Chapter 170: Scenes Of A Dying World 4!

Chapter 170: Scenes Of A Dying World 4!

Northern Continent— Grinwall country —Fiver City

Fiver City, once a bustling metropolis of opportunity and ambition, now bore the scars of a world teetering on the brink. Its towering skyscrapers, once symbols of progress, now stood as hollow sentinels overlooking streets that buzzed not with life, but with the muffled despair of a starving populace.

Inside the top floor of the Mills Sports Agency, Bridget Mills stood motionless in front of a vast, pristine glass window. Her reflection was sharp against the dim backdrop of the city.

Bridget's blonde hair cascaded in soft waves over her tailored gray suit. Her piercing brown eyes, scanned the desolate streets below, watching as once-vibrant neighborhoods crumbled under the weight of Rhemon's tyranny.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across her office, its golden hues a stark contrast to the grim reality outside.

Her piercing brown eyes are sharp and expressive, often carrying a mischievous glint that hints at her quick wit. She has a pointed nose, giving her features a refined edge, and her lips, though not overly full, curve naturally into a subtle smirk.

Her strong jawline and high cheekbones complete her striking appearance, making her both memorable and somewhat intimidating to those who cross her path. This sharp exterior perfectly complements her bold and confident personality.

This woman is the head of ;"The Mills Sports Agency". Bridget Mills has a commanding presence, accentuated by her confident posture and sharp gaze.

Her defining trait is a biting wit; she never hesitates to express her thoughts, often delivering them with a hint of sarcasm or playful mockery.

Despite her occasional brashness, she has an undeniable charm that draws people in, even as she keeps them on their toes. In tense situations, her boldness often turns into a fierce determination, making her a formidable rival..

Years ago, she had been "The Cheetah of Fiver Academy," a rival to Tessa Caldwell on the track. Their rivalry had pushed her to new heights, fueling her ambition. Now, she stood as the head of the largest sports agency in Fiver City—once a thriving empire of endorsements, events, and cutting-edge sportswear. But the cruel hands of famine had choked every industry, and sports were no exception.

Business had plummeted. What was once a lucrative empire had become a mausoleum of unsold inventory. Shelves groaned under the weight of high-performance gear that no one could afford. The profits that had soared by 300% in their peak were now a distant memory. Bridget clenched her jaw as she sipped from a crystal glass of wine, the crimson liquid swirling like the turmoil in her mind.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Tessa—the Moon Goddess. Nine months had passed since Tessa vanished without a trace. Bridget had never believed in heroes, but now, with the world crumbling, she found herself yearning for the impossible.

"Where are you, Tessa?" she murmured to the empty room, her voice barely above a whisper. The glass window muffled the faint sounds of distant sirens and desperate cries. "I know we had our differences... but the world needs you. I need you."

Her words hung in the air, unanswered. Bridget let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "I'm talking to ghosts now. Must be losing my mind."

Her quiet reflection was interrupted as the heavy oak doors to her office burst open. A young man, one of her messengers, stumbled in, his face pale and drenched in sweat.

"Miss President!" he gasped, struggling to catch his breath. "There's been a breach—districts 10, 13, and 15. Our warehouses have been ransacked. All the quality goods—gone. They even took the cash reserves!"

Bridget remained silent, her expression unreadable. She moved to her desk, setting the wine glass down before slowly sinking into her swivel chair. Her fingers traced the polished wood surface as she leaned back, her eyes narrowing.

"Tell me what's new," she said, her tone flat, almost bored.

The messenger blinked, his mouth twitched, stunned by her calm. "M-Miss President... the scale of this theft is unprecedented! How can you—"

"Stop," Bridget interrupted, raising a hand. Her voice was sharper now, like a blade cutting through the air. "We've been bleeding for months. This is just another wound in a body already drowning in its own blood."

The messenger stared at her, struggling to process her indifference. Is she truly unshaken by this? he thought. But beneath her calm exterior, Bridget's mind was a storm of calculations and contingencies.

Bridget knew the truth: panic wouldn't save them. If she faltered, the entire agency would collapse. She had to be the rock in a sea of chaos, even if it meant suppressing her own fear.

"You're dismissed," she said curtly, waving the messenger away. He hesitated but nodded, retreating with a troubled expression.

As the door clicked shut, Bridget leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. Her hands clasped together, her knuckles whitening. The weight of her empire's downfall pressed heavily on her shoulders, but she refused to break.

Her eyes flicked to a framed photograph on her desk—a younger version of herself and Tessa, side by side on the winner's podium, their rivalry captured in their fierce grins.

"Tessa," she whispered again, her voice filled with quiet desperation. "If you're out there… we need you more than ever."

Outside, Fiver City's skyline darkened as the sun dipped below the horizon. The streets were cloaked in shadows, illuminated only by the flickering glow of dying streetlights. In the distance, the faint hum of machinery and the shouts of desperate survivors echoed through the cold night air.

Bridget's gaze hardened. If salvation wouldn't come to her, she would rise to meet it. This was her city, her kingdom, and she would fight for it until her last breath.

And somewhere, in the dying world, a spark of hope still lingered.

Bridget Mills decided to step out of her office. She took the elevator down to the ground floor, its metallic groan filling the silent building. Each floor it passed was eerily empty, save for the occasional flicker of dim lights struggling to stay on. The once-bustling agency was now a hollow shell, inhabited only by three loyal messengers who sporadically appeared to deliver updates on her dwindling warehouses scattered across Grinwall.

The elevator doors slid open with a mechanical hiss. Bridget stepped into the building's deserted lobby, her heels clicking against the marble floor, their echo a haunting reminder of the life that once filled this space.

Pushing open the glass doors, she emerged onto the streets of Fiver City. The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, its rays blazing down mercilessly as if punishing the earth. The heat was oppressive, and the air carried a dry, suffocating weight. Bridget adjusted her sun shade and pulled up her retractable headgear, shielding herself from the relentless glare.

As she walked, the desolation became more palpable. The once-bustling streets were now silent avenues of despair. Cracked pavements were littered with debris, and abandoned vehicles stood as monuments to a forgotten time.

The sight of bodies strewn along the roadside forced her to slow her pace. Some were already lifeless, their skeletal frames curled in final desperation. Others clung to a fragile thread of life, their sunken eyes pleading for salvation. Bridget's stomach churned as the pungent stench of decay assaulted her senses. She pressed a handkerchief to her nose, fighting back the bile that threatened to rise.

Her steps faltered when she came upon a scene that would haunt her for days. A young boy, no older than six, stood beside his mother's emaciated body. His tiny frame was barely clothed, his ribs protruding sharply beneath his thin skin. With trembling hands, he reached out toward Bridget, his small fingers mimicking the motion of bringing food to his mouth.

Bridget froze, her heart clenched in a way she hadn't felt in years. For all her confidence and resilience, this child's silent plea shattered her composure. She fumbled in her pockets, but all she found was a small water bottle. She knelt, handing it to the boy, who clutched it as though it were a priceless treasure.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking as the boy drank in desperate gulps.

As she continued, she encountered more of the same—children and young adults, too weak to speak, their eyes hollowed out by suffering. Their bony fingers reached toward her in unison, a silent chorus of hunger. Bridget could barely meet their gazes, each one a mirror reflecting her helplessness.

She paused at the corner of a collapsed building, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The sights were overwhelming, but it was the silence that broke her. It was not the silence of peace, but the heavy, oppressive quiet of resignation—a city waiting for its final breath.

Bridget's nerves, honed from years of competition and business battles, faltered. She turned on her heel and began the walk back to her agency, her steps quicker now, as though distance could erase the horrors she had witnessed.

—————

Back in the relative safety of her office, Bridget collapsed into her chair, her head in her hands. The weight of the world pressed heavily on her shoulders, and for the first time in years, she felt powerless.

Her mind raced, searching for solutions. The Mills Sports Agency was on the brink, but this was bigger than business. It was survival, for her and the millions who called this dying world home.

"Tessa," she whispered again, her voice a broken plea. "Where are you?"