His sudden question catches me off guard. For the first time, instead of dismissing me as too young, he’s showing interest in what I think.
And I do have an answer. A very detailed one. But should I tell him? Should I admit that my idea of the perfect boy looks too much like him?
He stops mid-pushup. I slide down from his back.
Zoan rises, dusting his palms on his pants, and his ice-colored eyes lock onto mine. Demanding an answer.
“I don’t like any type of boys.”
He wipes the sweat from around his neck with a towel.
“If I ever date someone, it will be someone like you,” I add with a smile.
Something shifts in his eyes. They become clearer, sharper, ice without cracks. “Why?” he asks.
I shrug, grinning. “Because you’re the coolest person I’ve ever seen. You’re tall, strong, handsome, intelligent, caring.” I press my grin wider. “And you love me a lot.”
He nods.
Zloban (18 years old)
She only knows the part of me I allow the world to see. Not the shadowed part I bury in silence. The part that craves blood, violence, domination, and complete control over a girl who is just thirteen.
To her, I am the caring, protective big brother. And for now, we both need this illusion. Because the moment it shatters, she will never look at me with those innocent eyes again.
I set the freshly cleaned handgun back into its case among the others. My hands move automatically, breaking down my Horizon rifle piece by piece. This weapon was designed by dad, but the modifications are mine. Sleeker barrel, custom scope, faster recoil recovery. I run the brushthrough the chamber, wipe it clean, then blow softly into the receiver before sliding it back together.
Leo steps into my room, walking straight to the balcony. “Did your title reach you?”
I blow across the bolt assembly one last time before locking it into place. “What title?”
He leans against the railing, smirking. “Phantom Sniper. Every shooter in the underworld wants to meet you.”
Last week I pulled the trigger on the military chief from four kilometers away, with Horizon in my hands. Now the news is spreading like wildfire. Limelight. Attention. All the things I despise.
“No one needs to know that sniper is me.”
Leo shrugs. “Of course. People are asking Dad and Uncle, but I don’t think they’ll tell anyone.”
They better not.
Now Dad, Mom, Uncle, and Aunt are all in D.C. Dad and Uncle for business, their wives simply because they can’t bear being away from them.
“Has the new President and Chief been appointed?” I ask.
Leo nods. “The news will be announced tomorrow, but all the formalities are already done.”
Now Dad and Uncle hold absolute power over the States. The President will be nothing more than a mask while Uncle pulls strings in the shadows. The military isalready under Dad’s grip. They’ve been working toward this for more than a decade. Every weapon in the country carries Dad’s design. And now, even nuclear arsenals and civilization-breaking technologies fall under our control.
“When are you going to test your Zino?” Leo asks.
“The final trial run will be over by next week. Then I’ll test it.”
Zino. A software born from years of my work. It’s a networked intelligence that sees everything. Every individual entering this country, every citizen living within its borders, will have a digital identity stored inside Zino’s database. The moment someone steps under a surveillance camera, whether public, private, street-side, or hidden, Zino will trace them, match their facial structure, gait, and heat signature, and lock them under their identity profile.
Every movement, every interaction, every deviation from a person’s routine will be recorded and analyzed in real time. Even in a crowd of thousands, it can isolate one face. Every human living here is within our accessible sight.
The sound of my door opening comes, followed by the light footsteps.
