Brave New World (Razgriz x darkangel76)

*Year 6653*

The Earth was doomed; or rather, its people were as many had predicted. The oceans were horrifically polluted, the air had grown near impossible to breathe without filtration, and the food supply was running out. It was so bad that people had to travel in tubes connecting their homes and the governments of the various nations had to imposing incredibly strict rationing protocols. Disease was rampant and people died by the hundreds of thousands every day...Except for the financially well-off and those who had something truly exemplary to give to society. However, it wasn’t all bad to some people: Even with the people suffering, the reduced populations meant that more focus could be put on technology, and with it came stunning advances in all areas of science and manufacturing. The only downside was that the common folk – the middle class having been all but erased – could not afford these things by and large, and still many more would die off.

Because of this, the wealthy and other chosen few were gifted in that they could actually own their own house; food was in good supply for them and overall did not have the worries of the 'common man'. All others had to live in modified high-rise buildings, canned together like sardines and wait for food shipments to be delivered and distributed. It was truly a horrific sight; and to make matters worse, it seemed like they wouldn't even live to enjoy that much. An enormous asteroid, twice as big as the one that supposedly killed the dinosaurs, was on a collision course with Earth; having already hit a gravitational keyhole, impact was an unavoidable certainty. To combat this, the governments of the world had only one option: Save a select few, their best and brightest, and give them means to survive the impact.

For those selected, they would that it would require something unusual: Giving consent for a procedure that would shut their bodies down and allow them to survive the coming apocalypse. No one knew where the procedure came from or who invented; well they did, but it turned out that the submitter was a false identity. Even still, with this, trials performed on some of the lesser populations proved that it was an effective means of preservation. The sole document had everything: How to build the nanites and the stasis cells, how to replace the blood with the serum containing said nanites, literally everything even including structural plans for specially-designed bunkers that would allow the majority of those chosen to survive magnitude-10 earthquakes and above.

And so it was that those who were accepted into the program underwent the procedure and were placed into the bunkers; thankfully, the bunkers themselves were completed well before the asteroid would hit. Soon, the bunkers were sealed tight, buried deep within the mantle of the Earth itself as the remaining citizens were left to fend for themselves. Some tried to find the bunkers, but all failed, and could only wait for the great collision; in a flash, billions were annihilated. Taken from the face of the planet in the blink of an eye, the world's surface forever terraformed by the force of the asteroid's impact. When or if the survivors emerged from their cells, they would find the world much different.

*Year 9519*

The first of the new humans emerged from their stasis cells, taken aback by the new world they found themselves in; in the nearly three thousand years they were gone, nature had largely restored itself. However, much of the land was now barren desert; the impact of the asteroid had decimated much of the forestry, leaving many regions without trees or plants. The terrain had changed much as well, leaving almost nothing that wasn’t rocky flatlands or mountainous expanse.

However, this would prove useful to the newly arrived humans; the total number was unknown of how many had awakened, but it numbered less than twenty million as people tried to re-establish a sense of order into this chaos. And from these ranks rose a very powerful and charismatic man, one Anselm Ehrlichmann; before he was selected to be in the Resurrection of Mankind – or ROM – he was a gifted and natural born leader of the old country of Germany. His clock had frozen when the nanites were installed in his body, so he was still the young age of twenty-eight biologically speaking; despite being so young, however, he would soon prove his capacity to lead.

And so from his natural ability to lead came a rise to power and order that few suspected but many appreciated; having many of his former associates with him also helped greatly, as they were able to build a fine city that would be the envy of all. And though it took many years, to this day it was still the shining jewel of the new world, the beacon that summoned all who wanted a sense of the old life back. In this city – what would come to be called the Capital City – he was a fair and just King. It wasn’t the system of democracy that people were used to, but more modeled along the parliament system that Great Britain had used so long ago.

*Year 9639, Present Day*

It was these memories that rolled through his mind as he sat upon his throne, dressed in extremely elegant clothing befitting one of his status. His sapphire blue eyes glinted with intelligence and passion for his position in the light that filtered through the windows of the ‘Castle’, the great building in the center of Berlin where the Royal Family presided. The shoulder-length platinum hair framed his strong-face and the well-groomed beard help add a certainly sagely quality to his appearance. His size from his Scandinavian heritage - his height standing at about six and a half feet tall - did off-put people at times, but once the people saw his demeanor they knew there was nothing violent or overly aggressive about this man.

However, none of that really mattered; he was King and the people were happy. He was just about to dismiss his advisors from a rather tiresome meeting; nothing out of the ordinary had happened, mostly status updates and those seeking advice and assistance on matters of this and that. Poverty was being slowly reduced, businesses were seeing a tremendous growth in traffic, and the quality of life – as the people had rated – was at an all-time high.

However, that all took a back seat when it came to the most important thing in the room: His lovely Queen that graced his side; to think that they met - in his eyes, at least - such a short time ago. Then again, who was he to deny taking her to be his Queen? Her perfection was something that could hardly stand to be put for words alone. “My Lord and Lady, will there by anything else?” he then heard an advisor, a slightly portly dark-skinned man in a clean-pressed suit by the name of Reginald Thaddeus, ask to jar him from a state of slight daydreaming.

Her thoughts swirled as she sat there in her gauzy white attire—body perched on the edge of her seat, while her tiny hands gripped its edge—pondering how events unfolded as they did. Ah, but Helena Dorian knew. Her mind was always working, the synapses firing as she analyzed every situation before her, every possible road to be traveled, every path that could possibly be traversed. And so many had presented themselves over her twenty-two years. To think it had finally come to this. Her blue eyes fluttered and she steeled a glance at the proud man sitting beside her. Ever so subtly, she moved a bit closer, her lips quirking up into the barest hint of a smile.

Helena's thoughts of her past—so much strife and hardship—were interrupted when their advisor spoke. His voice cut her to the bone. Was there anything else indeed! Oh, there was plenty. She could think of so many from the past who were deserving of her wrath and fury now that she could properly inflict it. But patience was needed if her strikes were to be true and fatal and it was no way to gain respect or—her cheeks flushed slightly at the thought—power.

Biting down on her lower lip, Helena's smile broadened. She thought on how much she'd overcome in the past few years, how much her life had changed and for the better. No one would keep her down. Not a soul. She would take that knife and be the last face they saw as she plunged it deep into the hearts of those who claimed she'd never become anything, would remain a nobody for all time. She giggled softly, a tiny sigh rolling over her lips as she glanced over at her King.

"I do believe there is one thing, my lord," Helena said, her icy eyes locking to those of the radiant man beside her. She tilted her head; blonde locks cascading over slender shoulders making her appear as angelic as ever. "I've been meaning to speak to you about a particular matter regarding Charles Vincent." Her voice got softer the more she spoke; the hushed tones a means of indicating the seriousness of this issue, at least to her.

Helena hated Charles Vincent with every fiber of her soul, the name making chills run along her spine, her very blood to boil as screams pounded against her skull. Visions of her fingers tearing at his flesh as he died a painfully slow death made her smile inwardly, but as of now, she knew he was sitting somewhere hidden away with his friends and companions. Only... she knew where he was hidden. Her smile grew at that thought. That selfish bastard! Couldn't even help a girl and her father! To think a silly and pointless revolution was more important! It only showed where his loyalties lied and where his priorities were. But she showed him in the end. After all, she was now sitting next to the King and he was out there...

"Charles Vincent, I do believe is a threat to the peace you are trying to maintain," Helena continued. Quietly, gently, she let her small hand move to rest against her King's thigh. "He has been gathering supplies, more importantly, weapons, my lord." Her expression became one of worry, of fear. "He could be trouble and he has no heart. He is everything you are against, seeking to cause rebellion and..." Her voice trailed as she bit down on her lower lip, tears welling up in her blue eyes as she blinked them back. Swallowing hard, she let out a soft sigh. "There's more and I wish to speak to my King alone."

Helena gave Reginald, the advisor a curt nod and dismissed him momentarily, letting him know she wished for a moment with her King.

"There is more," Helena added, her face going pale. "I do not wish to make this personal, but I fear I must out of necessity." She paused a moment. "For you, for everything you are trying to do." Sucking in a sharp breath, she held it for a moment before slowly exhaling. "Charles Vincent is the man who had been helping me and my father for a time, before we lost everything." Her cheeks flushed then and she averted her gaze. "He was the one who had been seeing to our welfare before cutting us off, providing us with medicine and other such things. It's because of him my father died!" Her face showed sadness of the memory of losing her father. "Justice must be served! People like him shouldn't be allowed to prey upon the good of your society... not if they are planning to stir up revolution!" Her hands began to shake and she reached up to touch his face. "Imagine what he might try to do," she stated. "You cannot have that. You are everything to these people. To me."

Helena's eyes locked to her King's, her mind racing with hatred toward Charles, her heart pounding as she thought of his death.

"Please, my lord, my love. He needs to be eliminated. Show these people that they are safe with you leading them, that justice will always prevail." Helena's expression went thoughtful, her body moving closer as she gently caressed her King's cheek. "Show me that I am safe."

Anselm just gazed upon his queen as she sat there, looking far too regal and yet still managing to be nothing short of perfect. Ever since they'd been together, she was everything he could have hoped for in a woman: Caring, fierce, and loyal. To think she had to raise herself up from such despair; though perhaps that was what drew her to him. She was a struggler, trying to make her way in life when there was nothing left to protect or comfort her. She never did say what happened to her family; after all, she was relatively young (compared to him). But he figured that was something she would reveal to him in her own time. It was not his place to question such things, after all; each person was their own and that was something he always tried to respect.

Though his eyes did widen a bit as Helena confirmed there was something to talk about; this surprise only grew as the name 'Charles Vincent' was mentioned. What did he have to do with any of this? That man was a good friend of his, surely there was a misunderstanding? Maybe he heard the name wrong? His eyes then wandered down to the delicate hand that rested on his thigh; the fact that concern laced every syllable of her voice also did nothing to ease what she might have to say. "A threat? How would you come such a conclusion? What does Charles have to do with any of this?" he then asked, unaware of the answer he was going to receive.

He was about to ask if she had said the right name before she then went into detail about Charles, going so far as to even say that he would plot against him, rebel against his rule. Surely this was a joke; Charles was one of the many men who helped him make sure his subjects were happy and safe! He was one of the trusted few alongside Reginald as his advisor; speaking of which, upon the queen's request, the man gave a small bow and respectfully showed himself out. "My Queen, surely there must be some mistake...Charles is one of my most trusted men, a man who has faithfully served the crown" he replied; though his eyes went wide as she accused him of being the cause of her father's death.

Well, now this was quite the pickle, he thought; Charles was a good man. Always had been. However, he wasn't a leader because of his naivete; he could read people, and the flames behind her eyes showed deep-rooted anger and sadness. "My beloved..." he stated simply as she touched his face, their eyes locking with each other like any two deeply in love would, even as he reached up and touched her hand with his own. "I do not understand...But whatever did happen to your father, I will make this right. But know that what you accuse Charles of is nothing short of treason".

Taking his hand from hers and placing both of his to her cheek, Anselm added, "However, I am not like the Kings of old; I will handle him personally and he will be allowed to say his piece. To simply eliminate him without getting his side of the story would spark fear in the populace; it's that kind of fear that caused the downfall of so many other kingdoms". For a moment, a steely look crossed his features, "However, if he is found guilty...If it does turn out that he conspires against me, he will be held accountable for his actions". His face then softened a little as he leaned over and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I do not know why he would conspire, as I feel I have been a fair and just King. But the truth must be uncovered...Sevin! Constabil!"

At that declaration, two men dressed in Royal Guard armor - streamlined suits designed for comfort and durability, finished in dark grey - carrying standard-issue assault rifles approached the throne and knelt before the King and Queen. "What is it you require, m'Lord?" Sevin asked; Anselm just responded, "Seek out Charles Vincent and let him know I wish to speak with him. It is a matter of grave importance". "As you wish, m'Lord" Constabil finished, both of the guardsmen rising to carry out their orders. As they walked out the door, Anselm turned to his lovely Queen, "Fret not, my dear; we shall get to the bottom of this. I swear it to you with my life".

Immediately, Helena's mind began to work quickly as she tried not to seethe at what she'd just heard. Charles Vincent had been the source of her hatred ever since the death of her father. The man, as far as she was concerned, deserved a slow and painful death, the worst kind of torture the mind could hope to conjure up. Mercy? Hah! She inwardly scoffed at the idea of it. The man deserved no such thing after what he'd put her through. The promises... all of them lies. She knew exactly where his loyalties lied and they certainly had not been with her. Nor with the king! The man was selfish beyond compare, only having eyes for his needless little rebellion. Her heart twisted roughly as memories flooded her.

Ah yes, Charles' pitiful rebellion. Clearly she was the only one in the know of this little secret.

So much talk of rising up against the king, of taking both him down along with his Enforcers. But for what purpose? Helena had never seen a reason to usurp the king. Not even during the worst of times. She never faulted the man for being born into power and he only did what he saw fit to keep his people happy. Though, her own circumstances had been far less fortunate until the fateful day their paths had crossed, that day when she'd made certain he'd notice her, that they'd talk, that they'd... Her mind drifted further.

Helena had done what she'd needed to survive. It had always come to that—scavenging, selling wares on the secret black markets where the Enforcers couldn't trace your goods. People earned more that way. Much more. But of course, in doing such things, one ran the risk that wares got into the wrongs hands, that their name would be turned in, that they could lose everything.

Helena's insides burned when she recalled how the Enforcers seized everything she had. They'd taken everything, even the last bit of medicine. And it was all thanks to Charles. The venom in her blood roiled inside, ebbing and flowing with each beat of her heart.

Charles had helped Helena learn how to scavenge the best—what to look for and where to find it. Being smaller in frame and light on foot, she'd often go in to remote areas on the fringe of town where population was scarce and get what she could. She and Charles would split the earnings fifty-fifty until the day she found a weapon she couldn't identify. Who knew that such a device would matter more than she did. The whole thing repulsed her. Thankfully, she didn't have to worry about that any longer.

The weather had just begun to turn colder and Helena's father had fallen ill again after a short recovery from a previous illness. She'd feared the worst and was unable to get more medicine, to replenish the dwindling supply. Money was short and supplies at an all time low. She was desperate to get him what he needed, knowing that before long they'd be out and without more, he'd be facing death. Weapons, so she knew, were always difficult to find on any scavenging expedition. So, to find one, especially one in good shape like the one she'd managed to score, was even more of an oddity. Charles immediately took interest and promised he could fix the thing up, make it worth twice what it was after one of his mechanic friends got a hold of it. Not giving it much thought, she allowed him to take it. Not once, did she think she'd never see the weapon again.

Days passed and Charles ceased talk of the weapon, meanwhile Helena's father was getting worse. When she asked him about it, he brushed her off, telling her that it took time to handle such things. When days turned to over a week, her worries grew to anger. She needed the medicine. They worked as a team. Charles finally broke and told her about how the weapon was worth more than money, that it could help the rebellion he was planning. In her fury, she threatened to turn him in for plotting against the king, but Charles only smiled, reminding her that he could always turn her in for selling wares on the black market. After all, he wasn't the one who did the selling and risked his name. She was.

Resigning herself to her situation, Helena gritted her teeth and accepted that she'd need to find another way to get her father the medicine he needed. She also told Charles she wished to never see him again. In his anger, he slapped her across the face and told her to leave, which she did gladly.

Helena broke herself from her reverie of thought as she looked into the eyes of Anselm, her king. He truly was the picture of perfection. But he was blind to what was going on about him. Weak. He spoke about Charles as if the man were his brother, yet the vile snake was planning to take him down along with his trusted Enforcers. Oh, the very thought made her sick, made the bile rise in her throat. No. No, it wouldn't happen while she was by his side. She would see to that. She would make sure that he would remain the great king he was supposed to be.

"I understand that you must do as you need, my lord," Helena said, her voice soft. Her blue eyes looked straight into his. "You are just and will do what is right. It is one of the reasons why I love you so deeply," she added. Tilting her head slightly, she frowned, tears welling in her eyes. "I know justice will be served in the end. Those who've done wrong can't stay hidden forever."

Helena's heart pumped fast and hard beneath her breast as she sat there looking at her husband. She could feel her breaths quicken as her thoughts raced and swirled.

"You might want your men to also seek out Garrett Watson. He was Charles' mechanic. He can be found in the northern sector of Capital City on the fringe. If you grant the man safety, he might be willing to speak." She swallowed hard as a tear ran down a pale cheek. "Besides, he is quite skilled. It might be good to have him employed under your rule."

Helena sniffled a little as she tried to blink back tears that had already fallen. Her angelic features still looked flawless despite the fact that her eyes were a watery mess. Though her face showed anxiety and fear, she was the picture of calm on the inside.

"And I'm sure both men can tell you that Charles is the one who turned me, who..." Helena stammered. "Who caused me to lose everything... even my father." At that, she broke into a tiny sob, her hands moving to cover her face as she let herself cry softly.

Anselm laid gaze upon his beautiful queen as the two men left to procure Charles; even though at first she showed no real outward signs of distress over his announcement, he could just tell that she was bothered. Was Charles really guilty of such things? Why would he even want to lead a rebellion? He'd been treated well, hadn't he? Sure there were things Anselm had to do, but it was all in the name of order and being able to utilize what few resources there were around here. Scavenging parties could only bring in so much, and while he realized that sometimes the split between what went to the crown and the people could be perceived as unfair, he always made sure that the people got the lion's share of what was brought in. After all, it was his responsibility to lead them, wasn't it?

Anselm found his concerns momentarily allayed when she commented on his desire to be just and fair; a smile curled the corners of his lips at the thought. He'd always tried to act in the interest of the people. He knew their plight...Emerging into an unknown future, where much of what was once grand civilization had been reduced to mere rubble. Fresh from the hell that had been their old world, it was a chance to start fresh. To try and do things right; sad as it was, experience was the best teacher. And Anselm was determined to lead all who were loyal to a tomorrow free of the vices that had once plagued them.

Though his heart dropped when his beloved began to leak such tears of obvious sadness; it pained him to see such a strong, beautiful queen in agony. Standing from his throne, he went to kneel by his Lady's side, taking hold of her quivering hand in his own and stroking her fair cheek with the free one. "Whatever it is you require, I will bring you peace of mind, my beloved". He then turned and barked to two other guards standing on either side of the large doors of the throne room entrance, "Argul! Tauph! Find Garret Watson and bring him here! Tell him that I merely wish to seek an audience with him and that no harm will befall him". The two guards gave a curt nod and soon took their leave.

"I'll not force him to work for me, gifted as he is, but if he is willing to become a part of the Royal Staff then I will extend him such an invitation. Last I checked he seemed immovable about abandoning his family's shop. Something I can certainly respect". When Helena began to sob harder, Anselm tried to console her, "Hush now, my beautiful Queen. Know that I will not rest until this is resolved. Even though you're no less magnificent like this...I cannot stand to see tears run down your cheeks". Placing a hand on the back of her head, he then brought his shoulder for her to rest her head on, stroking her long blonde mane in a loving manner.

Eventually, a small struggle was heard outside the throne room; planting a gentle kiss to her forehead, Anselm then stood just as the doors opened to reveal Charles Vincent. The man stood at an even five foot four, dressed in fine clothing denoting one of his station: Black slacks with a white button-shirt tucked into the waist, a black vest over that and a red dress coat hanging off his lean shoulders. Green eyes, full of intelligence and cunning, peered at his King as he brushed off his shoulder and ran a hand through his short-trimmed brown hair. "He tried to resist, my Lord. Said he was busy, he did but failed to confide exactly what that business was" said Sevin, to which Charles replied, "I did not resist, you lout! I had several important clients I was preparing to meet! The work I do is of utmost importance to the crown!"

Giving a defeated sigh, Charles then turned to Anselm and gave a smile, "But since this is obviously a matter that cannot wait...Anselm, my dear friend. Forgive my brashness, but you know I don't take kindly to having my schedule interrupted". Anselm's eyes narrowed a little, but gave a chuckle after a few moments. "It is fine, dear Charles; though I ask you show Sevin some respect from now on. He has to put up with me all day, after all". Sevin smirked, "Forgive me, I would gladly serve you even if you were being a temperamental brat, m'Lord. You have done well for me and my family, as you do all who reside within the Capital and its outlying districts". Charles frowned ever so slightly, but then turned to Sevin and stated, "Forgive my rudeness". Sevin, being the kind-hearted gentleman, waved his hand nonchalantly and replied, "'It is well; not many can bear the burden of managing communications between the Royal Family and the District Governors".

And with the business settled, Charles turned once more back to Anselm "So, my King...What is it you require of me?" At this, Anselm's expression fell as he replied, "There is no easy way to bring this up, my friend. But my dear Queen has told me something troubling, and it upsets her so. She has told me...That you're leading a rebellion?" Charles appeared genuinely stupefied, but then gave a wide smile and chuckle, "My Lord, forgive me, but it appears your lovely wife has not been getting proper rest". His eyes drifted over to her, the gaze hardening almost imperceptibly to anyone but Helena before returning to Anselm, "Besides, what on Earth would I have reason to rebel for? You're the savior of these people, their hero. You helped create order when there was naught but chaos. That's something to be commended, not torn down".

Anselm appeared somewhat satisfied, but then added, "She also tells me...That you were the one who caused her to be orphaned. Who made her lose everything...Is this true?" "My friend, I honestly do not know where this is all coming from! I only serve to manage the channels of communication between the districts. That is all; besides, who would be so corrupt of soul to do such a thing?" Charles, while managing to keep his cool on the outside, was admittedly starting to panic. "Damn her...Damn her to bloody hell. I was friends with Anselm long before she even came into the picture, no way I'm letting her unravel it all" Charles thought to himself, keeping his composure but infuriated that Helena...that troublesome young girl who threatened to derail the only means of checking against a tyrant...would try to use her new position to implicate him.

Helena smiled inwardly as she cried. How soothing Anselm could be when she needed him. It was a far cry from the life she'd known in the past when she'd had no one, when she'd had to bite down on the inside of her cheek until she drew blood. Just taking all the onslaughts of life until she literally collapsed, only to pick herself back up again. Yes, she was strong. Stronger than most could ever hope to know or comprehend. But it was nice—this—having someone there to look down upon her with such eyes and in such an adoring manner. She nuzzled against his neck, moving closer to take in the heat of his body as he consoled her.

Just then, Helena heard the scuffles. She buried her face against Anselm's chest for a brief moment, the smile on her lips there and then gone as she pressed a kiss against him before he stood up to address their newly arrived company. Sitting up, she turned to look at the one man who'd altered her life forever, his face etched into her mind like the worst burn. She wished she could rid herself of the memory. But there was no way to quench it, no way to quell herself of the anger she felt as her icy eyes fell upon his face. That face that made all the hatred she felt nearly bubble up to the surface, making her want to rush to his side so she could strangle him right then and there.

But no. No. Helena was too dignified for that. Especially now. She sat upon a throne and watched her Anselm as he began to prod with questions, ever so slowly making the first cracks in the shield that Charles wore as his armor. Carefully, she watched that abhorrent man, gauging his reactions with cool and steady calm. She licked her lips as she watched, her heart hammering beneath her breast. With fluid grace, she brought a handkerchief to her blue eyes and dabbed at them, wiping away the tears. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks were flushed as she watched on. She then tucked the handkerchief away.

Smoothing out her sheer, gauzy gown, Helen stood up. Her frame was tiny, petite and diminutive, yet so regal as she took several steps to be at Anselm's side. Slowly, she brought up a delicate hand and rested it upon the mighty king's chest, her slender fingers toying with one of the many adornments he wore. She looked up at him, her body moving closer. She looked like an angel as she stood there, smiling through watery eyes. "Perhaps," she said softly. "Your friend needs to be reminded of some things." Her fingers moved upward along his chest and gently brushed his platinum hair only for her to drop them to her side.

Helena gave Anselm another smile and backed away. Slowly, she turned around and faced Charles where he stood, her steps not ceasing as she continued her approach. The light as it filtered through the 'castle' made her glow, every curve flattered by the filmy gown she wore. She kept her expression solemn, emotionless, her hands still as she continued to walk. Finally, she stood in front of Charles and, despite his small stature, she still had to look up into his eyes. Though, as she did, the air only seemed to grow colder, her calm more controlled than ever. No, he hardly frightened her. Never again, would anyone such as he frighten her.

"Charles Vincent," Helena stated softly. She turned to look at Anselm. "You remember Silas Dorian, do you not?" she went on. "Or perhaps I might need to my husband to fetch Garrett Watson?" She paused a moment. "Now, we will be speaking to him anyway, so perhaps you might want to choose your next words quite carefully."

Helena stalked around Charles as she spoke, careful to keep her head down, her tone soft and calm. Her body remained close as she circled the man. Yes, he was the prey and she was the predator and she would make certain he'd confess his crime, that her father be avenged. One way or another... he would pay for what he'd done!

"Also, as we speak, men will be searching for your list of so-called clients," Helena continued. "We will want to make certain that they understand the reason for your..." she chuckled softly. "Current delays." She was behind Charles now. Slowly, almost sensuously, she placed a tiny hand upon his shoulder. She slid it off and then walked back to her husband.

As Helena approached Anselm—back facing Charles—her blue eyes began to well up with tears once more. She sucked in a sharp breath and bit down on her lip. Immediately, she looked over at her husband and gave him a look seeking his approval. While she looked at him, she smiled on the inside, her calculated calm still quite present and feeling as though she'd cracked Charles' shield just that bit more.

Charles was honestly at a loss of what to do; the way the Queen stared at him, boring right into his soul and reading through his attempt at his deception. Damn her, she would spoil everything if he didn't act soon enough. But what could he do? Anselm was in fact a dear friend, and even though he gathered as many as possible to be ready to rebel should that day come he did not bear much in the way of ill will towards the King. Were there decisions that should have been handled better? Of course, but that was the nature of politics. There was bound to be a screw-up somewhere...It was just the way things were.

But his gaze hardened as the Queen laid her hand on his shoulder, his mind fighting every instinct to wrench it from beneath her slender fingers lest he accidentally give any evidence of guilt to her statements. "Silas Dorian...No, I do not believe I recall that name, Your Highness" he then replied as sincerely as possible; of course, he was seething on the inside. Just what the hell was her problem anyway? Hadn't he helped her? Hadn't he helped her perfect the art of scavenging and get the best that the wasted ruins of cities old had to offer? So he took ONE little weapon, a weapon that would give them an edge over the forces of the King.

"You think you're so smart...I know Mr. Watson will never talk to you. He and I have worked together far too long to let you spoil anything, you impudent little brat" he fumed in his mind, holding his tongue and managing to keep his composure. Even as she turned his back on him, Charles never let his guise falter for he was still under the eye of the King, who watched the events with clear confusion. "I appreciate the consideration, Your Majesty...I do have a busy schedule to keep after all, so it will do my connections good to have them know where I am" he then replied to her snide remark, allowing the ever-slightest hint of venom to enter his tone.

Anselm, all the while, watched with uncertainty as to who was deceiving him and who was being truthful; Charles was a very close friend and his beautiful Helena held the key to his heart. To think that one of them - or both, even - might be trying to win his favor by so subtly going for each other's throats...It was somewhat disturbing to even consider the possibility. Seeing his wife bite her lip and gaze upon him with such obvious sadness melted his heart however, and he gave her a small nod of approval. "Charles...I have to ask you, is there any reason the people would want to rebel? Have I not been a fair King?" The friend seemed taken aback; no way he was siding with her! "My Lord, why would you even ask such a thing? Have you not seen the praise you receive, how content your subjects are? As I said, you restored a semblance of order to this savage world. Gave people a place they could call home; do you honestly believe anyone would be foolish enough to tear it down?"

His friend's words seemed to calm Anselm's worries a little, but then he asked in addition "Still, I can't help but feel there is something you're not telling me. My dear Queen is clearly upset with you for SOME reason; all I seek is to know what it is. To help you two come to some sort of reconciliation...". Charles grinned a little uncertainly, his hand running through his locks in slight ansiness "My Lord, I assure you..." But before Charles could finish his statement, a guard came back and knelt before the crown. "Apologies for the intrusion, Your Majesty...But Mr. Watson is here per your request. Shall I send him in?" Anselm paused, staring at the guard with slight confusion before turning to look at his wife; after all, it was she who prompted him to call in Mr. Watson.

Helena nodded immediately at the prospect of calling in Garrett Watson. In all honesty, it was all too perfect for the mechanic to brought in so quickly. Her head turned slightly and her cool, blue eyes cast a sharp glance over at Charles as he stood there, so pathetically, across the way. That man would pay for all that he'd done to her father, to her! He'd ruined her life, took away the only family she'd had! And for what? A pitiful ideal that bore no merit whatsoever. She looked over at Anselm, her eyes softening as her hand reached out to touch his arm.

"I think it best, my beloved," Helena said softly against Anselm's ear. "Garrett Watson is the one who worked on the weapon that was to save my father. The weapon..." Her voice trailed, faltering slightly as she choked back tears. Swallowing hard, she set her jaw and continued. "It was the very weapon that man..." Her voice dripped venom as she subtly gestured toward Charles standing alone and looking on. "Planned to use against you. It was rare and valuable. He couldn't bear losing it to someone like me, losing it so that I could sell it for money to provide for my ailing father."

Helena went quiet, tears streaming down pale cheeks. She sobbed silently for a few brief moments, a hand moving to cover her mouth to stifle any sound that threatened to escape her.

"I... I was foolish, my lord, my love." Helena's eyes were expressive, full of desperation as she looked up at her King. "I knew it was wrong to sell on the black market and I... I don't fault you or your Enforcers for what had to be done." She paused, wiping away the tears. "But I was desperate for my father and had to do what I could for him. It was a risk I was willing to take at the time because I didn't know any better, but..."

As Helena tried to compose herself, she took a deep breath and smiled weakly.

"Call in Garrett Watson," Helena then said out loud.

A tall willowy man with red hair and emerald eyes was escorted into the room. He looked over at Charles, his brow arching at seeing the man standing there. Blinking rapidly, he bowed before the King and Queen, his back to Charles.

"My King and... my Queen," Garrett stated. He looked at Helena for a while, clearly recognizing her.

Helena smiled at how Garrett had given away the very fact that he knew her from somewhere. There was no way this man would lie. Even if he tried, he'd be terrible at it. This man, unlike Charles, only had interest in machines, devices, gadgets. It was his calling and passion. Though he'd befriended the man she loathed and wished to see die, he wasn't in it for the revolution. He'd been in it to do what he loved. Nothing more.

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Watson," Helena said slowly standing up.

"Likewise," Garrett responded in turn. He gave Helena a nod and smiled. "I knew I recognized you," he added with a cheeky grin. "You've done well, it seems."

"I have," Helena answered. "And you look well."

"Thank you," Garret replied. "So, might I ask why I've been called here? And why Charles is standing there..." He pointed behind himself. "Looking angry?"

Helena chuckled softly, her voice almost musical. "Well, that's because he needs to come clean about something and you're here to hopefully remind him about something from the past."

Garrett tilted his head, his flaming red hair swishing in front of his green eyes. He brought up a hand to push it out of the way. "I... I see. Well, I'll tell what I can remember."

"I'm sure you will," Helena said encouragingly. She looked over at Anselm and smiled. She then walked down to be beside Garrett, the man standing quite tall next to her. "Do you recall working on a weapon several years ago? One that Charles brought to you that had been scavenged and was said to be a rare sort of weapon, one that could help the revolution?"

Immediately, Garrett's eyes widened. "I... I..." he stammered.

"It's all right, Mr. Watson. No one is in trouble speaking of revolution here. You are among friends," Helena assured. She brought a delicate hand up to touch his arm and gently rub it.

Garrett nodded, his breaths coming short. "Well, I do recall getting an extremely rare find several years back. Yes. And Charles did bring it to me."

"Was it for the revolution?" Helena asked.

Garrett swallowed. His eyes looked from Helena to the King and back. He then glanced over his shoulder at Charles for a brief moment. Looking back at Helena, he swallowed yet again. "Sorry old friend," he mumbled almost inaudibly. "Yes. Yes, it was."

Helena smiled and stood up on her tiptoes. She placed a light kiss upon Garrett's cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You are safe. You are safe." She then turned to look at Anselm, her eyes watering as she slowly walked back to be by his side.

The words that his beloved spoke to him, however, made his heart fall with shame; here he was, trying to ensure that all citizens prospered and could lead healthy lives. And yet to catch wind of this tale...Just how many more had fallen through the cracks? But, how could he apologize? How could he ever make it up to her, knowing that he'd taken away her only livelihood, however illegal it might have been?

He began to open his mouth to speak, to say something that might help ease the obvious strain of her sadness...But upon realizing that nothing COULD be said, he promptly closed it. Had he acted too rashly? No, nonsense, he told himself; he had no idea who she was before they met all those years ago. Plus, a threat like the one reported was meant to be taken seriously; even with the threat to the crown removed, the possibility for civilian casualties was unacceptable. Still...Perhaps if he'd managed to catch her, let her explain herself...Perhaps he could have saved her father.

Charles could only tense as the Queen began to circle him, like a lioness around an injured antelope; his eyes locked to hers, slightly betraying the iron-face he'd put on for his friend. Truthfully, he had no real problem...Until she mentioned Garrett Watson. "Say what you will...I did nothing to you. Mister Watson will have nothing of value to say, I assure you" he then replied; god, he should have killed her when he had the chance. Did she not see the real reason for his 'betrayal'? He was trying to show her the danger of a tyranny, the real threat to the freedom of a King's people with unchecked power. And why an organization like The Resistance was a necessary, if sometimes unfortunate, condition.

"Do you really think you were the only one hurt by the King? By someone you thought you could trust? Trust me when I say you're nowhere close to alone, you impudent brat". he fumed within his mind; his fingers curled slightly as she then put on the 'damsel' act for her husband, the King. She was a whore, desperate for power, threatening what he truly worked for in the name of personal vengeance. What a stupid bitch, he thought. So short-sighted and stupid. But, he held his tongue and let the events unfold; surely Watson's loyalty would help him through this.

It wasn't until his Queen began asked for Garrett that he was brought from his own thoughts back to the reality of the situation. Anselm looked on as Garrett was brought into the room; he was glad the stout mechanic could come here. After all, the various customers his shop received - from both the city's residents as well as any out-of-towners that stayed in the lodges - surely kept him fairly busy. "I too am glad you're well. Thank you for coming; I promise this won't be long" he then reassured the man; no need for undue stress, after all.

Both Charles and Anselm watched as the Queen then asked Garrett her own series of questions, not wasting any time cutting into the meat of why they were all here. Anselm seemed to grow increasingly concerned, especially when Garrett stammered after being directly asked about this ‘weapon’; he never got a report of a weapon being seized. What weapon was she referring to? Charles kept his smirking to a minimum; Garrett was playing his role well. He wouldn’t say a damn word….Or so he thought.

Charles and Anselm then developed looks of shock as Garrett confirmed the existence of such a weapon…And to the King’s horror, it by proxy verified the existence of a revolutionary movement. The King stared at his friend, a mix of hurt, anger and betrayal on his face; Charles met that look with his own eyes. “My…My King. Anslem, my dear friend…He lies. I never brought him such a weapon!” he tried to say; however, Garrett added “Charles, enough; the Queen said no one was in trouble speaking of revolution here. Best come clean about it”. Charles was then fool enough to say in the heat of his anger, “You damned traitor!”, thereby cementing the fact that the Resistance was real.

Poor Anselm looked about ready to fall over; he actually sat back down on his throne, trying to process all this. How long had this been going on? Why was there even a movement? What did it hope to accomplish? “Charles….Why? I thought you were a friend, someone I could trust!” the King then stated, his voice conveying the conflict he felt. Charles was also conflicted…He knew he was stuck. But what could he say? He’d just revealed that he was plotting against the Crown. A just crown, at that; people were happy with Anselm in charge. The man was a born leader and loved by his people…Though if history taught anything, it was that power corrupted even the best of men.

”Better just come clean then…Damn you, you pale-skinned harlot!” Charles shouted in his mind, shooting the Queen a look of pure venom for doing this to him. He then formulated a response, replying “My King…I’m sorry for betraying your trust. Believe me when I say I wish this moment hadn’t come; the Revolution is just a contingency. Too many times have good men like you become corrupted, mad with power”. “That is why there’s a Parliament to enact and debate on the law, Charles; I am not so foolish as to believe I am a god!” Anselm snapped back, perturbed and upset at this upsetting news; he laid his head in his hands as he tried to process everything.

“This makes no sense, Charles; all this time, you’ve been lying to me. I thought I was being a good king…” “You are, Anselm; as I said…” “Obviously, I’m NOT! Why would there be a revolutionary movement if I was!?!” A silence followed the heated exchange, Anselm staring daggers into his friend’s eyes. “Anselm, please….” Charles tried to reason, but Anselm just replied “Stay your tongue….Guards! Escort him to the holding cells!” The two guards that had originally fetched him came forth; Charles saw this and tried to bolt, only for a third guard to trip him. Charles then struggled fruitlessly as he was placed in energy-binding handcuffs; as he was hauled to his feet, Charles shouted “This is exactly what I’m talking about! See! The normal you wouldn’t do this!” he shouted, following with “You’ll regret this! Let me go!” as his voice faded down the hallway with his travel to the in-castle prison twenty-five floors down.

With this aggravator removed, Anselm sunk into his seat with one of the worst expressions possible: An expression of crestfallenness from his friend’s betrayal; what did this mean? How many were there? Were people really so unsatisfied with his rule that they would honestly try and usurp him? He’d done EVERYTHING he could…Took as much into consideration as possible…Scoured every last bit of knowledge about the old world’s governments to learn from their mistakes and make a system that would benefit as many people as possible.

Helena quietly walked back up to Anselm and took her place to be by his side once again. She could feel the weight of Charles stare boring against her back with each step she took, the glare only damning him further. Though Garrett Watson's words were more than enough to convict him of his crimes. Oh yes, the man would pay now and quite dearly. Her heart hammered hard beneath her chest as she sat down, her tiny hand reaching to touch Anselm as a tear streamed down a pale cheek.

Charles looked so pitiful as Helena looked down upon him from where she was next to her King. She'd come so far and it wouldn't be thwarted now. Not when she was so close to avenging her father and showing everyone just what it meant to truly rule a people, how one such as her could rise up from the ashes no matter how hot the fire. She nuzzled against Anselm, whimpering softly against him as Charles and Garrett sniped at each other, Charles' words digging his grave deeper and deeper into the ground. She buried her face against Anselm, smiling as she listened to the banter, her own beloved growing angry and aggravated over everything.

Once Charles was removed from the room and Garrett dismissed, Helena pulled away slightly and looked at her husband with expressive eyes. She wiped at her tears and then glanced about the room. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the others. "I to speak to my King," she said, her voice soft and filled with emotion. After everyone had gone, she turned to look into her husband and King's eyes.

"Anselm, my beloved, don't let this..." Helena's hands waved about slightly. "Talk of revolution cloud your mind." She moved closer to her husband, her hand moving to touch his face. "Remember there are those out there that jealous of who you are, what you represent. There will always be jealousies and those wanting to take your power from you for themselves." She paused a moment as she moved closer still, sliding onto his lap. "It is why you must be cautious and careful." She smiled a little though her eyes were still glistening with tears. "And I do not fault you for what happened in my past. Never think that I do. I understand that there are laws for a reason." She gave him a reassuring nod and then moved forward, resting her forehead against his. "I should've been smarter back then, looked for other options. But, I've learned from my mistakes and now that I'm by your side I can help with that. You see?" Her smile broadened a little and she sniffled, causing her to giggle softly. "And I know you'll help me with that too." Her hands moved to touch his hair, fingers working their way deep into his platinum locks.

Helena pulled away slightly, her cool, blue eyes gazing deeply into her husband's. Her mind reeled as she tried to read him, to discern just what he might be thinking. She was certain there was a mix of emotion at learning one of his closest and trusted friends had betrayed him, had hurt her. And that meant now was the time to strike, to seize the opportunity of ridding the world of Charles Vincent while she was able. Vengeance would be hers and she'd see his blood spilled before long.

"Though first, my love, you must make sure that no one takes away your power," Helena said, moving to nuzzle against Anselm's neck. "You are the only one to lead us, to keep us safe. You." Her lips trailed feather light kisses against his neck just then before letting out a slow, hot breath. "The people need to know this. Destroy Charles and the weapon. Show them how dangerous they are to their safety, their way of life and that you will do anything to protect them and us all." Her lips moved over his neck. "Show them you have a wife who comes from the same place as they do, that there is empathy." She pulled away and looked into his eyes. "Only you can do this, Anselm." Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. "Kill Charles. Show them who is King and who holds the power."

Poor Anselm didn't even notice his wife sitting beside him; how could Charles do this to him? He'd given the man everything...And he'd been played for a fool. And with Charles' disturbing revelation came an even more unsettling thought: How many more? How many felt this way? Felt that he was on the verge of becoming a ruthless, murderous tyrant? The next Maximilien Robespierre? The next Josef Stalin? The fact that people thought him a despotic sociopath should have seemed ludicrous...But it didn't. However, the warm touch of his beloved Helena stirred him from his own self-reflection. He looked up to see that they were the only two left in the room; the good Queen must have dismissed the handservants and guards to other posts. He felt her gentle hand touch his jawline, compelling him to look up and into her brilliant eyes. "Helena..." he breathed, leaning back as she slid onto him; what she was saying made perfect sense. But he still felt guilty that he caused the woman he married so much suffering. "I know you're there for me, my darling...And I'll always be here for you. No matter what may happen".

And for the next few moments, their eyes were locked onto each other's; Anselm couldn't help but think what she might be wondering of him now. Even if she told him he was forgiven for essentially taking her father away from her, he still felt like it was his fault. Sure, she might have been doing something illegal, but it was for the right reason. Little did the man realize her true ulterior motive in this case.

Her actions then caused him to tremble slightly, his strong hands moving down to her hips to grasp them lightly; the King's eyes then widened in shock as Helena laid out her suggestion in full. He could only stare at her in utter disbelief, if only because of the bluntness of it all. Kill Charles? Sure, if he found the weapon he would have it dismantled and studied by researchers, but killing Charles? Even after all of this, it seemed so unfathomable. His mouth just opened and closed, but no words came out; what could he say? He might have been dense at times, but even this was enough to give him pause "My dear...I know Charles hurt you. His admission of revolution proved that much, but still...If we take such action now, what will that say to the people? As far as we know, no one besides us knows of this revolution".

Giving a small swallow to alleviate the dryness in his throat, he continued as he rested his own hand against her face, "I do know that Charles needs to be punished for what he has done, but we must be smart about this...Lest what he says becomes truth and I turn into that which I despise. I do not wish to succumb to the same vices that led to the downfall of the Old World governments". To Helena, it might sound like he was showing weakness; however, he didn't get this far by acting rashly. Even if Charles betrayed him, it seemed he still convincing that the man should be put to death.

"Helena, my beloved, I appreciate that you've put this much faith in me; however, if we were to immediately put him to death in public...Just how many others' fears would be validated? No, first we must try to get the weapon's location out of him. Then we shall work on what must be done with him". Gently maneuvering so that he could stand up, still lovingly holding to his wife, "I wish to talk with Charles personally. I'll be back soon, but you may come if you wish". Anselm assumed that, given the obvious pain Charles inflicted on her, that she would not want to be anywhere near the man. Even still...This was something he needed to talk to Charles about, and with that he began making his way to the prison below the well-defended base of the tower.

Licking at her full pink lips, salty tears still streaming down her pale flawless features, Helena hung her head slightly. She swallowed hard, tamping down the burning hatred she felt roiling inside her like a tempest ready to destroy an island as it unleashed its wrath in thunder, lighting and torrential rains. On the outside, she was humble calm, but on the inside, her mind was wild with fury and rage. How could her husband not see the threat that Charles imposed upon his very reign as ruler of his people? The very fact that he wished to overthrow his best friend and create chaos and more. That wretched man also wished her dead and would see it done if she didn't see to it first, not to mention see to it that the all that she and Anselm stood for would be demolished without thought or care. That man wanted revolution. And if he lived... it would happen. Then everything she'd worked for would be in vain. It was so blatantly obviously that she could taste the blood in her mouth, the metallic tang strong let her sense reel.

With eyes the color of sapphire, cool and blue, wet with tears, Helena finally looked up into her beloved's eyes. She gave him a watery smile and brought up a hand to dab at her tears with a handkerchief she had tucked away on her gauzy skirts. Another hand moved to rest against him, maintaining that contact, that connection, as he seemed to get lost in thought over this precarious situation.

"You are wise, Anselm," Helena then said softly, though her words seemed loud given how empty the room was with everyone dismissed and it being just she and her husband. "I'm just a foolish girl and fortunate to be loved by one such as you." She smiled weakly. "And those who know you are just as fortunate as I." Her blonde head bobbed a few short nods.

Helena dabbed at her tears once more, her handkerchief becoming more and more damp as she wiped away the tears that streaked her angelic face. She gave her king, her husband, another tiny smile.

"You must do what you know to be right and know that you have my support and trust." Helena's cheeks flushed slightly and she averted her gaze to stare at the floor. "It was wrong of me to speak so boldly. Though, do not forget as you talk with Charles that..." her voice trailed and fresh tears wetted her cheeks. Again, she used her handkerchief to dry them. "That the man has wronged me, my father and probably others." She looked up at her king just then, giving him a look that let him know that she was not going with him for this further interrogation of the man. Clearly, the memories he conjured up of her past were too painful, too fresh. "I just don't want him to wrong more people, especially you... Anselm."

Helena paused and bit down on her lip, her cheeks reddening as her gaze averted once more. Her hand clutched onto her handkerchief tightly, her knuckles going white as she stood there silently, almost motionless. The room was deafening despite the quiet and her thoughts about Charles possibly getting away with murder—quite literally—drove her mad. He wouldn't get away with wronging her. Not again. Not ever.

"Too many lives are at stake. What's past is past and I cannot change that. But you, my beloved hold the future of us all in your hands and I trust you to do the right thing no matter the outcome of this whole situation." Helena paused a moment, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. "Perhaps I am merely paranoid given where I come from. I do hope I am wrong in being so." She then looked back up into Anselm's eyes once more, her hand moving down along his chest until she finally broke contact all together. Giving him another small smile, she dabbed once more at her pale eyes with the handkerchief she clutched tightly in her tiny, delicate hands. Looking down at it, she pursed her lips and then swallowed. "Here," she said, tucking the damp cloth she'd been using into Anselm's large palm. "Take this while you go talk to your friend. May it give you all the strength I have to offer while you are faced with this most horrible of situations."

Slowly, Helena backed away a few short steps. Her filmy gown billowed about her delicate frame as she moved, each step echoing in the silence that surrounded both she and Anselm.

"I'll pray for you," Helena said softly. "Surely someone or something will listen to a queen asking for guidance and safety for the one she loves most." As her cheeks reddened, her blue eyes lingered on the handkerchief she'd pressed into Anselm's palm before moving them to look back into his one last time before she knew he had to go and attend to this very pressing and disturbing matter.

As Anselm rode down the elevator to see his former best and trusted friend, he couldn't help but wonder. Wonder if he really was doing the right thing; he tried to learn from history's mistakes so that nothing would repeat itself. He knew he couldn't please everyone and that there would be some to fall through the cracks, but surely he wasn't doing so terrible that people actually thought of revolting? All these thoughts plagued his conscience as he looked at the drying handkerchief in his hand. Even if it was something terrible that was done to his wife, he had to show fairness. Otherwise, he might just slip beyond the edge Charles was talking about. It was never an easy thing being King, having to lay down rules and oversee that everything ran smoothly. One misstep and it could all fall down. That was why he needed to make sure he had all the facts; he couldn't let personal influences affect his judgment, even if it happened towards someone he loved more than anything.

Stepping off the elevator, he stated his business and was led through the rather empty prison; if anything it was more like a jailhouse with only a few cells. Very rarely did the people here commit any serious crimes, just people getting drunk and being belligerent in public. Unfortunately, that was one trait that never seemed to really leave; even after all these years, alcohol still made people do stupid things. But that was nothing in the grand scheme of things; all it took was a night here to sober up and they would be right as rain the next day. "Your Highness" said a prison guard as the King approached, dressed in uniform and his dark hair hidden by a billed blue cap, the official seal - consisting of a bear rising on its hind legs and a bull ready to charge, the two beasts facing each other - resting as the shield's emblem. "I'm here to see Mister Vincent" replied the King; after a curt nod, a keycard swiped, and fingerprints given, Anselm was able to go in and sit at a booth lined with protective glass. Given the relative lack of actual prisoners, all this seemed a little excessive; Anselm might have been a soft King, but he listened to many that a prison was necessary for more heinous criminals, and with that came certain protections.

"Anselm, is all this really necessary?" he then heard Charles ask from behind the glass, his eyes peering questioningly into the King's soul. "Yes, it is. You betrayed me, Charles. Lied to me." the platinum-haired man stated firmly, to which Charles tried to defend himself, but the King would hear nothing of it. "My friend...My Lord...I understand you're upset. But believe me when I say that I mean you no harm. It's nothing serious! You HAVE been an excellent leader; the praise you hear is genuine!" Charles continued anyway; Anselm didn't bother with that and just asked, "This weapon....Where is it?" Charles seemed shocked, an obvious sign that the King took notice of and added, "You say you wish to apologize to me. Tell me where this weapon is, and I will grant you leniency for your trial. You have done wrong, Charles, but at least with this...You can help make it right." At this, Charles gulped a little and said, "My King...Please believe me, the weapon was never meant to be used against you. Not unless absolutely necessary." Anselm sighed, "So what Helena said was true; you let her father die for some trinket." "Only because your Enforcers acted on my tip!" Charles shot back heatedly, to which the King bellowed "How could they not!? They were doing their duty!" "A duty which reminds people of the old ways! Of tyranny and control!" "Deception?! The Enforcers exist to make sure such tools do not fall into the wrong hands! That the people are protected! You know as well as I do that if the Parliament EVER finds me trying to abuse my power, I am to immediately be imprisoned! I have thought this through, Charles! Something you seem to be forgetting!" "I don't forget! There must always be a check! Something! Anything! Even the best safeguards written and enacted by government cannot protect the best of men from the corrupting seduction of power!"

Both men seemed flustered after this short exchange, their breaths short and their points equally valid. Their faces were each pressed against the glass as a result of their shouting match; however, Charles then replied, "My King...Anselm...Please, I ask you to believe me. I never wanted to see you hurt. I only wanted there to be a force on standby in case something happened. The Revolution wasn't intended for just you; for all we know, you could be killed or captured and have someone less pure than you assume control. It's in case ANYONE tries to become more powerful, Anselm. In case one person or group obtains more power than they should have. Like you, I don't wish to see our world succumb to the ways of the Old World. Not now...Not ever. I'm truly sorry for what happened to your Queen's father. And I know she may never forgive me." At this Anselm seemed satisfied and too sat back down. "Charles...I do believe you. But please, show me my trust is well-placed. Tell me where the weapon is." At this, the imprisoned man sighed and replied, "I do not know where it is...But I can tell you where it was sold to. After our engineers worked on it, we sent it some no-name town on the other side of the planet. Far from the Capital...Haggardsville, if I recall. A very small settlement, the only one for miles. Almost nothing to its name aside from a small number of service shops and brothels...." And from there, while Charles would reveal no names, he gave the King plenty of other information to work with. If only to show sincerity in his part to mend their relationship.

*A few days later*

The news of a Resistance movement seemed to spread like wildfire through the town; many were outraged that King Anselm was being plotted against, and that conspirators should be put to death. And in response to this, the King would hold a public conference. To put the people at ease, he decided that this would be best. Plus, it would reinforce the image that he was willing to receive feedback from the community.

A grand stage was set for the royal family, lendid red and gold décor and a guard to watch over their Lord. A large crowd was gathered around to hear their ruler speak, some carrying children upon their shoulders. Within moments, trumpets blazed and applause roared, the good King Anselm and his lovely wife striding out to meet their people. As he neared the podium, he held his hands to silence the crowd, their clapping and cheering falling quiet in a matter of seconds.

With that, he began speaking with a smile curling the corners of his mouth, "My good people...I thank you for coming today. I know many of you have work to attend to and loved ones to spend time with, so I will not blather on more than I need to." A medium-volume rumble of laughter passed through the crowd before stopping, allowing Anselm to continue, "As some of you may have heard, there has been talk of revolution. Of overthrowing the crowd...I am here to put those to rest. Through investigation and cooperation, my advisors and I have determined there is no threat. No reason to suspect that any 'wild beasts' will come charging in here and causing a ruckus. No, it is more the rumblings of the Old World. How men were so...easily corrupted. How people tried to seize power through force and intimidation. And they fear that I may one day succumb to those vices." At this, the people began shouting, upset over such claims.

"People! People!" Anselm shouted, and after they quieted down again he resumed, "In their right, they are not wrong. As fair as you have made me out to be, I am still human. And like it or not, greed resides within us all. Being a King is not easy, but the mark of a good ruler is the ability to discern when he has become corrupt. It is that which says there should be a body to dictate the balance of power, there should be lines drawn in the sand...."

However, the King would not get to finish, for soon a loud gunshot rang out and struck Anselm in the chest, throwing him onto his back. The scene was nearly instant chaos; guards rushed forth and formed a perimeter. "Call the medical team!" "Medical team, report to the main stage! GSW on the Lord! Double time!" "Where'd that come from!?" "Clear the civvies! Alpha Team, you're on crowd control!" were some of the shouts; one guard then pointed "Rooftop! Ten-thirty! High!" All eyes then fell on a single figure, holding what appeared to be a powerful rifle. "Open fire!" the Guard Captain commanded; the assault rifles they carried soon erupted, spraying hot steel at the gunman who proceeded to run, disappearing from sight.

Helena's breath caught in her throat as she watched Anselm walk away, her blue eyes drifting toward his hand as he tightly held onto the handkerchief she'd given him. She hadn't realized just how quickly her heart had begun to race until she slowly began to exhale, trying her best to remain that collected picture of calm, that regal queen who stood by his side. Her thoughts were beginning to run wild inside her mind, creating a murky haze as she glanced about the empty room as her king left her sight and walked off to talk to the one man she despised most. For a moment, her fists clenched at her sides and she wondered if her king would truly have what it took to do what she knew needed to be done.

Hanging her head, Helena's blonde locks fell in front of her face, hiding her angelic features as she lightly padded across the empty room. Her footsteps echoed as she made her way to another door, one leading to the meditation room. She needed time to herself as she waited. She needed to 'pray'.

Pray. The thought was like acid pouring over flesh, searing it, marring it, disfiguring it forever. Helena hadn't truly prayed in years, not when whatever it was that might be decided to turn away and bring nothing but blackness upon she and her father. No. She wouldn't believe in anything until Charles was dead, his body made an example of for all to see while she and her beloved king reigned over all! Then everyone would see what it took to lead, where true power came from. It had nothing to do with faith or revolution. It had everything to do with knowing how persevere no matter what life threw at you, how to pick yourself up and seize opportunity at every corner.

Helena reached the far door, her thoughts dark as she wondered about Anselm and Charles Vincent...the conversation they must be having. She could only hope that somehow, in the end, her father would be avenged.

~~~

The next several days, Helena spent in solitude. Anselm chose not to speak much on his conversation with Charles, something she understood but also found to shake her confidence on the fate of the wretched man who'd destroyed her life and killed her father. The man was worthless, selfish and most definitely playing the king for a fool. It bothered her to know that no one could see this save herself. But there was little she could do to convince anyone. At least, not yet.

Not yet.

Helena remembered all too well how Charles' eyes lit up the moment she'd scavenged that weapon, how he'd been all too eager to get the thing to Garrett Watson so he could look it over, repair it, get the thing fully functional once again. Her tummy in knots, she knew something was brewing, something in the undercurrent. She didn't like it. But still, there was nothing she could do. Not yet...not yet.

~~~

Standing behind Anselm as he readied himself for his speech to the public, Helena's hands gripped the sheer fabric of her gown. She felt skittish, paranoid. Her blue eyes scoured the crowd as she kept the face of that calm and regal queen, but on the inside, she was unraveling like a ball of yarn. She still didn't know how things went between her king and Charles and now they were facing the people, ready to speak of the brewing rumors that she'd heard whispered in the corridors as she'd walked them in her silence.

Helena knew she had to bide her time, be patient. She had plenty of that. Life had taught her patience over the years as it threw her horror after horror, the worst being that of Charles Vincent! Licking her lips, she looked at her Anselm as he began to address the crowd, easing their minds about the Resistance Movement.

'So this is what it has come to?' Helena thought to herself. She wanted to scream, to shout, to find Charles herself and plunge a dagger deep into his heart for duping the man she loved and admired. How he could sway this man, this strong man capable of so much, she had no idea! It angered her!

Just then, when Helena's thoughts turned the darkest, all hell broke loose. She heard a loud crack and suddenly people began to rush toward Anselm as he crumpled to the ground. Her blue eyes went wide as her mouth dropped open in a loud shriek. Quickly, she rushed to his side, ignoring the chaos about her and only wanting to be beside her husband.

"Anselm! Anselm!" Helena cried, her eyes welling with tears. She reached for his hand with hers, her other touching his shoulder as she looked to one of the medics. "Is he all right?" she asked. "What happened? What's going on?"

But as the words poured from Helena's mouth, she knew exactly what had happened. It was the Resistance Movement, the revolution. The whispers weren't rumors and she'd known it all along. She'd lived it. Now, more than ever, she wanted Charles Vincent to pay.

"M'lady, please! Let the medical team work!" said dear Constabil as he approached and helped the Queen get to her feet; while he could understand that she was distraught over seeing her husband shot like that, the fact was there could be more shooters on the rooftop. A squad had already been dispatched, and local sentries had been alerted with a brief description and last seen direction the sniper was headed. It would be up to them to bring the shooter in for questioning, but right now they had to attend to the King.

The medical team arrived on site, each member dressed in fine white robes and carting what appeared to be some kind of gurney in tow. They quickly assessed their Lord's condition and determined that he could still be saved. Without hesitation, the remaining guards formed a protective circle around their rulers - the positioning allowing the Queen to rejoin her husband's side - as the medics hoisted Anselm's unmoving form onto the cart and attaching various instruments to monitor his status. Before long the doors were re-opened and the rescue party raced inside to operate on their King; Sevin then called the main security branch and ordered a full lockdown of the complex. Along the way, all that could be heard were voices shouting: Vitals being called out, directions to the private operating room, and orders from the guard detail to secure the hallway.

The doors to the operating room burst open, the haggled bunch quickly getting to work as soon as the surgeon was fully prepped. Thankfully, one benefit of being the ruler was that one had access to quite the array of medical technology. Thankfully - as long as the bullet didn't penetrate the King's heart - they wouldn't need to use a lot of it. "This way, my Queen. Let's give the doctors some space." said Sevin as he escorted the fair lady from the operating room, the medical team working to delicately and quickly divest their King of his fine robes. One doctor held what appeared to be an electronic touchpad over Anselm's sternum; multiple rays of red light sweeped over his chest, and that would be all she saw before doors slid shut behind her.

*A few hours later*

Sevin - now joined by Constabil - stood side by side as the protection detail for the Queen. While normally both were iron-faced in situations like this, their expressions reflected obvious concern and hints of anger. What had the King ever done to deserve being shot? In cold blood and from a distance, no less. It was maddening, but right now all they could do was sit and wait for news of their leader's condition.

The doors opened once more and outstepped a man dressed in Old World scrubs, his mouth hidden by a blue medical mask and hands adorned in ivory-colored gloves. "Your Grace" he said, giving the Queen a respectful bow. "What news have you on the King, doctor?" asked Sevin, his piercing green hues staring at the medic as if demanding answers. "Well, luckily, the bullet didn't penetrate his heart. Close, but no cigar, as they say." Giving a sigh, he then added after a moment's pause "But it did nick his left bronchial tract. Not by much, but enough to warrant surgery. He's undergoing the operation as we speak." Constabil then asked as well, "Will he pull through?" The doctor shrugged, "As with anything, there might be complications. Especially with such a delicate procedure. But I know Anselm...He's a fighter. I have no doubt he'll live through this."

Helena paced back and forth, her hands balled into tiny fists by her sides while her thoughts darkened with each and every step she took. She looked at the two men who stood guard with her. Good men, trustworthy men...so far. She narrowed her gaze, her eyes turning into sapphire slits as she looked them over, sizing up their reactions. The echo of her footsteps were enough to drive her mad as time rolled on, each second that passed, another moment of no answers, of her wondering what was to become of her Anselm, of people like Charles Vincent getting away with attempted murder.

Murder. That was exactly what someone had tried to commit here. It was treason! And that meant whoever was behind it deserved not just death, but the worst sort of death imaginable. For they hadn't just tried to kill their king, but a good man, one who was trying to ease their minds and—as much as she loathed it—give snakes like Charles benefit of the doubt.

The venom coursing through Helena's veins was enough to burn, scorching her insides to the point where she wanted to scream. Unclenching her fists, she felt a sting on her palms from where her nails had bit into her flesh. Scowling, she just clutched the material of her gown, gossamer threads that made her look like something ethereal, almost angelic. How it contrasted with the grim thoughts running wild through her mind.

"Vincent," Helena spat under her breath, the worry evident as she continued to pace. When the doctor finally showed up and approach her along with both Sevin and Constabil, she took a deep breath, trying her best to compose herself.

Helena let out a soft sigh, her face the picture of regal calm as she listened to the doctor speak of surgeries and other medical jargon. Again, she glanced at her two new bodyguards, gauging their reactions, trying to read their thoughts, their expressions... anything to gain insight.

"Thank you, doctor," Helena said softly, sweetly, her face going soft. "You've done well and your efforts are appreciated." Her expression appeared thoughtful, though the worry was evident. "Though, if you excuse me, I need to speak to my guards," she added with a smile.

When Helena was finally alone with both Sevin and Constabil, she furrowed her brow and flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder. Salty tears started to well in her eyes and she quickly wiped them away. Sniffling a little, she gave both men a tiny gesture, signaling they give her a moment as she composed herself. Once ready, she cleared her throat, inhaled and exhaled as evenly as possible. Glancing back and forth between the two men, she pursed her lips before licking them, her head shaking as if she knew something, was troubled.

"I warned Anselm. I..." Helena's voice trailed, fresh tears welling in her eyes as she brought a hand to her face. "I should have been more forceful." She allowed herself a tiny cry, but shook it off. After all, she was the Queen and she would not stand for this outrage. As it was, she knew there were those who needed to pay for what they'd done. Now... now it was even clearer, just how far they'd go to see their plans realized. It made her blood boil, her skin crawl. She looked at both Sevin and Constabil and took a shaky breath. "I think I know who was behind this," she said. "At least in part." Setting her jaw, her hands clenched back into fists once more, she stated without a shred of doubt, "Charles Vincent." At that she paused. "He's been planning a revolution for a long time and no one, not even a friend, will stop him from getting what he wants. Not unless we do." More tears spilled down her pale cheeks. "This isn't the first time I've seen an innocent injured because of him and it won't be the last. Not so long as he breathes!"

Helena's blue eyes fluttered shut, her hands moving to cover her face.

"Oh Anselm!" Helena cried. Looking at Sevin and Constabil, her eyes pleaded. "As your Queen, I need you to accompany as I pay a visit to an...an old friend." A sneer played on her lips as she thought of Charles, the horrible way in which he'd treated her, left she and her father both desperate and destitute, how he'd turned her in and betrayed her in every way imaginable. But the time had come to put this to an end. Justice needed to be served and she would see it done.

Both guards said not a word as she silently asked for time to compose herself; one could only imagine the sorrow she felt. Sorrow and anger that someone would shoot her husband like that in cold blood. And trying to reassure the people their worries were misplaced, no less. The King might have had to make some tough decisions for the better of all, but he knew what caused other governments to fall from the events of the past.

"If you'll forgive my boldness, your Highness. I do think Anselm does that because he knows how delicate his position truly is." stated Constabil, to which Sevin shot him a bit of a glare. It might have been true, but that wasn't what she needed to hear. "Whatever you need of us, Your Grace, we are at your service." Sevin then stated; all too soon, she would give them their task: Escort her to see Charles Vincent himself. Likely for interrogation.

"As you wish, m'Lady" both guardsmen stated firmly; they would follow her to the ends of the Earth if it meant guaranteeing her safety. Plus, they could not help but want to hear what Charles had to say for himself. With the confession in the throne, followed by the King being shot a few days after, one could only come to the conclusion that Mr. Vincent, former director of communications and aide to the King, was somehow behind this infuriating travesty.

Meanwhile, Charles Vincent still sat in his holding cell, unaware of what was happening outside. The thick walls of the prison muffled all sound, and few guards meant that no one was there to talk about what had happened. However, the lockdown order had come through, and that made him suspicious. What was going on, he thought. While Charles had no real idea what a lockdown signified, he could easily gather that anytime a lockdown was initiated, it was something incredibly serious. Little did he realize just how serious this was, and much more so it was going to get.

Two guards came and brought Charles from his cell; they were handling him much more roughly than usual for some reason. "You don't need to drag me, you brutes! Release me at once!" he shouted, to which one of the guards replied roughly, "You'll be let go soon enough, Vincent. So shut it, you damn traitor." The word 'traitor' struck him as both odd and rather crass; who was he calling a traitor. Finally, they reached the interrogation room, where Charles was forcefully seated and handcuffed to a metal chair. The man looked at the two guards, his hair mussed and eyes wild with anger and surprise, "What is the meaning of this!? I demand to know what is going on!"

Soon, the other door opened with a buzz in an almost ominous fashion; for a few moments, no one showed up. But then two Royal Guards walked through, followed by the last person he wanted to see. "You...Why are you here?" he seethed; this caused a prison guard to jam the barrel of his rifle into the back of Vincent's head before Sevin barked, "No! He is to be interrogated. Whether or not it leads to being shot is up to him." Charles gave quite the start; he would be shot? "Me? Shot? On what grounds!? What is happening here?" he shouted, directing the last part at his most unwelcome visitor.

"On the grounds for treason," Helena hissed, venom all but dripping from her tongue as she spoke. Her steps were light as she approached, floating like an angel in her white filmy gown as it billowed out behind her.

Helena's blue eyes narrowed into slits, filled with malice and cautious warning as she began to slowly circle the man who'd betrayed not just her, but his supposed best friend. What he'd done now was unforgivable. No one deserved to live after pulling such a stunt, after going to such lengths to try and prove a point. And for what? Power, glory...a damned weapon to rule the masses. This wasn't about a means to keep the king in check. No, this was about fear, about making sure the people knew who was in charge and pulled the strings of authority. Well, she'd be damned if it was by the likes of Vincent and his Revolutionaries!

Traitors, betrayers...all of them!

The sight of her Anselm as he fell back wounded...her father as he died of illness...her home, taken away...

No. It had to stop. And it would stop with Charles Vincents' death!

"Do not act so surprised, dear Charles. Your little games are coming to an end," Helena spoke, her tone crisp, the anger clear. "They stop...now." She placed a delicate hand on the man's shoulder and leaned close, her lips brushing his ear. "I want you to answer me plainly, if you think you can manage such a thing."

Gracefully, Helena's body moved about Charles. She was like an angel, ethereal beauty as her hips swayed and the gauzy gown swished about her petite frame. Platinum blonde waves shimmered about her face and down along her back as she turned her head and looked directly into his eyes, pools of blue glistening like sapphires, seeing straight into his heart.

Helena nodded at both Constabil and Sevin, grateful for their company and assistance. "If my Anselm is so dear to you, then tell me this." She leaned closer. "Why do you not trust him to tell him exactly where you harbor the weapon you hold?" Her eyes narrowed as her thoughts spun wildly in her mind. She thought about the silhouetted figure that had shot her husband in cold blood, how he must know Charles, must be a part of his precious Resistance! "We already know it's in your possession, Charles, and that you and your Resistance have been planning his murder for a long while..." Her voice trailed, her pulse quickening. "We know everything."

Taking a step back, Helena shook her head in disgust and turned on her heel. She paced the room; her steps slow and even.

"You orchestrated it all and now you'll pay the price!" Helena accused, her blue eyes flashing as her hands balled into tiny fists at her side. "Anselm lies dying because of you!" she shouted. "You! You traitor!" Her eyes began to tear, her body trembling with sorrow and anger. "The murderer you prepped to kill him has been captured and your name was given as the one organized this...this...this rebellion!" She looked at the floor, her hair falling forward over her slim shoulders. "And for what purpose?" she asked, her voice going soft. "He's a fair man, a good man...and now you must pay for your crimes."

Helena could feel her heart beating in her chest as she let everything pour out of her. Her own fear rising as she hoped the man would rise to her bait, give away something about the weapon, Anselm's attempted murderer...anything! Regardless, she knew the man was involved and for that he would suffer. She would see to that. Somehow.

Charles' eyes practically jumped out of his skull when she uttered that one single word; one could very plainly see the color drain from his face, skin slightly shimmering from the cold sweat that broke across his brow. Treason? What had he done that had been treasonous? Had she...No, Anselm was too intelligent to fall for her tricks and lies. Even if he had thrown him in the jail, it was probably done to ensure that he was treated fairly. But here...The way the guards were handling him, how that damned hag was circling him like a vulture...this was something very different.

"You know nothing about me, you damned harlot..." he growled, making one of the guards jam the barrel of his rifle into the back of his head and state "You watch your tone, you rabid dog." "NO! Jold'r, he needs to be alive...For the moment, at least." interjected Sevin, stepping in and placing his hand on the barrel itself. Jold'r's eyes flicked between Sevin and Charles, his lip twitching in annoyance before he pulled away with a haughty grunt. "Consider yourself lucky, boy...." the armored man added, taking his place next to the jail-side door.

"No doubt he confided in you about our conversation. As he should. But as I told him, I do NOT have the weapon!"Charles shot back heatedly, himself starting to grow very agitated...At least until the Queen mentioned murder. "Murder...What the devil are you talking about? There was no plan....No." Charles then grew very quiet, his eyes widening in knowing EXACTLY who must have called in the order. That damned bastard. And for what seemed like an eternity, he stared at the table in contemplation.

Meanwhile, his ears still took in every one of Helena's words: Murderer...Kill...Fair man, good man. "No, this was not supposed to happen! Theodore, you damned traitor!" Charles muttered under his breath, but not so quietly no one had to ask him to repeat it. Constabil just chuckled, "Pot calling the kettle black, ain't it? So who's this Theodore?" Charles' gaze snapped at the guard, his eyes widening in realization of what he just said. "Oh, you can't try to take it back now, my friend...Who is Theodore?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, other guards were working on getting a rather short figure into the premises; the person struggled with all their might, but the guards could simply not be overpowered. Of the three, one held what appeared to a very sleek piece of hardware - a rifle with a fairly high-power magnification scope. Bolt-action, magazine-fed, and loaded with bullets big enough to drop a bear.

Finally, they forced him through to another interrogation room; this was obviously the man that carried out the hit on the King, but they needed to find out WHO sent him. And where they could find this person. Before long, the person was seated, their head covered in a helmet that obscured everything from sight. One guard then leaned down and whispered, "Alright, you...We found the gun, it was still hot. You were running and hiding like a deer that just got hit, wanting to stow away until it was all over. Well, here's the thing: You're a dead man either way. And you just shot a good man, someone who looks out for his people. Now, you can make this easy and tell us who this person is...Or we force it out of you."

All he did then was stand up and finish with, "Your call."

Helena's rage seethed within her blood, boiling over as it rolled off her tiny body in rippling waves. She was infuriated, upset. Her Anselm lied in a bed, hooked up to who knew what while this despicable creature was comfortable in his holding cell. Well, not for long if she had anything to say about it! He didn't deserve to be treated so kindly. Not after all the atrocities he'd committed. He had no care for anyone. Not her, not even his supposed best friend! Just what kind of man was he? Not one worthy of breathing the precious air that filled the room!

As Helena watched Charles, her blue eyes fixed upon his face, she noticed the color drain from his cheeks, his own eyes widening with each and every word she'd uttered. Good! He deserved to be frightened. He should be! He'd been part of an elaborate plan to murder and destroy someone who'd done nothing but good for his people! Especially her when she'd hit rock bottom...

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes as Helena thought upon those first days when she'd met Anselm. Sure, it had been a chance meeting at first, but she'd seized the opportunity when she'd realized how well they'd gotten on, how much potential they'd have...together. A force to be reckoned with, that's what they'd become! But now... Now, he was in a hospital bed. Injured. And because of Charles Vincent.

How she loathed this treacherous man!

Helena's heart thumped, her blood pounding in her ears as she saw red. But then she heard the name—Theodore. A vicious smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she heard Constabil's chuckle. Her gaze boring into Charles, she knew they had him and that soon justice would prevail, her Anselm avenged! It was more than he deserved.

"Indeed," Helena spoke, her voice the perfect regal calm. She stalked closer to Charles, a delicate hand moving to touch his shoulder. "Tell us about this Theodore." She moved behind him, leaning closer so that her lips were almost brushing against his ear. "I'm eager to hear all about him." Pushing away, her expression hardened and she moved to be in front of him, skirts swishing and billowing as she walked. "Spare no detail as I'm sure Anselm will want every bit of it relayed to him once I speak with him later on."

Helena's blue eyes flashed, the anger and hatred apparent as she stared at the man before her. Twice now he'd wronged her. Oh, he would pay dearly now. She'd see to that. And she'd see to it that Anselm learned the bitter truth about his supposed 'friend'.

"Come now," Helena continued, her face starting to show boredom, though on the inside, her thoughts ran wild as fury still surged through her veins. "I have others to attend to." She paused, her malicious grin broadening. "And you really should seek more loyal friends, Charles..." She narrowed her eyes. "Anselm comes to mind," she spat viciously. "For they spared nothing when it came to you," she drawled lazily, turning her back on him just then, her gaze moving to the guards as she gave them both a nod and a smile.

Yes, Charles was right where she wanted him. And Helena was certain that, by now, the man who'd attempted the murder on her beloved Anselm was now in their custody. Soon, her beloved, her King would be brought to justice. Soon, those who'd wronged her would pay!

Charles just swallowed hard as Helena got right in his face; did she honestly think he liked doing this? He never asked for Anselm to get shot! Anselm WAS his friend, no matter how this bitch tried to spin it! But it seemed he was the only one who would know this, for the guards were so quick to believe their beloved queen. Charles had tried to dissuade Anselm from marrying her, knowing how it would look should the truth ever come to light. But now, she had him. Sunk her venom-saturated nails into his very soul and changed him.

"I told you, this was never meant to happen!" Charles pleaded, the desperation in his tone growing. "Charles...Do yourself a favor and start telling us what we need to know. If you truly want Anselm's forgiveness when he hears about all this, this is the best way to do it. You know it to be true." said dear Constabil, his partner Sevin nodding in agreement. Charles' stomach sank like a lead weight; he knew that was his only option at this point, but he also knew it would certainly land him in hot water after he was released. IF he was released.

"Fine. I suppose I can't make you see this wasn't my fault. Just...tell the King I'm sorry once this is over, OK?" he then stated, feeling now that his death would be certain no matter what was said. "Theodore...He's my assistant, but he's a power-grabber. The classic snake-in-the-grass type. I always had a thought in the back of my mind about what he might do...But I never imagined it would come to this. He always talked about how we were too passive, not actively trying to dethrone the crown." He then sighed, feeling oddly better about coming clean. "Truth be told...Helena, Your Highness, you were correct. I was largely mistaken in assuming Anselm would be corrupted."

At this, Jold'r stepped in again, "Enough trying to butter up the Queen, Charles. Tell us where...." At this, the front set of doors opened up, revealing another guard; the knuckles his gauntlets were stained a light red, evident that he'd been 'busy' with an interrogation. Giving a quick bow, he then said "Apologies, m'lady. We have a lead on the man who orchestrated the assassination attempt. We caught the man who fired the shot and he told us everything." Sevin then replied, "Let me guess...Goes by the name of Theodore."

The other guard that just came in paused, stupefied by the revelation, but recovered "Yes...Theodore Alvinson. Scribe of the King himself and assistant Director of Communications." Charles' head hung low; this was it. That was the final nail in the coffin.

"Jold'r, take Vincent back to his cell. Riker, impound the assassin. Once that's done, both of you join up with me and Sevin. " Constabil barked, intending to go to action now. Sevin quickly called it in on the comms, telling them to converge on Theodore's home and other places where he would be likely found. This man, this monster who tried to kill a fair and just ruler, could not run anymore.

Little did anyone realize just how much this would change the course of things to come.

---

(If you want to skip ahead to where the three of them are about to be executed, go ahead.)

She smiled as she scavenged what she was certain would bring she and her father a great amount of wealth on the Black Market once Garrett got his hands on it—the man could get even the worst piece of junk operable. To say he was a genius with weaponry was an understatement, then it was probably why Charles trusted the man with his most valuable and top secret of gadgets, devices, you name it! And the thing she'd managed to find was no doubt a marvel. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it, the thing nothing like she'd ever seen before. Her cool blue eyes glittered like sapphires as she inspected it, both ready and eager to share her find with the one man she trusted above all others—her Charles.

Well, Helena knew it was silly to call him 'hers'. Nothing had been spoken about it, not yet...not really. But it had been insinuated—the lingering gazes, the way his hand always found the small of her back. She shivered as she imagined the heat of his breath the first time they went scavenging together, when he first taught her the art, how to do it properly, skillfully. She smiled, her cheeks reddening as her pace quickened along with the beating of her heart.

"Charles, Charles!" Helena shouted as she pounded a fist against his door, her find carefully concealed in a large bag slung over her back. When the door opened and he stood there looking down at her, that smile that always melted her plastered across his lips, she let the bag fall from her thin shoulders. Flicking her platinum hair, averted her gaze, suddenly shy yet excitement welling inside as she readied to share her news. "You'll never guess what I found!"

Helena ground her teeth at the memory. Indeed, she'd been naïve to place her trust in such a man, in the people he worked with. Damn their revolution, their resistance! It wasn't needed. None of it was. Blinking back tears, she allowed herself a brief moment to mourn for her father and then let her thoughts drift to her Anselm. How she wished he wasn't lying in some bed, nearly lifeless. She longed for his warmth, for his eyes to stare back into her own. But this man—Charles—he took that away.

It was time to break the cycle. To end things.

Helena nodded to Constabil first and then Sevin as they began to take swift action, her head held high as she stepped toward them. In her mind, Charles was already dead, a ghost. He'd wronged her for the last time and he certainly would not be allowed to wrong anyone else. She'd see to that.

The cycle must end!

"It's time to end this," Helena said softly as she reached Constabil, a gentle hand touching his arm. "It's what he'd want. It's what is right." She paused a moment, taking a long drawn out breath. "Justice must be served. I will see it done," she said with a reserved nod and immediately headed out of the prison cell.

Quickly, yet with all the regal grace of the queen she'd become, Helena raced to where her Anselm lied...in a bed hooked up to tubes and monitoring devices and other things she didn't understand. It frightened her to see him in such a state. So...helpless. A soft gasp burbled up from her lips as she moved toward him, gown swishing about her slim body. Her blue eyes took in the drips that were giving him life saving medicines—relieving his pain, healing his wounds. Keeping him alive.

Helena gave a sharp look at the staff who were tirelessly working on the King. Her King. Her Anselm. She was grateful for them, but she needed a minute, a mere moment. Unable to curb her emotions, her words came out clipped, "I need a moment alone with your King."

The medical staff gave her strange stares. The King was in no state to speak, to sit up or move. But Helena's eyes remained fixed on the King, her own expression filled with resolve.

"Just a moment," Helena then added, her eyes softening, her voice almost a whisper.

The staff nodded, seeming to understand. Their queen was grieving, stressed. A moment wouldn't hurt anything, not with Anselm hooked up to so many monitors. Should anything happen, they would know and Helena would alert them. At that, those who'd been busying themselves about the King took their temporary leave.

Helena brought a tiny hand up to Anselm's face and gently caressed his cheek. As a tear began to fall, a drop landing squarely upon his chest, she leaned forward, moving closer until she finally let her lips brush against his. "Oh Anselm," she whispered. "I told you...I told you..." She sat down beside her beloved and took his hand in her own, her eyes drifting to the IVs.

Drip...drip...drip...

"It was Charles, my love. It was always him," Helena continued. "He and his conspirators. "But we've captured them." She smiled as she choked on a tiny sob. "We did. And justice will be served in your honor. I'll see it done while you rest and..." Her voice trailed. She would never give up on Anselm. He would heal. He would return by her side and be stronger than ever. The most powerful King these people had ever seen! "You heal. It shall be done."

Two days later as the sun reached the highest point in the sky, Helena found herself anxious, her tummy fluttering and in knots. The day had finally arrived. From behind her guards, she saw the traitors—the gunman, the one named Theodore and then...Charles. She smiled inwardly as she watched them line up in front of the people all looking on as they stood before the usual podium that Anselm gave his speeches from. Only this time it would be her. Her heart raced at the idea that she'd be the one speaking this time on her beloved's behalf. But, he was unable at this time.

Helena turned, her blue eyes catching sight of Sevin who stood nearby. She swallowed hard and gave him a nod that she was ready. Yes, the guards were there. They'd protect her. After what had happened to Anselm, everyone was on full alert.

The crowd hummed with an energy and intensity that made Helena shiver, her tiny body trembling as she took each step up toward the podium. Her feet felt like lead, but she knew this had to be done, must be done. She'd see it through no matter the cost. This was what she was meant to do! Taking a deep breath, she rested her hands on the rails flanking the podium to steady herself and then allowed her eyes to take in the sea of faces, a wash of color that thrummed and chattered and waited to hear what she had to say.

"As you all know, a life was nearly lost several days ago," Helena began, a breeze blowing through the square causing her gauzy dress to billow about her lithe body making her look like an angelic figure standing before the swarming crowd below. "And not just any life," she continued. "The most important life to us all. The one that helps us see order when there is none, that helps us see good despite the bad. He is the most fair when it comes to how he views and handles every situation that befalls him, truly I know no greater man. Anselm, your King." She paused a moment as the crowd shouted for their King and booed the men standing before her. She could hear some of the people in the crowd shouting obscenities about the men who'd dared harm their King.

Good!

"Fortunately, our King is strong." The crowd applauded. "He will heal and rule ever stronger than before! It is the faith of his people, his followers that help him heal!" More applause and happy shouts. "And now, justice shall be served! And in this justice, may all see that Resistance is not needed!" The applause grew stronger, louder. "A just and kind ruler only needs his faithful...YOU!"

The crowd roared with praise making Helena's heart hammer hard against her chest. Her hands shook with adrenaline as she gained a strange energy from the crowd. She nodded her platinum head and smiled, her cool stared turning toward the three men standing pitifully before her.

"See?" Helena shouted. "See how beloved the King is?" Her tone was almost mocking as the crowd applauded and shouted in agreement. "Your attempts were in vain and it shall be put to an end. There will be no Resistance! There will be no more violence or murder! The cycle stops today!" As the crowd continued its applause, jeering at the men who'd dare betray, she turned toward the executioner who stood at the ready and gave him a nod—one of finality, one filled with resolve.

"It is done, my Anslem..." Helena whispered to herself, her eyes still locked with the executioner's.

So, this day had finally come. Charles held belief that one day his activities might land him in hot water...Just not by the hands of the wicked woman who stood before the crowds. Yes, perhaps he had wronged her. Yes, he should have helped her father get better. But what was the fate of one man compared to the city's well-being? It wasn't like the Resistance was ever going to act without a reason...Or at least that's how he wanted things to pan out.

But now Theodore's lust for power had doomed them all...There was no way this would end well. Even with someone like Anselm, it could very well break him. "Theodore, you fool..." Charles muttered to the man next to him, his head covered by a hood. "You were weak, Charles. We had a chance to take power, and I went for it. It was you who betrayed us!" Theodore hissed in reply. "No...YOU saw a chance. A small chance, and now the people will pay the price for your avarice."

Theodore just cackled, "To hell with the people. You know how they are, Charles. So long as they're fat and happy, they'll blindly follow anyone who gives them happiness. The people are sheep, stupidly listening to the wolf amidst their flock. I would have gladly taken role as their shepherd, but Anselm is a bastard and a liar." Charles grimaced; he should have known Theodore would try something, but to go this far...It was foolish. And now they were all dead because of his hubris.

Constabil would serve as judge for this trial. Well, associate judge, as the Queen had already read the punishment for treason. The crowd fell deathly silent as he stood before the three guilty men, ready to deliver unto them justice for their sacrilege. "I read now the charges for which you stand before the People of this city today: Charles Vincent. Guilty of one count of treason, one count of conspiracy to commit murder and one count of negligent homicide." He then turned to Theodore, "Theodore Alvinson. Guilty of one count treason, one count conspiracy to usurp the throne." And then came the final man, his thin face hiding in fear beneath the hood. "Samuel Williger. Guilty of one count treason, one counted attempted murder."

Clearing his throat, he then added, "These are the charges for which you face the penalty for such heinous acts: Death by firing squad. By order of her Highness and as decreed by law, Article 8, Section 7.1.1, this is your punishment. To whichever deity you might pray to, I hope that you might find forgiveness for your transgressions."

In the hospital bed, the King sat awake. Aching and tired, but awake; his eyes were trained on the monitor, feeling slightly sick that it had come to this. He couldn't believe it...Charles. His closest friend and personal adviser, truly and unequivocally betrayed him. To think he'd been so blind. Were his detractors right? Had he been too soft? Too forgiving? No, he told himself; he needed to ensure everyone accused had their chance to argue their case. But then, because of it, he'd been shot...Was it his fault? He didn't know, not now and perhaps not for some time. At the very least this would make him think on some things...Way to improve his capability as a leader.

All the while, three of the Royal Guard stood at the ready, rifles aimed directly at the heads of the criminals. "Squad, ready!" commanded Sevin, the three guards responding by racking the bolt of their rifles to chamber the first round. "Squad, aim!" was the next, response being placing the butts of their weapons against their armored shoulders.

"Squad...Fire!"

A volley of shots rang out; the convicts' bodies recoiled from the impact of the bullets as each found their mark, a small spatter of blood serving as evidence of the entry wound. It only stopped when the last bullet was lodged in the skull of each criminal, their forms dropping lifelessly to the ground as small streams of red slipped out.

It was done. The traitors had been dealt with and the King spared Death's embrace.

Little did people realize what this would lead to in the future...

And it was as simple as that. A few words to the crowd and Helena could feel the energy rolling off them and crashing into her like waves. It was heady, her senses overwhelmed as she took in the hushed silence followed by the loud crack of guns firing and finally the mixed sounds of bodies thudding, crumpling to the ground in lifeless heaps while the people cheered. Yes, cheered! She could hardly believe that the masses swarming about her were just as ecstatic as she was to see blood spill...Charles' blood spill.

Helena could almost taste the red liquid on her tongue as she watched it spatter the ground, pooling beneath the bodies of the men who meant her King—her beloved—harm. Better them than him...the words were like venom as they dripped from her mind like bitter acid, the taste lingering far longer than she'd have liked. Though, she had to admit there was a sense of giddy satisfaction, a strange rush as her blue gaze remained fixed on their unmoving bodies. Goose bumps formed over her flesh as the sun beat down upon her porcelain pale skin, her faint glow shimmering as the light reflected off her platinum hair. She looked like an angel, a harbinger of death as she stood there watching, completely transfixed, until the sounds of the people were nothing more than muffled noise.

Finally, Helena lifted her chin. The tip of her pink tongue darted out and she wetted her bottom lip as her eyes locked onto those responsible for pulling the triggers. Sucking in a sharp breath, a breeze blew through the crowd and the smell of blood and death wafted up to her nose. She drank it down greedily, a scent she'd relish and never forget. Her gauzy gown clung to her body as the heat of the sun continued to bear down upon everyone below. A trickle of sweat rolled down between her breasts and she slowly exhaled.

"I need to go to him," Helena spoke softly, her blue eyes swirling, taking in everything as she slowly began to back away from everything that had just happened. Charles was dead, vengeance was hers and now...now Anselm was safe.

Or was he?

Helena knew this didn't mean the end of the Resistance. To think such things would be foolish. This meant that her Anselm would forever be in danger. Men such as Charles had ensured that now. Men who were greedy and willing to crush others all in the name of what? It sickened her. And seeing the traitors by that worm's side made everything poignantly clear. It made her heart ache to see it, to know that Anselm's own heart would be crushed at the betrayal. But at least Charles could no longer betray another...not ever again! She saw to that, yes. However, in his death they now had to worry about others. How many more were there? Would they ever know?

Would he ever be safe?

Stepping back, Helena leaned close to Constabil. "I need to go to my husband. I need to ensure his safety myself," she demanded, her voice almost faltering as a new worry began to rise. But she'd remain the picture of calm, the regal queen her people needed her be, the woman her Anselm needed.

Without further hesitation, Helena stepped down and away from the crowd as the bodies were taken care of. She had more pressing matters to attend to, her heart hammering hard as her white gown billowed behind her in wispy trails behind her as she ran to find her husband where he was staying in his hospital bed. Face paler than usual, she opened the door and stood there for a moment, her eyes taking in the sight of him as he sat there. She felt her heart flutter for a moment and she willed her feet to move. In a matter of moments, she was kneeling beside him, her hands finding his.

"I'm so sorry, my love," Helena whispered, her lips grazing Anselm's knuckles. Looking up at him, she trembled slightly. "Charles and his accomplices have been taken care of." She swallowed hard, her eyes welling with tears, causing them to glitter like sapphires. "But I fear this is far from over...I...I fear for your safety...I can't lose you, Anselm." She leaned forward again, tears falling against his hand as she nuzzled it. "I just can't."

As the three traitors lay dead on the ground, Constabil only nodded as the Queen informed him of her absence. "Of course, Your Highness. We will take care of everything here." was his reply; of course, what needed to be done was actually quite simple. The blood on the ground would be washed away, and their bodies taken outside the city walls and left to rot under the sun. They deserved no burial, nor would they get one even if morals dictated they should have one.

"Alright, Sevin. Take your team and disperse the crowd; show's over, after all. Jold'r, take the greenhorns and wash down this stage. My team and I will handle the bodies." commanded Constabil, his orders soon being followed wordlessly. Within moments, the streets were clear and evidence of the execution was simply...erased. Like it had never happened.

Charles, meanwhile, saw the feed go black before transferring to an old recording of some comedy show that he didn't recognize; like his Queen suspected, he was crushed by all this. But perhaps, this was the eye-opener he needed; changes were necessary, that much was certain to him now.

And that thought stayed with him even as his beloved Helena entered the room and came to his bedside. She looked so divine, really she was a god-send in every sense of the word. He felt himself relax as her gentle fingers took hold his hand, her soft lips upon his flesh as their gazes connected. "Helena...I know things have been rough, and I can't thank you enough. Thank you for being so strong, for finally helping me realize just how dense I have been."

Things definitely were not over, and he suspected there would be other attempts on his life now that one had been so bold to try. But now he knew better. Now he would prepare himself and his loyalists for a new future; he would rule them as he had been: Fair. Kind. Giving. Everything the people loved him for...Except, unknown to him, he would also slip into that which catalyzed the downfall of the Old World.

This was the start of a brave new world. For everyone.

---

Over the next few decades, things began to change. Many considered it change for the better. A new step forward to ascend themselves back to how they once were. Technology grew, born from other great minds that had awakened from their stasis pods. Many of these 'new-borns', as they had come to be called, were unsure of living under a monarchy, but once they saw the prosperity before them their fears eased.

And for a time, the assassination seemed to not affect Anselm's ability to rule with a clear head. His empire grew and grew, more towns assimilating into his domain. But, still waters held the darkest dangers, as the old saying went. The old leaders of the once-independent seemed to change as well, their policies

Behind the scenes, Anselm's own world-view shifted significantly from how he once was. He had grown somewhat paranoid, and much of the research went into weapons and armor development for the Royal Guard; his new brigade had swollen tremendously, taking on the name of 'The Enforcers'. Soon, every town and urban center that was under Anselm's control had at least one Enforcer base there. Then came the propanganda: Join them. Serve your King.

And his mild paranoia had served him well, finding new pockets of Resistance members and on many occasions, they would all wind up dead. And their deaths were almost always explained away: Terrorists. Smugglers. Any title to cover up the slaughter of these men and women. And when innocents got caught in the crossfire - however rarely it happened - Anselm himself would try to console the family of the deceased...Even if it was but to maintain good relations.

And while it often went unreported, there was one group from Anselm's past that kept tabs: The Resistance. They all knew this new direction could never mean anything good, and so, in both overt and covert means they fought back. They had to. Else it would mean everyone would be living under a man that went from fair-ruling servant of the People to a despotic tyrant. And while Charles was taken from them, he had left clear instructions on what would happen should he meet his demise.

And as time went on, it seemed Charles' fears were coming to fruition: Anselm, the man he truly considered a friend, was falling to the decadent poison of corruption. By the time thirty years had gone by, more than three quarters of the independent towns were under Enforcer 'protection'. But those that did not join became, for the large part, safe havens for those that did not feel comfortable with how Anselm was running his regime.

A large part of the population was in support of them, others condemned them because it brought back the same problem that had killed the Old World. For the most part though, the fighting was mostly behind the scenes: Sabotage, intercepting supply lines, mostly things to cripple the various sources of life for each organization. But......the petty squabbles of the Resistance and the Enforcers didn't so much as faze Richard Redstone, Mayor of Hargard itself. Standing at a mean 6'5", his blazing red locks reflected in the bright sun as he chewed on a lit cigar, an eyepatch covering his bad eye. The man, covered in a brown leather jacket and wearing nothing else but red pants and black combat boots, was built like a tank and looked like he could throw one too; few ever bad-mouthed him, but in all honesty, he oversaw this town with a fair hand and a clear sense of justice. He had his people to protect, and he couldn't let himself get caught up in this same old song and dance shit.

Now Hargard was far from a metropolis, but it was one of the more developed settlements. From racing to strip clubs to businesses to plumbing, this town had it all; hell, some places even had old-style wooden signs and neon to help advertise themselves. However, none of it came for free, as did all things in life. There were still the problems of price-gouging, business fraud, and general crime to deal with, not to mention sending prospecting parties out to find what they needed. Hell there was plenty of it to go around, not to mention the trade routes with the other settlements that brought in plenty of goods. The only trouble was being able to acquire these goods, as that sometimes entailed going into rather dangerous territory. Territory that often claimed the lives of more good people than most cared to admit.

He then went back inside to get another trading party ready; there were other duties as well, but getting supplies was a top priority. He walked back into this rather messy office, where stacks of forms sat at his desk, and pressed the intercom button, his gruff voice playing out in speakers over the city's PA system, "Attention, Hargard, this is your Mayor speaking. All Caravan personnel report to my office immediately". He then looked to his assistant Brian and said, "See if you can't scrounge up some more people to act as guard detail; we don't need damned bandits hitting us again". The short blonde man, dressed in a bright blue shirt and tan khakis, nodded and began trying to round people up, going from door to door of the more capable people in town. Redstone just hoped this would go better than last time; a bandit group calling themselves 'Ghosts' had struck their party and killed everyone there before looting the entire caravan.