Maisie sat casually on the couch in Gene’s living room, absentmindedly flipping through a datapad, though her focus was more on the quiet hum of the city outside the window than on the screen in her hands. The conversation they’d had earlier lingered in her mind, but now, there was only the waiting.

  Gene was standing by the window, her arms crossed, gazing out at the skyline. The room was quiet, almost peaceful, aside from the occasional street noise from outside.

  “So… what do you think this is about?” Maisie asked, breaking the silence. She set the datapad aside and leaned back into the cushions, looking over at Gene.

  Gene didn’t immediately respond. She seemed lost in thought, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at the street below. “Honestly? I don’t know,” she said, finally turning her attention back to Maisie. “But I’ve been getting word that they want us involved in something. The White Angels are getting more organized, more focused. It’s not just about awareness anymore.”

  Maisie shifted, watching her carefully. “And you think it’s something important?”

  Gene shrugged, a small, unreadable smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I think it’s time we found out. We’ll hear more once they get here.”

  Just then, there was a knock at the door. Neither of them flinched at the sound—neither was expecting anything else. Gene stood up from the window, walking over to the door. She hesitated for just a moment before opening it, revealing a man standing in the doorway, dressed simply, but someone with a purpose.

  “Genevieve,” he greeted, giving her a nod before turning his attention to Maisie. “Maisie Lennox.”

  Maisie offered a polite smile and nodded back. She had seen enough White Angels to know they kept their distance, their faces rarely showing any kind of warmth.

  “We’ve been asked to speak with both of you,” the man continued, his tone neutral but direct. “There are some things we need to discuss. Nothing urgent, but it's time to get on the same page.”

  Gene stepped aside to let him in, glancing back at Maisie with a small nod. “Well, that’s our cue,” she said, moving toward the table. Maisie followed suit, standing to face the man.

  "Ello, Maisie," Josh, Maisie's senior, greeted, his whispery British accent curling around the words like smoke. He always spoke as if sharing a secret, a habit that made even casual conversations feel like high-stakes conspiracies. Though he hailed from Britain, his ambitions stretched far beyond its borders—he wanted to dismantle corrupt world governments, brick by brick. That desire had led him from the British division of the radical Dark Angels to its ideological counterpart, the White Angels—a group that claimed to fight for justice but often toed the line of extremism. He was an average, lanky man with mousy brown hair, brown eyes, and freckles.

  Maisie leaned against the worn-out wooden table between them, arms crossed. "Hey, Josh. I came to talk about the next political rally in Seattle."

  Seattle had become the battleground for a high-stakes ideological war. Once a beacon of secularism, the city had drawn the attention of the New Christian Church, a group hell-bent on reclaiming religious influence. The irony? Their leader was secretly an atheist—a hypocrite playing the devout for power. The White Angels had sniffed out his deception, as they always did, by peeling back layers of authority to expose ulterior motives. Hard evidence was ideal, but more often than not, defection from within provided the juiciest intel.

  Josh exhaled sharply, his lips curling into a half-smile. "Yeah, here’s the lowdown, miss. We need at least five thousand more attendees locked in within the next week."

  Maisie’s eyes widened. "Five thousand? In a week? That’s—" she hesitated, narrowing her gaze. "And what kind of people are we talking about here?"

  There was always a catch.

  "Alucards, if we can get them," Josh said, his voice low, almost conspiratorial.

  Maisie let out a slow breath, shaking her head. "Damn. That would be nearly impossible. You know how terrified they are. If they show up, they risk everything."

  Josh smirked, the kind of smirk that carried both confidence and calculation. "Fear only lasts until the right push comes along. If we get a handful to commit, they’ll spread the word. Convince one, and they’ll convince another. The cycle feeds itself." He leaned in slightly. "Besides, our leader recorded a holographic speech specifically for them. It’s tailored—meant to get under their skin, stir something up."

  Maisie tapped her fingers against the table, considering. "That... that might work."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Josh’s eyes gleamed. "It sure as hell will. I trust the Director."

  Maisie frowned. “But I don’t get it. If the White Angels are trying to look legitimate, why invite Alucards at all? Wouldn’t that… undermine your whole message?”

  Josh’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “On the surface, yeah. But not if you control the narrative.”

  She stiffened.

  He leaned closer, voice quiet. “Think about it. What happens if a few Alucards show up and—God forbid—something happens? A malfunction. A reaction. A little fear in the right crowd at the right moment?”

  Her blood ran cold. “You’re trying to spark a riot.”

  He gave a slow, infuriating shrug. “Not spark. Stoke. Chaos breeds clarity. People don't change their minds because of speeches. They change when they’re afraid.”

  Maisie sat back, watching him like she didn’t recognize him anymore. “You’d risk people getting hurt?”

  Josh’s gaze darkened. “You think the people running this city care how clean the floor is as long as the house looks polished? This isn’t just about Alucards, Maisie. This rally—it's a stress test. For the system. For loyalty. For visibility.”

  She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

  Josh continued, almost absently, as if repeating someone else’s orders. “The right footage goes viral. The right panic hits the newsfeeds. Suddenly, the bill to restrict Alucard's independent movement gets fast-tracked. No one asks why. They just vote yes.”

  Her mouth went dry. “Is that what the Director told you?”

  He looked away for the first time. “Not in so many words.”

  Maisie’s hands curled into fists under the table.

  So it wasn’t just a trap for Alucards.

  It was a trigger.

  Maisie hesitated, then asked, "What can they do?"

  Josh chuckled, shaking his head. "They can do exactly what we need them to do—push our agenda forward."

  Maisie frowned. "Agenda?"

  Josh arched a brow. "Yes, Maisie. If you haven't figured it out by now, the White Angels have an agenda. We don’t just expose corruption—we replace it with our version of order."

  A strange feeling settled in Maisie’s gut. She had always been a little more naive than the others, a little too willing to follow. But it wasn’t blind devotion—she chose not to see certain truths. The White Angels had given her a sense of belonging, of purpose. That was what mattered.

  Josh leaned back in his seat, his fingers drumming against the edge of the table. His British accent, thick with clipped consonants, drew Maisie’s attention. "I didn’t always roll with this lot," he said with a half-smile, as if the weight of the admission was somehow a point of pride. "Before all this, I was with the Dark Angels. Worked with them back in Britain."

  Maisie raised an eyebrow. "Dark Angels? I thought they were a rival faction."

  Josh’s lips curled into a grin. "Used to be," he said, the words laced with a hint of bitterness. "Back when everything was... more divided. But let’s just say we found common ground when things went south for both sides. The White Angels needed more muscle, and the Dark Angels had plenty to offer. Now we’ve merged, more or less."

  Maisie considered this, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "So you’re all working together now?"

  Josh nodded, his gaze hardening. "We may have different approaches, but we share a common goal—destroying the system. It’s just a matter of making the right moves at the right time."

  Maisie’s eyes flickered with a mixture of intrigue and caution. "And you’re okay with that? With merging forces?"

  Josh’s grin turned rueful. "You don’t get to pick and choose when you’re part of a revolution, miss. Sometimes you have to work with the devil to bring the whole damn system down."

  ___

  "Alright, we have the plan down?" Josh asked, his tone carrying an air of finality.

  Maisie nodded. "Yeah. We gather as many Alucards as we can for the rally. And you want me to take Igor, too?" She exhaled sharply. "That might make things... complicated if something goes wrong."

  Josh smirked. "Of course. A smart Alucard like him would be an asset to our plans."

  Maisie rolled her eyes. Igor? An asset? The thought was almost laughable. She had never found him particularly impressive. To her, he was as exciting as a doorknob—stoic, unyielding, always responding in the same monotonous way whenever she tested him. She had spent countless moments trying to push his buttons, to see if he’d ever break, but he never did. He was maddeningly obedient, impossibly rigid. A true Alucard.

  Besides, he was just a servant. That was all he was meant to be. Anything beyond that was unthinkable. Humans didn’t fall for Alucards. It was forbidden, a concept as absurd as it was revolting in the eyes of society. No matter how striking their human-like forms or how mesmerizing their unnatural eyes were, intermingling with one was considered a perversion-a-a-a—sin as detestable as bestiality.

  Maisie shook off the thought and straightened her posture. She used her pager to command her servant."Igor, bring the car around." Her voice came out sharper than usual, a commanding edge laced with impatience.

  Igor, ever the obedient one, said nothing. He merely nodded and placed his worn copy of 1984 into a hidden compartment in the vehicle, one he had discovered long ago and which no one else ever seemed to notice.

  Maisie barely gave him a second glance before rushing out the door, her urgency matching that of a paramedic sprinting to their truck, ready to answer an emergency call.