Bread with the Taste of Iron

  Heretics’ Headquarters – Central Oregon

  The inner courtyard of the Heretics’ fortified building in central Oregon had never been so crowded. The sound wasn't one of celebration, but rather of hundreds of starving people—ribs protruding beneath tattered clothes—moving in a rhythmic, desperate line.

  Henry watches from high atop a metal catwalk. He’s still wearing the blue uniform, but his wooden mask hangs around his neck. His eyes are sunken, his face unwashed since Cascade. Below him, Kol and Leo coordinate the distribution.

  The contrast is jarring: bags of apple seeds and wheat bearing the CIA seal are torn open, their contents poured into makeshift containers.

  "It’s real food!" a woman exclaims, clutching a handful of grain as if they were diamonds.

  Leo, using his steel claws to pry open confiscated military ration crates, looks up, searching for Henry’s gaze. He wants a sign of victory, a smile, anything. But Henry only stares at the horizon. He sees the people eating, but in his mind, he only hears the twins' crying and Silvia’s verdict: "You are a killer."

  Mickey sits on an ammo crate, cleaning a wound on his arm with a heated knife and a dirty rag. He laughs to himself—a dry, raspy sound.

  "Look at them, Henry! We filled the pigs' bellies. Now, how long until they start killing each other over the scraps?"

  Henry doesn't answer. He climbs down the stairs, feeling the weight of the Five-Seven pistol in his holster. He walks among the people who call him "Savior" and "Blue Angel," but he feels like a ghost. Every grain handed out feels like a piece of Fabrizio he left behind.

  Reapers’ HQ – The Glass Sanctuary

  In Cascade, the silence is absolute, save for the soft sound of breastfeeding. Silvia sits in a leather armchair within the sterile room, holding both infants. The morning light streams through the reinforced windows, illuminating the heirs' pale skin. She looks younger, her "Beautiful as Death" armor cracked by motherhood.

  Jester is in a corner, cleaning one of his support drones. The bells on his suit make no noise; he moves with a calculated delicacy.

  "They’re beautiful, aren't they?" Jester asks, his thin, clownish voice echoing. "They almost make you forget the world outside is rotting."

  Silvia glares at him, her eyes alert. "What happens now, Jester? Henry is gone. Fabrizio is dead. We’re alone."

  Jester stops cleaning the drone. He turns to her, his cloth mask concealing his expression, but his shoulders slump slightly.

  "Not quite, Silvia. There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve kept for ten years."

  Silvia tenses up, shielding the babies. "What are you talking about?"

  "All this time... I never lost contact with your father. I’ve always been interacting with Colonel Turner."

  Silvia stands up abruptly. "YOU WHAT?! He turned us into monsters! He murdered our childhood! Have you been his spy this entire time?!"

  "Listen!" Jester approaches, hands outspread in a peace gesture. "He promised me my parents' location in Canada, Silvia. He wanted me to hand over you and the children as soon as they were born."

  Silvia recoils, her eyes overflowing with tears of hatred. "And are you going to do it? Are you going to hand us over to that old psychopath?"

  "No." Jester’s voice turns ice-cold. "I refused to learn the location. I made a deal with the Colonel to deliver something 'better' to him. I gave him Henry and the Heretics. I told the Colonel they are superior to his creations."

  Silvia questions him, incredulous: "Why would you do that?"

  Jester looked toward the door Henry had walked through the day before, wearing a dark smile behind his mask.

  "Because I know Henry. I sent them there because I know he will destroy that old man and his group from the inside out."

  FLASHBACK – The Puppet Master and the Clown (Yesterday)

  Edgefield Complex, Troutdale – War Legion HQ

  The Colonel’s office is vast, decorated with military flags and tactical maps of Oregon. Jester stands in the center of the room. His bells jingle softly as he sways his body, his cloth mask—with its cheerful skeletal grin—contrasting with the sobriety of the red-suited soldiers standing guard.

  Colonel Turner watches the rain outside before turning around.

  "How is Silvia? And the babies?" The Colonel’s voice is deep, laced with a clinical curiosity.

  "They’re great, Grandpa! Growing like weeds in a concrete garden," Jester replies in his high-pitched, bouncy voice. "But Fabrizio and the others... well, they reached the end of the line. They’re dead."

  The Colonel stiffens. For a split second, Turner’s gaze flickers, the weight of losing his biological son piercing through his military facade, but he composes himself instantly.

  "A waste of investment. But tell me, Jester... have you thought about my offer? Those children are the future. I want to reconcile with my daughter. Hand them over to me, and I will give you your biological parents' location in Canada."

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  Jester lets out a shrill laugh that echoes through the walls of Edgefield.

  "I have no interest in Canada anymore, Colonel. And I won’t hand over Silvia. But... I brought you something 'better.' I brought you the Heretics. They are superior to any of your lab creations. They have something you could never manufacture: soul and pure hatred."

  Turner arches an eyebrow, surprised. "Superior to the Reapers? A bold claim. Where are they?"

  "Before I reveal their location, I’d just like to say: don't you dare step foot in my HQ. I have thousands of drones under my command. And remember, Colonel... Silvia would never forgive you if you tried to take them from her by force. She already hates you for the childhood you stripped away from her."

  The Colonel walks up to Jester, stopping inches away with patronizing disdain.

  "You know, Jester... out of all 777 children in the project, you and Silas were the pinnacle. Perfect genetics, the reflexes of a god. But look at you now... wasting perfection on this circus costume. It’s fascinating how the mind breaks, isn't it? How many voices are fighting in there today? How many 'selves' did you have to invent just to keep from screaming in pain?"

  Jester remains motionless. The jingle of his bells is the only noise in the silent room.

  "You’re nothing but a walking disorder," Turner continues, "a mosaic of trauma glued together with irony. You pretend to be free, but you only hide behind that mask because the real you got lost in a CIA lab years ago."

  Jester responds with a calmness that chills the air, his voice now steady as his voice modulator shifts it to sound like an assassin or an entity.

  "You know, Colonel... the world is funny. I see every one of your soldiers running around, saluting, and faking a happiness they don't possess just so you can feel like the puppet master. I may have a thousand voices in my head, but all of them agree on one thing: I’m just a clown. A simple person, but happy in my madness. But you? You’re a sane man who needs a thousand masks just to keep from realizing you’re all alone in the dark."

  The Colonel stares at Jester for a long time, the tense silence broken only by the crackling of logs in the fireplace. Finally, Turner looks away.

  "Give me the location of the Heretics. We’ll see if they’re everything you say they are."

  The Silence of the Masks (The Invasion)

  Heretics’ HQ – Central Oregon

  Late afternoon at the Heretics' HQ was usually the only moment of peace. But today, the air hung heavy. Henry stood by the truck, watching the last shipment of seeds, when the first sign appeared: a mechanical hum, constant and low, making the puddles on the asphalt vibrate.

  Suddenly, the sky above the building was streaked by metallic cylinders that released a dense red smoke, blanketing the courtyard in seconds.

  "Ambush!" Kol shouted, but the sound of his voice was drowned out by the roar of armored riot vehicles.

  Soldiers in red chemical suits flooded the courtyard with terrifying coordination. They didn't scream; they moved like a single machine. Henry drew his Five-Seven but froze when he felt the red dot of a laser square in the center of his forehead. Beside him, Gun placed his hands on the holsters of his Magnums, his eyes narrowed under the brim of his hat.

  "Henry..." Gun murmured, his voice low and heavy with experience. "Look around. This isn't a gang. This is an army. If we pull the trigger, no one here lives to see the sun set."

  Henry looked at the terrified refugees and at Leo, who was shaking with rage but surrounded by three M4 rifle barrels. Slowly, Henry lowered his weapon.

  "WEAPONS ON THE GROUND!" the command came over a loudspeaker.

  The five were forced to their knees. Henry, Kol, Leo, Mickey, and Gun formed a line of defeat on the asphalt. That was when he appeared. The corridor of red soldiers parted with a rhythmic stomp of boots, making way for Colonel Francisco Turner.

  He walked without haste, hands clasped behind his back, wearing the Legion's dress uniform. He stopped before Henry and Gun, observing them with an almost clinical curiosity.

  "Henry Henrikson... and the legendary Gun," Turner said, his voice ringing clear in the courtyard's silence. "I’ve heard a lot about you. The man who believes in God and the man who believes in gold. It’s a fascinating combination."

  Henry lifted his chin, staring at the man Jester had described as the ultimate villain.

  "You’re the Colonel. Silvia’s father."

  The Colonel gave a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

  "I am the man who keeps the lights on, Henry. And I must congratulate you. You cleared out Cascade for me. Fabrizio and the others were... rough drafts. My lab creations were physically perfect, but they lacked the 'soul' that you possess. The resilience of those who survived on nothing."

  "What remains of you is the best Oregon has to offer. Jester assured me you would be superior to anything I’ve ever seen. Therefore, I’m not going to kill you. I am asking, 'kindly,' for your loyalty. The world needs order, and I need captains who do not fear blood. You will be my new heroes."

  Henry clenched his fists.

  "We will never serve a man who turns children into weapons."

  Turner remained unfazed. He looked toward the fortified building.

  "You already serve survival, Henry. I am merely its next stage."

  As Henry was handcuffed, he shot a quick glance toward a window in the building. He knew that inside, in the base's deepest bunker, Freya was hidden with little Silas, protected by steel and silence—exactly as Jester had planned.

  "Take them to Edgefield," the Colonel ordered. "I want our guests to see what true power looks like."

  The Trojan Horse

  Edgefield Complex, Troutdale – War Legion HQ

  The Edgefield Complex looked nothing like the concrete ruins of Oregon. It was a preserved site, lit by silent generators and patrolled by soldiers who moved with the precision of Swiss watches. Henry, Gun, Kol, Leo, and Mickey weren't thrown into common pits; each was led to an individual room in the East Wing.

  Henry sat on the edge of the bed in his room. The sheet was white, too clean—an insult to the dust he carried in his soul. He looked at the solid oak door; it had no handle on the inside. The silence of the place was broken only by the soft beep of some ventilation system. He was in the heart of the beast.

  His mind, then, drifted back to the night before. Henry had been the only one awake at the Heretics' HQ; he couldn't sleep, the silence of the base seemed to scream the brotherhood's losses, when the radio crackled. It was Jester’s voice.

  FLASHBACK – The Night Before (Heretics’ HQ)

  Henry was lying in bed, the dim light of the room illuminating his exhausted face. The crackle of the radio on his vest ceased, giving way to Jester’s sharp, pragmatic voice.

  "Still awake, Henry? The weight of a conscience makes for a hard pillow, I know." Jester’s voice lacked its usual playful tone.

  Henry gripped the radio. "What do you want, Jester?"

  "I’ve contacted Colonel Turner. I sold you out." The silence that followed was freezing. "In a few hours, the army will be knocking at your door. If you fight, he will turn that building into a graveyard of rubble."

  Henry felt his rage rise, but it wasn't a surprise; he had never trusted the clown. "You’re discarding us to clear your path in Cascade."

  "I’m putting you where you are most useful," Jester countered. "Turner wants the 'New Reapers.' He believes you are the evolution of what he created in a lab. Surrender. Let him take you to Edgefield. Put Freya and the baby in the bunker; in a few hours, I’ll pick them up myself and take them to the HQ in Cascade, safe under my protection—but warn her first so she doesn't kill me when I open the door."

  Henry growled, feeling the trap close in. "And why would I accept that? Why would I trust their lives to you?"

  "Because if you and your 'family' managed to destroy the greatest assassins on the planet in Cascade, you can destroy a few thousand aspiring soldiers in Edgefield. I am sending a virus into the heart of the Legion, Henry, and that virus is the five of you. The Colonel will lower his guard because he is arrogant enough to think he can tame what you are. Kill him, fragment his army, burn Edgefield to the ground. You aren't going there to serve; you're going there to be the Trojan Horse. It’s your only real move."

  Henry squeezed the radio, bitter hatred rising in his throat.

  "And why would I help you? Why would I do anything to benefit the man who destroyed Silvia?"

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, and when Jester replied, his voice was devoid of any mockery, sounding deathly serious:

  "You aren't doing this for me, Henry. You’re doing this because if the Colonel stays alive, he will eventually find his way back to your children. And next time, he won't just want to meet them... he’ll want to turn them into what he tried to make of their mother. Kill the grandfather, Henry, so that the father may one day have the right to look into his children’s eyes without having blood-stained hands."

  PRESENT – Edgefield Complex

  Henry opened his eyes in the Legion’s immaculate room. He stood up and walked to the window, watching the red patrols below. Jester had thrown him to the wolves, but he wasn't a victim.

  He was the poison the Legion had just swallowed.

  End of Chapter

  Faction Data (Lore)

  The War Legion: Led by Colonel Francisco Turner, this faction represents the remnants of the U.S. Army and stands as the most powerful force in Oregon, boasting a contingent of over 1,000 highly trained soldiers. Their operating procedure and negotiation style are based on absolute military authority and strategic control of global resources, imposing their will through iron discipline and an infrastructure that surpasses any other group in scale and technology. Their weaponry consists of military-standard M4 rifles and a complete arsenal of heavy artillery, supported by a fleet of armored transport and combat vehicles that ensure total dominance over roads and cities. The standard base uniform is designed for chemical and urban warfare, consisting of vibrant red chemical suits, full-cut black Kevlar vests with utility pockets, black PASGT helmets, MSA CBRN gloves, and M50 gas masks, creating an imposing and lethal visual presence that symbolizes the pinnacle of military might at the end of the world.

  Character Data

  WAR LEGION:

  Colonel Francisco Turner (67 years old, American): Leader of the War Legion, founder of the "777" project, and father of the twins Fabrizio and Silvia (both members of the Reapers). He is the most powerful man in Oregon, leading the War Legion and its 1,000 soldiers; he destroys civilizations in pursuit of absolute authoritarian control and unlimited resources. He is a pragmatic man, yet he carries the weight of having transformed his own children into weapons.