Above It All

Asia Peace Center  //  Raffles Plaza, Singapore

Crowds gather around the barricaded Raffles Plaza, centered by the Council statue—a minimalist sculpture of a perfect circle and dove symbolizing global peace and stability. Electric estate vehicles purr as they arrive, delivering territory administrators and local officials from across the Asian continent. They wave at the flashing cameras and broadcast drones as they enter the adorned great hall of the Peace Center, but the crowd's anticipation builds for someone far more significant: Councilor Five.

While World Council members typically shun the spotlight, the Esteemed Honorable Councilor of the Asian Continent—also known as Councilor Five—relishes his fame. A divisive figure even within the Council, Five's public presence makes him the face of global governance. Though Councilors can command surface-level admiration, their rule from their ivory towers breeds resentment.

When dissidents curse the Council's iron grip, they picture Five's face.

A convoy of white and gold vehicles glides down the wide, cleared-out avenue toward the complex, flanked by Enforcement hoverbikes leading and tailing. In the central lengthened estate vehicle, Councilor Five sits in ceremonial white garb beside his top aide, a seasoned woman with the stress of serving powerful people hidden behind the professional makeup and suit and tie. The aide finishes reading a priority transmission on his tablet, highlighted in amber.

“Esteemed Councilor, Twelve Eyes has issued an urgent notice. They’re recommending you postpone the Peace Conference.”

“Their reasoning?”

“For your safety and the administrators'. That's all it says.”

“Which agency?”

“Interpol.”

Five scoffs. His pristine white robes rustle as he shifts in his seat. “That Madame bitch thinks she's so omnipotent. This is the safest state, the most secure location! Our security is impenetrable. Nothing has happened here in decades, and nothing will now.”

“But Councilor, perhaps some precautions—”

“Postponing means the dissidents win. They want me to hide from this threat. I won't give them that satisfaction.”

The aide's jaw drops in shock.

“The conference continues as scheduled. No modifications.”

The convoy enters the roundabout of the Peace Center, its classical Roman columns and clay-tiled roof a stark contrast to the surrounding glass skyscrapers. The buildings amid Raffles' administrative district all retain their colonial architecture that harkens back centuries.

As his security personnel open his door, Councilor Five emerges from his vehicle, waving with rehearsed grace at the press corps.

“Esteemed Councilor, your response to rising dissident activity across East Pacific states?” a reporter shouts.

Five whispers to his aide. “I thought these stories were suppressed?”

“They were.” She responds in kind.

“I don’t comment on hearsay,” he announces with firm conviction.

Two Ceremonial Guards, in pristine white uniforms and ornate helmets, cross their polearms in salute before straightening them to grant passage. Five gives them a curt nod as he strolls inside.

By the crowd barriers, Ray scans the surroundings methodically. Nothing out of the ordinary catches his eye.

He discreetly fans his sleeve, sweltering from the tropical heat.

He touches his earpiece. “Mika. You're certain about this?”

“Almost positive. Watch for a woman with a silver rolling bag. Seize it and evacuate the area. I'm on my way there.”

“Copy. Dell, your status?”

From his post at the Center's quiet north end, Dell surveys empty cordoned streets. “All clear, boss. Singapore Enforcement has it locked down tight.”

“Jade?”

Crouched in the unfinished basement with four other agents, Jade sweeps surfaces with a chemical detector. “Nothing in the foundations. Can I get out now? It's filthy down here, and Unit 3's getting on my nerves.”

“Copy. Return to the plaza.” He gazes at his surroundings one more time before continuing.

“Mika, I'm skeptical. The crowd's vetted, building's been swept repeatedly. We've got Enforcement, Army Reserve, and eyes on every building within the effective radius of an arrow.”

“There has to be something. I'm heading to the Peace Center to see for myself.”

Mika flashes her borrowed Interpol insignia at the roadblock. “Interpol. Step aside.” She briefly enjoys her temporary authority as the Enforcement officers part ways and gestures her along.

Behind her, unseen, Locke studies the security perimeter from afar. She doesn't need to get that close to the plaza to sow chaos.

Slipping into an alley, she finds the perfect location outside of Enforcement’s purview. She secures her luggage to her back and scales the scaffolding of a ten-story construction site, Fingers gripping the bamboo as she swings from beam to beam. Ducking under tarps and weaving through half-built floors, she emerges onto an exposed girder near the top. She takes in the aerial view of the plaza, then unzips her bag…

Meanwhile, Mika weaves through the crowd and approaches the security barrier. On the way inside, she runs into Ray at his position.

“Mika, what are you doing here?”

“We both know something's wrong, and I'm going to find it.”

She storms inside the Peace Center. The ceremonial guards snap to attention at her Interpol insignia as she enters through the sliding glass doors.

Inside the Peace Center's vast marble lobby, she scans for anything unusual.

Then Mika spots it - a silver bag rolling itself toward the reception desk. The clerk reaches for the tag, fingers moving to the zipper…

“Interpol! Stop!”

Mika launches forward, snatching the bag and hurling it across the marble floor. “Clear the area!” She tears into the luggage, only to recoil at a pungent odor.

A spiky fruit.

“...Durian.”

She stares in disbelief at the harmless tropical fruit as staff gawk at her.

“False alarm,” she manages with an embarrassed laugh, scrambling to her feet with what dignity remains.

Her instincts sense that there’s still something wrong - but what?

...

Meanwhile, inside the conference hall, Councilor Five wraps up his speech. His words cite promises of continued prosperity and subtle threats against dissidence, all packaged in diplomatic pleasantries. The assembled administrators and officials rise in thunderous applause—It would be blasphemy to not do otherwise.

“Well done, Councilor.” The aide approaches as Five steps off the stage, gesturing toward a side hallway. “Your convoy is waiting for you downstairs in the secure garage.”

“Tell them to meet me at the front,” he orders with conviction.

“Wait. This isn't part of the plan—”

“I want to see my constituents.” Five says. He strides forward, flaunting his importance as his white robes swish with each step. He exits the conference hall into the main lobby, leaving his aide hurrying to keep pace.

As Five passes through the lobby with his security team flanking his sides, he pauses when he sees Mika standing at attention, her presence out of place of against the carefully orchestrated positions of staff and ceremonial guards. His eyes drift to the open luggage and the durian spilled onto the pristine marble floor. He wrinkles his nose at the repugnant odor and continues on toward the front doors.

Ray, seeing the Councilor return through the main entrance, pushes the gathering crowd back to maintain a safe distance.

Five heads outside with his entourage. The crowd swarms forward again, pushing against the barriers as they raise their phones high in an attempt to capture images of the rare public appearance. Interpol Agents and Enforcement officers form a human wall against the pressing masses.

With his keen eye, Ray spots someone being shifty in the crowd: a man with his hand buried deep in his jacket. Unusual. In Singapore's tropical heat, nobody would be wearing outerwear.

The man takes his chance regardless and vaults over the barrier.

“Stop!” Ray shouts, pointing at the suspect.

Five's security immediately tackles the suspect, with two whipping out their stun swords on the lookout for any other threat. Ray assists the arrest by securing the suspects wrists with reinforced cuffs.

Keeping one knee pressed firmly into the suspect's back, Ray performs a rapid search for weapons. He performs a quick pat down with checking pockets and, legs, and the jacket.

A note in the jacket. Ray unfolds it and reads its poorly-handwritten contents. Only three words:

Vertus per Ignem

A distraction? Ray feels his blood runs cold as realization hits. He scans the area frantically, including the windows of the surrounding buildings.

…

High above, Locke crouches behind the parapet of the unfinished building overlooking the plaza. Through her binoculars, she tracks Councilor Five’s white-robed figure and the chaos surrounding him outside the grand entrance of the Peace Center. She sets the binoculars aside and unzips her luggage lying next to her.

Inside lies a weapon disassembled in a chaotic pile of components. She assembles it piece by piece, each part clicking into place. Barrel. Chamber. Scope. Battery bank. Magnet rails. Once complete, the final assembly looks crude—wires sprawling on the exterior, mismatching bare metal components, circuit boards exposed.

A prototype railgun.

“The spark heard around the world,” she declares, voice monotone.

She flicks a switch, and the weapon hums to life. The battery charges with a low whine as magnets inside the barrel power up. Capacitors flood with electricity, pitch rising steadily. She loads a small arrowhead into the barrel then inserts a pellet packed with an explosive concoction. She slams the loading chamber closed with a solid clank.

Peering through the scope, she hunts for her target. Soon enough, the sea of heads part, giving her a clear view of Councilor Five. Her finger settles on the trigger.

“Icarus-sama, I pray that your ingenuity works.”

She slowly exhales, steadying her aim.