Today marked the fiftieth anniversary of the deadly apocalypse. To commemorate it, the terrorizing regime hosted a grand banquet, inviting the business magnates and power brokers who had helped shape Navadia City in such a short span of time.
The Infinity National Conference Centre swelled with guests from every walk of life, especially those who had profited most from the regime's iron grip. Security was suffocating: more than twenty checkpoints, each with its own scanners and measures, made intrusion nearly impossible.
Commander Macavania Markdonia had orchestrated every detail. He would not take chances — tonight, he intended to rewrite history.
Navadia itself stood upon an island, surrounded by endless waters. No one knew the ocean's name. No one entered, and no one left. Questions lingered about what lay beyond the waves, but none dared to seek answers. Survival was enough; people were too busy chasing scraps to dream of escape.
The city was a masquerade of deception. Its beauty was undeniable, its streets alive with those who had miraculously endured the apocalypse — yet beneath the surface, truth was a rare and dangerous commodity.
At the city's heart, the Infinity National Conference Centre rose like a fortress, encircled by canals that served as both ornament and defense. Built to dazzle and to deter, it stood as a monument to power, making theft or infiltration nearly unthinkable.
Valeo and Naomi stood at the shadowed corner of the building, their diving suits clinging to their bodies like second skins. Each carried a backpack, straps taut against their shoulders.
"Are you ready, my love?" Valeo's voice was low, steady. His upright posture and dark curls sharpened his features, making him look almost regal. Slim, tall, athletic — his presence carried both grace and command. His right hand tapped against his thigh, a rhythm of anticipation.
Naomi's smile broke the tension. Her blond hair, tied neatly into a ponytail, gleamed under the streetlight. She couldn't have been more than twenty-one, yet her beauty was the kind that drew eyes from every direction. "Born ready," she said, her grin widening.
Valeo pulled her close, his embrace effortless, as though she were weightless. Their kiss was brief but electric, her face glowing as they parted. Fingers intertwined, they leapt into the canal.
Cold water swallowed them whole. Their grip never loosened as they sank, bubbles streaming upward. Seconds later, beams of light pierced the darkness — their torches igniting the murky depths. They swam with precision, cutting through the water like arrows. Fifty meters vanished beneath their strokes, and in less than two minutes, they surfaced at their destination.
"This is an adventure Macavania will never see coming," Valeo murmured, pulling a hacksaw blade from his pack.
Naomi's grin flashed again. "I couldn't agree more."
Together, they pressed the blades against the sewer pipe. The rasp of metal on metal echoed faintly in the waterlogged silence, the sound of rebellion beginning to carve its way through steel.
Meanwhile, Tvolio slipped into the office of Mr. Damaskard Madifa — the black market master of Navadia's dark web empire.
Disguised in a waiter's attire, a name tag pinned to his chest reading Triv Green, he pushed a trolley of food across the polished floor. His eyes never strayed from the man seated behind the massive, mahogany desk.
The trolley wheels squeaked, sharp against the silence, drawing Madifa's gaze. Tvolio responded instantly with a courteous smile, masking the storm beneath his calm exterior.
"Good evening, sir," he said smoothly, diffusing the cold stare aimed at him. He stopped at the desk, lifting the tray with deliberate care, presenting the meal as though it were an offering.
Madifa's voice cut through the air, stern and unimpressed. "I ordered my food and coffee twenty minutes ago. What took you so long?" His tone carried the weight of authority, his late-forties face hardened by years of ruthless dealings.
Tvolio, only twenty-three, grinned apologetically, his words stumbling just enough to seem genuine. "Sorry, sir… we had a technical problem with the coffee machine. It won't happen again."
Madifa shook his head, disdain flickering in his eyes. Incompetence was a weakness he despised. Yet, as he lifted the cup and took a sip, his expression shifted. A second sip followed, slower, more thoughtful. He nodded once, almost approvingly.
"This tastes better than the one I had this morning," he admitted, his voice softer, though his suspicion lingered in the air like smoke.
Madifa's eyes lingered on Tvolio, who kept his grin wide but natural, never crossing into strangeness.
"Thank you, sir. Is there anything else you'd like me to assist you with?"
Madifa shook his head, taking another sip, his gaze still locked on the young waiter. "No. You may go."
Tvolio turned, his steps measured, and reached for the door handle. Then came the sound — a heavy, dull thud against the carpet.
He froze. The grin on his face sharpened into something almost gleeful. Slowly, he pivoted back toward the desk.
"Ah, Mr. Madifa," he said softly, his tone dripping with mock courtesy. "It seems you won't be attending the banquet at the big table. Allow me to do the honors for you."
He approached with a dancer's flourish, patting Madifa's shoulder as though consoling an old friend. With practiced ease, he slipped into the man's pocket, retrieving his ID. Then, methodically, he dipped Madifa's thumb into ink, pressing it onto the card. One by one, he took the rest of the fingers, completing the ritual with unsettling precision.
When finished, Tvolio gave Madifa's lifeless back a gentle pat. "Thank you, Mr. Madifa, for being such an excellent partner. It was nice doing business with you."
He bit his bottom lip, eyes narrowing in thought, before a sly smile crept across his face. "I look forward to more collaborations."
Whistling a jaunty tune, he strode toward the door, the green smear across his face glowing faintly in the dim light — a mark of triumph, or madness.
Valeo and Naomi had carved the sewer pipe wide enough to slip through. The stench hit them like a wall — acrid, foul, heavy with rot. Naomi winced, her right hand clamping over her nose as her eyes watered.
"You first. As the saying goes, ladies first." Valeo gestured toward the dark opening, his tone half-playful, half-commanding.
Naomi's grin flickered, then she moved suddenly, catching him off guard. Her hands seized his head, pulling him close. Her lips crashed against his in a fiery kiss, fierce and unrestrained.
Valeo froze, stunned, then melted into the moment. The kiss sent chills racing down his spine, igniting every nerve. Her unpredictability was a storm he secretly adored.
When she pulled back, her eyes gleamed with mischief. "As you wish," she whispered, before turning toward the pipe.
Valeo stood there for a heartbeat longer, breath uneven, the taste of her kiss lingering like fire and salt. The mission pressed on, but now his pulse carried a different rhythm — one born of danger and desire entwined.
Naomi had already stepped into the sewer. She turned back to Valeo, her voice echoing softly against the damp walls.
"An't you coming?"
Her sweet tone pulled him out of his dazed state. He shook his head, not in refusal but in wonder — he never tired of hearing her voice. Each syllable intoxicated him, lingering in his ears like music.
"Ah, coming," he muttered, pulling himself in. Naomi was already moving quickly toward their next junction, her footsteps splashing in the shallow water.
---
Meanwhile, in the hotel across town, Tvolio slipped into another room. Three figures awaited him.
"Good. You're all here," he said briskly, handing his phone to the man nearest him. On the screen, multiple angles of Damaskard Madifa's face glowed. "Are you ready to do your magic?"