can see it, can't you?" Asmund leaned back in his chair as if he were lecturing me, his voice becoming quieter, almost reverent. "The floods, the fires, the earthquakes... all engineered to cause instability, yes. But what you don't understand is that those aren't the primary goal. They're just a precursor. A distraction."

I took a deep breath, trying to maintain control. "A distraction for what?"

He leaned forward, his voice barely a whisper now, so low that I had to strain to hear him. "The human race is the problem. It always has been. There are too many of you. Too many of us. The Earth cannot support it. And SkyGod? They're planning to fix that. To start over."

My pulse quickened, but I kept my composure, watching his every movement. "You're saying... what? You're planning to wipe out most of the population?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, his eyes gleamed with a mixture of pity and something far darker. "Not just the population. Everything."

I didn't flinch, but inside, a cold shock gripped me. "What do you mean everything? Are you telling me SkyGod is planning to—"

He cut me off with a soft chuckle, almost mocking. "You really don't get it, do you? The floods, the fires, the disasters—they're only the beginning. SkyGod is going to trigger a cataclysmic event. Something that will send humanity back to the stone age. A reset."

I could feel the air in the room shift as his words hung in the air. A reset. A deliberate attempt to wipe the slate clean. The more I thought about it, the worse it became. If they had the power to do that—if—the world would never recover. It would be an extinction event.

I took a slow breath. "And you're just a part of this? You don't care about the consequences? You're okay with this?"

Asmund looked at me with a chilling calm. "I don't care about consequences. That's the beauty of it. No more resources wasted on rebuilding what's broken. No more saving a world that was doomed from the start."

The room felt colder now, as though a thousand icy hands were reaching out, gripping me by the throat. "But what happens to the people who survive, Asmund? What's your plan for them?"

His lips twisted into a dark grin. "Survival is irrelevant. It's about control. There will be no more governments, no more corporations. Just the system. Just SkyGod. Reborn from the ashes of the old world."

My stomach churned. I had to keep pushing. "And what about you, Asmund? What happens to you after all this? What's your role in this grand scheme?"

He paused for a moment, his expression flickering for the briefest of seconds. There was something in his eyes—an unreadable emotion. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "You still don't understand, do you? The Architect isn't just dead. The Architect was me, but not in the way you think."

I felt a jolt run through me, a sudden, terrible realization setting in. "What do you mean?"

Asmund's eyes glittered with a knowing smile, and in that moment, I knew he was going to deliver something far worse than I'd anticipated.

"I'm not the only Architect, Devon," he said, voice dripping with dark amusement. "There are others. Much more dangerous than I am. And they've already started the countdown."

My mind raced. There were more? I'd been hunting the wrong person all along.

The door swung open again, and I was pulled away from the table by two guards who had been standing by the doorway, watching the exchange unfold.

I glanced back at Asmund one last time, but it was too late. The walls of this game were closing in.

The Architect was far more than I'd ever imagined.

And the clock was ticking.

~*~*~*~*~*~

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Lady Prim