Howard Leyman clapped his hands with measured deliberation, each sound a crisp note of finality that reverberated through Blacksteel's hall.
The thirty kneeling figures—each implicated in the missing shipment—shifted uneasily under the weight of his gaze.
He stood at the centre, an arbiter of truth, his posture erect, his eyes sharp with purpose.
"The hour has come for the ultimate disclosure," he announced, his voice resonant and composed, carrying the weight of inevitability.
He approached the table with a steady gait, retrieving his bag with a precise motion, and produced his concluding evidence: a truck kilometre counter and two sleek phones, their screens dormant yet laden with revelations.
His boots tapped a deliberate rhythm as he advanced toward a feline woman clad in a crisp suit, her ears twitching faintly.
He lowered himself to her level with dignity, meeting her amber gaze.
"Maris," he stated, her name delivered with a calm, authoritative clarity.
"Your record is exemplary—logistics coordinator, proficient in operational oversight, elevated to a secretary manager along with the key of the depot safeguarding that 20-billion-LMD armament."
A flicker of discomfort crossed her face, a trace of irritation in her tightened jaw, but Howard noted it without comment.
He rose smoothly, addressing the assembly with a controlled gesture.
"How could one of such standing turn against her own institution?" he enquired, his tone devoid of mockery, carrying only the gravity of betrayal.
He turned to face the room, his expression composed yet piercing.
" Inferiority and jealousy—the twin serpents that coil the heart. "
"Maris served Blacksteel for many years, her talents once lauded, her ascent marked by promotions. Yet recognition waned, her skills no longer extolled, and she found herself consigned to a role she deemed beneath her capabilities."
I moved around as I spoke.
"She aspired to wield influence, to shape pivotal decisions. As time wore on, her discontent deepened—until external agents intervened."
He paused, allowing the assembly to absorb his words.
"Initially, she hesitated. Relinquishing such a vast arsenal bore little appeal—until they extended an assurance: succeed, and she and her confederates could claim any desire they named. She recognised the opportunity and acted decisively."
Howard placed the kilometer counter before her with a deliberate hand, its metallic sheen catching the light.
"To the untrained observer, it appears unblemished—minutes recorded, distances traversed."
"Yet meticulous analysis revealed an anomaly: forty minutes of fabricated time, inserted when the trucks remained stationary. Prior to departure, they enacted their illusion with Originium Arts through mirrors—a process spanning twenty minutes.
"Upon return, an additional twenty minutes vanished as they dismantled the mirrors and eradicated all traces. Thus, the improbable was achieved."
He presented one of the phones, activating it with a press.
A crackle emerged, followed by voices—Maris and her shadowy collaborators, their pact laid bare.
"'The shipment is secured,'" Maris's voice intoned, firm and resolute. "'You shall receive it as agreed.'"
"'And your recompense?'" a distorted male voice inquired, smooth and calculated.
"'A private company — mercenaries, resources sufficient to rival Terra's finest,'" she stipulated.
"'My team demands the same: any wish fulfilled.'"
"'It is settled,'" the voice replied.
"'Succeed, and it is yours. 'Fail, and you are forfeit.'"
"'Failure is not an option,'" she affirmed, unwavering.
The recording ceased, and Maris lowered her head, her ears flattening as tears traced paths down her cheeks. Her voice fractured, laden with remorse.
"I regret it all—I never intended such ruin. Forgive me."
Howard's countenance remained stern, unyielding.
"Pray, withhold your lamentations, for they ring hollow to my ears," he responded, his voice cutting with formal precision.
"Your allegiance is bent solely to pecuniary gain. Moreover, it is not my station to accept your contrition."
He returned to his chair with a measured stride, seating himself with poise, and surveyed the hall.
His gaze rested briefly on Liskarm—her eyes meeting his, wide with comprehension—before shifting elsewhere.
He held the lollipop he had retained, then crushed it in his hand with a firm grip.
A burst of flame erupted, a fleeting fire flower that dissipated into embers, scattering to the floor.
"Here concludes this inquiry," he stated, his tone resolute and final.
"The disposition of this matter now rests with Commander Morrison, as he deems fit."
Frank Morrison, who had observed from the hall's periphery, stepped forward with a weary exhalation.
His prosthetic arm gleamed as he signalled the operatives.
"Secure them all in restraints—save for Liskarm. Remove them hence. They shall face prosecution under Colombian law."
The operatives acted with swift precision, shackles clinking as they bound the guilty, leaving Liskarm untouched, her breath uneven amid the tumult.
Morrison offered Howard a final, appraising glance, then departed, leaving him alone with her in the now-desolate hall.
***
The hall lay silent, its steel walls bearing witness to the aftermath of Howard Leyman's revelations.
The operatives had departed with their captives, leaving only Howard and Liskarm in the cavernous space.
He stood near his chair, gazing upward at the ceiling with a faint sigh, the weight of the day settling into his bones.
Liskarm remained kneeling, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders, her blue horns catching the dim light.
A single word slipped from Howard's lips, heavy with inquiry.
"Why?"
Liskarm pursed her lips, her tail giving a restless flick, a subtle sign of the storm brewing within her.
She said nothing, her silence a wall between them.
Howard rose from his chair, his movements deliberate, and fixed her with a steady gaze.
"Was it truly worth the cost?" he asked, his voice formal yet edged with quiet reproach.
"Was this the path you envisioned to deliver salvation to your people? You spoke to me of loyalty, yet at the first whisper of temptation, you turned your back."
He lowered himself to her level, squatting before her, his eyes searching hers.
"You believe you can emulate them, do you not? The Rangers—paragons of valour and sacrifice."
Liskarm's head snapped up, her bloodshot eyes blazing with a fury that shattered her composure.
She surged forward, her voice a raw scream that echoed through the hall.
"Do not dare speak of them! You understand nothing of the agony I bear!"
She clenched her arm as electric sparks flew around her.
"You've never felt the Sargon yoke crush my kin or seen my race bleed under their heel! You stand there, smug and ignorant, while I've watched homes burn, families torn asunder—years of suffering you'll never comprehend!"
Howard let out a sharp, mirthless laugh, rising to his feet with measured grace.
"I concede it freely," he replied, his tone unwavering and formal.
"I possess no knowledge of your anguish, nor can I claim to fathom the depths of your pain.
" Yet one truth I grasp with certainty: I would not forge a mercenary band from the ashes of betrayal and sacrifice."
He stepped closer, his presence looming yet composed.
"You, of all souls, should recognise this. Awaken to the reality before you—a reality as cruel as it is unyielding. Nothing unfolds as one intends; no plan endures unscathed."
He reached into his coat, withdrawing a folded paper with a deliberate hand, and held it before her.
"This is a cover document—an alibi I've draughted in your defence," he said, his voice softening yet retaining its authority.
He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder despite the sparks flying from her, a rare gesture of reassurance.
"Do not forsake those who might aid you. Cultivate bonds, foster trust—not for their might, but for their capacity to uplift you, irrespective of your path."
"Salvation for your people remains within reach; there is no need for reckless haste."
Liskarm's resolve crumbled, her shoulders trembling as tears welled in her eyes.
She bowed her head, her voice breaking into a sob.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered, the words spilling forth amid a flood of tears.
"I'm so sorry—I was wro..."
Howard stood over her, his hand lingering briefly before withdrawing.
The hall's silence enveloped them once more, heavy with the echoes of her apology.
At the echoes of the young wingless dragon.
***
Howard Leyman emerged from the hall, his arm steadying Liskarm, whose form wavered under the strain of profound emotional fatigue.
Her silver hair fell in disarray, her breathing shallow and faltering, a clear sign of the day's heavy toll.
With measured steps, he guided her to a modest lounge adjoining the hall, where a weathered sofa stood for visitors.
He lowered her onto it with meticulous care, ensuring her repose upon the cushions.
Removing his coat, he draped it over her , its dark expanse serving as a protective cover against the ambient chill.
Frank Morrison appeared from the dim periphery, the faint metallic clink of his prosthetic arm heralding his approach.
He had lingered, his countenance etched with contemplation, ensnared in the depths of his own reflections.
"Today has proven a most tumultuous endeavour," he stated, his voice a resonant murmur as he returned to the moment.
He seated himself upon the opposing sofa, the leather yielding with a subdued groan, and directed an inquisitive look toward Howard.
"For what reason did you elect to spare her, Leyman?"
Howard's gaze settled upon Liskarm, now resting uneasily beneath his coat, before returning to meet Morrison's eyes.
"It is my practice to invest in individuals who demonstrate latent capacity for greatness," he replied, his voice formal and imbued with resolve.
"Furthermore, Liskarm's transgression was not wholly of her own volition. She was compelled to comply, ensnared by those who wielded knowledge of her predicament—her ties to Sargon's suffering—as leverage. Her actions were never motivated by the pursuit of wealth."
Morrison released a sigh, a sound weighted with the burdens of leadership, his frame easing slightly.
"So be it," he responded, his tone bearing the weariness of command.
"I shall undertake the resolution of this matter henceforth. The payment shall be sent."
Thus concluded the day's upheaval.