A calm breeze wound its way through the cemetery, its wind fanning the people who had arrived for the burial—some CEOs, the media—scattering their hair into indefinite shapes their designers would never consider art. But as they say, every problem has its hidden importance; the wind gave them the relief they dearly needed from the heavy, throbbing sun.
A grave was dug deep, shaped perfectly so the casket above could descend without fail.
Army veterans dressed in white and black, rifles pressed at ease near their legs, stood in two straight lines, facing each other eye to eye. It truly looked like the funeral of a very important man—exactly what Linward was aiming for when he planned it all.
"Dearly beloved!"
The pastor—with a robotic arm—began.
"As we set our last eyes on our departing brother, we look at him with sorrow, but with pride as well, knowing he's going to a good place." He added, his gaze drifting toward the Mutts family who stood together as one, their mother in the middle of her two offspring.
There was no proof of it, but everyone could see it: the Mutts looked different—more cooperative than before. A force to be reckoned with.
"Attention!"
One of the soldiers commanded, the parade of respect beginning.
"Yah!" they screamed, raising their rifles.
"Shoot!"
"Pha!"
They fired at once, never letting the recoil move them—trained professionals to the core. The ropes wrapped around the casket, connected to a lever system, began to turn automatically, descending it slowly like a sunset at the beach.
Their mother's eyes filled with tears—tears she desperately held back as if she knew nothing about her husband's death. A skilled artist she was. A deceiver who had all of them—including her own family—fooled.
Marie froze, sunglasses covering her slobbering tears, torn between worrying about her father or her mother. An aching feeling in between.
Elod Mutt… that's my father going down into the ground. I promised you, even before getting my powers, that I'd never let your legacy die with you. And none of that has changed. I'll take them down if I have to.
Ross's voice echoed inside him, louder than ever—confidence off the charts, so loud even Medussa recognized it instantly.
In Ross's consciousness, Medussa was usually just a group of lines—like a clean, black screen. But in that second, she twitched. Her clear structure strained, driving jagged lines through her form, like a glitch—new cracks forming—before snapping back to normal.
This was something different. Ross was more confident, maybe because of new power. No… it was something else. Seeing his father's casket descend, watching him return to dust—it awakened something in him.
A humane feeling.
A survival instinct that had been locked deep in his soul.
After two minutes, the casket finally touched the bottom of the grave—a position damned to last for eternity. In that moment, Nature looked more evil than good. A life given, taken for no reason at all.
A trumpet was blown. A melody—the kind they play at a soldier's funeral.
Men approached, similar to the soldiers but dressed differently. They knew what they came for: burying the soil that would cover Elod Mutt's casket. With shovels in hand, they started their duty.
It's said that with every batch of soil thrown into a grave, a person forgets a memory of the deceased—a scenario completely opposite to what the Mutts were feeling.
...
Not far from the funeral, two men and a woman in suits stood still, watching from a distance, a black car parked behind them. They positioned themselves where no one from the funeral could easily notice.
"A beautiful view, innit?"
Roy muttered.
He looked completely different—almost weird. Less like an outlaw and more like an office worker. His hair was brushed neatly with oil, straightened. The black suit fit him perfectly, like it was sewn directly onto him. At a glance, he could easily be mistaken for an MI6 agent.
"Yeah… prey in one place is truly a sight to behold," Zabi answered, eyes locked on Ross, who stood at the front watching the men finish covering the grave.
"In Africa, if this same scenario happened, people would blame the kids—say they wanted their father's money."
"Damn, that's terrible," Roy said, though his tone said otherwise.
"It is. The shallow mindset we grew up with. That's why after fixing this country, I'm heading back to my hometown. First thing I'll do is kill all the corrupt leaders."
The determination in his voice was large and heavy. Roy looked at him, and that's when he realized—Zabi meant every single word.
Their interest peaked when the microphone buzzed on, the pastor clutching it in hand.
"May the family of the deceased come and plant their flowers," he announced.
A woman stepped forward with a bouquet of beautiful red flowers, extending her hands for the Mutts to choose from.
Gertrude—Mrs. Mutt—went first, walking slowly as if her leg hurt, careful not to reopen her fresh wound. The tears she'd been holding burst free. She collected her rose, then kneeled near the grave, shakily planting it.
"That bitch is a good actor," Roy smirked, impressed and proud.
"She's fantastic. Too bad we might have to shut her up, considering the mix-up that just occurred," Zabi muttered, no emotion whatsoever in his voice.
"Don't clip her before I get a piece of her. I wanna see how sweet she is," Roy said casually, as if he wasn't saying something inhuman, even catching the attention of the woman behind them.
"She might be old enough to be your mother," Zabi said as Gertrude stood and walked back to her place.
"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't. I don't know, I never met her. Besides, you can't blame me—I'm not the first to think about her like that. There was this dude at the hospital who was clapping her. He was found dead yesterday. And you know me—I love myself a dangerous woman."
Marie walked forward, quick and composed. When she arrived, she kneeled and planted her flower.
"I get it now," Zabi said, his tone shifting, mocking him while still watching Marie's movements.
"What?"
"Why your wife left you—you're too horny."
"Fuck you… and you're right."
"Shhh. Our boy's about to plant his flower. Check the readings," Zabi ordered.
The woman retrieved a device from the car and turned it on.
Beereep.
"Why can't we just rain on them now?" Roy asked, confused.
"You see that guy over there?"
He pointed to the far end of the cemetery. A man was placing flowers on another grave, completely unbothered by the billionaire funeral happening beside him.
"Yeah?"
Roy inquired.
"He's undercover. Detective Armstrong. New guy. We barely know anything about him, except he has a family in another country… and he's extremely intelligent."
"So let's pop him."
"We can't. We don't know his trump card."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The device interrupted ringing repeatedly like a suffocating patient on life support.
A point appeared. Readings spiked.
Instantly the arrow vibrated, cosmic energy pushing the measure to its limit, producing a frictioned sound like it was about to collapse and break.
"The kid's carrying a punch," Roy said, amazed.
"Don't worry about that," Zabi muttered.
"I have a punch of my own."