Part 4. Oppressive fun.

"Jacques, Willow," Shnee Ironwood greeted the couple with a faint smile on his lips.

Obviously a strained one, accurately glued on by his new position as General Atlas.

At least that's what Jacques thought, and more to the point, was convinced, as he responded to a handshake from the big man in the snow-white uniform.

Tight and broad-shouldered, half a head taller than him, the man did make an unforgettable impression, like a wall of stone, ready to cover and protect him from all weather and coming storms.

And Jacques himself had once made a bargain with him, believing in this image built up by his own illusions and delusions.

The General could be a great watchdog. Angry, defiant, baring his sharp fangs, but a protector. Someone who would keep you safe and covered, no matter what.

James, on the other hand, was a different sort of man...

The blue-eyed man in front of him was a real wolf. A predator, a killer that stalks his prey long and to the end.

The end of the game he's after or the end of himself.

Which Mr. Schnee confirmed for himself, when the bloody mouth of this predator turned to his "partner".

"James," Jacques smiled sincerely at his 'friend' without showing his own thoughts, and after waiting for him to have a word with Willow, he continued, "worried?"

"Not at all," the big guy grinned, adjusting the glove on his right hand, "unfortunately, I have to go now. The ceremony is about to begin. I suggest you hurry up and take your seats, or it's going to be awkward," Ironwood grinned at the end of his words, and Jacques and Willow responded with slightly raised lips.

"Good luck, 'friend'," Mr. Schnee wished him well, and got a nod from the big man, who strode at a brisk pace toward the podium where he was to open the ceremony and deliver his congratulatory speech, combined with the oath of office.

The thought of getting a gun from the nearest security officer and shooting the man in the back was quickly suppressed, as well as any expression of hostility or displeasure.

There was no way to show our feelings. Not now.

No matter how much his knuckles clenched to a silent crunch, no matter how much his jaw clenched, no matter how much his stomach twisted.

Jacques Schnee was an actor and he should have kept playing his part. Exactly until he was convinced of the likely outcome of his own actions.

This time there would be no miscalculation. In his previous life, he had been hasty in accepting Arthur's offer, believing that he could clean up his act as well as all his competitors.

He had made a mistake, not matching debit and credit, so to speak, which had played a cruel joke on him in the form of imprisonment in a prison cell.

Pride is a vice, but it is a beautiful vice that can sometimes push a person to the impossible.

Yes, it is not a selfless desire for something for the sake of something, but it is down-to-earth, understandable to everyone, and.... human.

And Jacques, standing at this stage, waiting to go out into the light, under the flashes of dozens of spotlights, under the eyes of a thousand people, for some of whom this day will be the last, decided....

To show them-- No, all of Remnant. What he was worth.

His heart thudded in his chest, the two ice floes in place of his eyes blazed with horrifying infernal flames, and a genuine smile spontaneously broke out on his dry lips, like a child about to be praised by his parents for a job well done.

Yes, for the sake of these rotten foundations, for the ephemeral feeling of himself above all others, for the sake of maintaining his ego and quenching his pride, he would go to the impossible.

Jacques will accomplish everything he dared to dream of in his past life, no matter what: not the obstacles caused by his detractors, not the opinion of the public and all the citizens of Atlas, not the ambitions of the Council, and even less the views of Ironwood and his vision of the fate of the world.

Mr. Schnee, a rotten businessman, a disgusting father, and an abominable spouse stepped onto the stage, having made up his mind about his path, the path he intended to take.

Not just fighting to survive, but yearning to achieve something greater than a monopoly on the mining of ashes.

" Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our next guests, Jacques and Willow Schnee!"

The Schnee couple leisurely made their way out into the light to a rumble of applause, across the polished floor, straight to their designated seats.

***

The crowd kept him from moving toward the stage. He wanted to burst into a tirade of unpleasant curses at the people crowding him from all sides.

But he couldn't. Removing his disguise would be his sentence. As would attracting attention.

And so, with apologies, arguments, oohing and aahing, he had to maneuver through this human ocean.

"Silver, there you are!" - His partner's hand grabbed his sleeve, and the man was yanked out of the way by a surprisingly strong grip of Mantle's workers.

They muttered something indignantly, but, seeing the symbols of Atlas journalists, did not dare to "shake their rights".

The skinny, baggy-eyed partner was clearly not in a happy mood.

Of course, when the tension only grows from the realization of what business they had to go to, as well as what event it may turn out to be, the heart immediately goes into the heels and continues to pound from there, causing weakness in the whole body and a shiver of excitement.

"Sorry, I couldn't squeeze in. You know," he shook his head at the cover behind his back, to which his comrade nodded understandingly and simply pointed toward the lighted stage.

"We've already been assigned a seat. The Atlas News is living up to its reputation," a bloodthirsty grin that did not bode well for its victim flickered across the man's lips for a second, and then faded away when his companion put back on an indifferent expression.

"Where are Oscar and White?" - Silver's eyes darted from one side of the stage to the other as they moved toward the specially fenced area for reporters.

His brown eyes were searching intensely for the figure of their target, who was still not in sight.

Already when in the head was ready to flash the thought "Is it gone? "The right person was seen in the back row of VIPs.

So everything was fine, as well as the fact that everything was going according to plan.

This calmed the nervous nature of the terrorist and he followed his partner more eagerly between the chirping masses.

"Everyone's already in position. Just waiting for you. You'd think you'd gotten skeptical and decided to ditch the mission," he laughed nastily, causing Silver to furrow his brow in irritation.

He? Chickened out? Not funny. Not funny at all.

"That's what I mean by faith in your comrades-in-arms..." - he couldn't hold back a sarcastic comment, causing the man to turn to him half-turned with raised eyebrows.

" Are you offended or something? It's a joke," his comrade patted him on the shoulder reassuringly while Silver only shook his head tiredly.

"Your humor sucks," he concluded. And he was right.

But what could one expect from a lowly employee of one of Mantle's many factories?

Silver himself was not far behind them, having managed to work his way into a warm office. But even there the overtime, constant delay of wages and other troubles did not allow him to enjoy life to the fullest.

That's why he got involved in all this "movement for equality" with his head, like a sucking swamp.

One step and he was not able to get out of the stream, clearly realizing that he had already unconsciously made his choice, and the only option not to remain headless and in relative integrity was to participate in the upcoming action.

Terror, which will benefit the majority instead of the bloody price of the upper minority.

Plain and simple.

And it would have been a good time for him to be in the thrill of anticipation, being intoxicated with excitement, but... Something, something unknown and inexplicable to him persistently trumpeted in his head, not allowing him to be absorbed neither by the aura of festivity and merriment swirling around him, nor to realize the solemnity of the role he had to fulfill.

Silver wriggled his chin anxiously, trying to pull himself away from the oppressive thoughts and immediately focused on his duties.

"Ready?" - his partner checked one last time, adjusting the sleeves of his starched shirt and combing his disheveled hair so that it didn't look remotely like a crow's nest.

"Yes," the man replied dryly, slinging the television camera, which had been in its case until now and weighed a lot, as he'd realized when he'd taken the first step.

He didn't want to think about the fact that it would take a long time to hold it.

A confirming nod and his companion began the one-actor show, designed to throw off unnecessary attention.

"So, this is Atlas News with you and we're reporting live from the scene. Today, on this momentous day, we are expecting..."

We're just minutes away from the big moment...

***

Ironwood shone.

Jacques couldn't help but recognize that.

He had a lot of charisma, and his speech was well articulated, time after time offering the assembled people a bright future if they would only stretch out their hands and trust the strong back of the newly minted general, who would wrap them up like a blanket, hiding them from all the evils of the world.

"I swear to defend the freedoms and rights of all citizens of my Kingdom, regardless of their race, gender, or age, whether they live in Atlas, Mantle, or any other city. To uphold the Council and carry its will to punish the enemies and wreckers of our state." How pathetic. It was funny, of course, that almost all of those vows would be broken at one time or another.

Jacques looked away from the general's broad back, immersed in unpleasant considerations.

An attack was definitely planned the moment he took the stage, as soon as he got to the end of his speech.

What would happen now?

He had switched places with Duffo just for the sake of examining the attackers' behavior, their discipline, their determination.

Risky and even reckless, but he couldn't have provoked his enemies in any other way.

If they were originally aimed at Jacques, they would either wait for his performance, or, not expecting the sudden change in the program and uncharacteristic behavior of Mr. Schnee, they would panic and give themselves away, and the security service does not eat their bread for nothing.

And James himself has brought his own thugs, which means that the efficiency of people around him and other VIPs should be at the limit of possible.

Ironwood knew how to train his subordinates like no one else.

And yet... He was risking his own safety.

Which made the man squint his eyes, searching for any clue in the crowd near the stage.

His memories weren't exactly clear after so many years had passed. Only scraps and dry facts that he had memorized because of the subsequent crisis and his own involvement in what had happened.

And this was, in fact, the first terrorist attack he had experienced because of pure luck, chance, heavenly providence, or someone else's stupidity.

Then, at the time of the explosion, he, standing on the podium giving his speech, was not hit by a single piece of shrapnel, leaving him completely unharmed.

Which seemed truly surreal amidst the many injuries, deaths, maimings, and more.

Even Willow had been wounded, sending her to the hospital for a week, during which time he hadn't even paid his wife a visit, absorbed in dealing with the pile of problems that had been piling up on his head and the SDC in particular.

Some accused him of trying to eliminate rivals, some of disliking the newly appointed general, and a few users labeled him a "traitor to Atlas," which almost provoked the Atlas Council to take action.

And Jacques had no doubt that if he hadn't paid them off, he would have been imprisoned or even executed much sooner.

Yes, it was a far-fetched excuse, but when the whole kingdom looks askance at you, and your enemies, apparent or otherwise, only add fuel to the flames of rage, resentment, and anger, it is hard to think straight.

This was hardly the terrorists' original plan. More likely, it was his elimination that they needed, which is where his entry right after the General would have played a role.

Away from the elites of the Kingdom, staying in the most prominent position. A perfect target, seemingly easy to eliminate.

And the enemy has chosen an interesting method of assassination. A bomb on high-quality ashes, which is not only difficult to assemble, but at least the material for it is extremely difficult to obtain, because almost all the ashes of the highest proportion of processing produced by the SDC.

The irony radiated from a mile away, which Jacques could appreciate now.

For if his opponent had chosen a simpler and less refined method, like shooting him in the chest with a rifle, he would not have survived the ceremony.

A series of coincidences. Again.

And it was beginning to irritate him to the point of gnashing his tooth enamel. Had he always been so vulnerable?

And all his resources, subordinates, and numerous guards couldn't affect a single thing at a really important moment in time?

As his past life had shown... That was exactly the way it was.

But back to reality.

How had the terrorists planted the bomb, and even earlier, smuggled it inside, into Mantle's palace?

It couldn't have been a simple suitcase or briefcase, since the guards inspect all such items for explosives and generally require that they be left in a checkroom or side room so as not to disturb other guests at the ceremony.

But, in order for the explosion to be powerful enough to cover a third of the stage or a little less, a decent amount of ashes should have been stockpiled.

You can't carry it in your hands, you can't carry it under the folds of your clothes, the Security

Service will notice, suspicious and large-sized things will be confiscated.

Unless...

The gaze of blue eyes turned to the fenced area directly below James, where journalists, reporters and.... videographers were stationed.

Camera.

The last lock folded up, presenting the whole picture.

How clever and how busy. No one would be able to suspect a videographer with expensive electrical equipment, which requires the highest grade of ashes for the best operation of the equipment, and which he, by pure chance, had in excess.

Or in general, the whole camera was one big bomb, created in the image and likeness of video recording equipment, just to pass the cap check of the Security Service.

They're not going to take apart every piece of equipment and test it to see if it works. At most, they will ask them to turn it on and off, nothing more.

A mere formality that now played a cruel joke on Jacques and everyone present.

Meanwhile, to the satisfied murmurs of the masses, the general, flashing his easy smile and waving his hand to the chanting crowd, returned to his seat in the front row to look expectantly at Jacques, but he did not move.

Mr. Duffo stood up, to everyone's surprise, satisfied with all his appearance, and moreover followed to the podium under the presenter's introduction:

"And now the chairman of Daffo Industries, Bran Daffo, will address us. Let's give him a big round of applause."

The first people of Atlas began to look at each other in bewilderment, while the businessmen and other officials sitting near the Schnee family looked at Jacques Schnee, who kept a calm expression on his face.

In the front rows, to Jacques' own surprise, suspicious movements began.

Several groups of people immediately started shaking their heads from side to side, trying to get directions, new orders or something else.

The SB staff, which does her honor, also noticed this commotion and some operatives joined the crowd to find out the reason for the pronounced restlessness of the individuals.

Like a trigger, a gunshot rang out in the silence of the massive hall.

Sharp, deafening, confusing everyone present.

No sooner had people come to their senses, to realize what had happened, than a second rumble, followed by a third rumble.

SB staff fell into the crowd of journalists, flooding some of them with spattered blood from the hole in his chest.

The chaos began, the masses of people went into a frenzy, there was a rush, yelling, screaming, matting, crying and hysteria.

VIPs' guards instantly went into motion, rushing out from behind the scenes in rows to surround their employers and protect them from stray bullets.

The Security Service officers zealously dived into the wild flow of bodies, catching and searching for terrorists.

"Let's go," Jacques said firmly, grabbing his wife's hand and intending to take her backstage, where intruders from the crowd were definitely off-limits.

" W-what? W-but what about your speech?" - Willow looked up at him uncertainly, still in a daze.

"I said... Let's go," he concluded sternly, not taking no for an answer and yanked his spouse toward him.

This was no time for conversation. Not now. And his wife, who had fallen into a stupor, could not come to her senses.

Not good.

Roughly grabbing her by the elbow, he quickly moved in the right direction, just in the gap between the bodyguards that began to gather around him.

Great, it looked like he'd even managed to avoid the worst of it, averting disaster for himself and many around him with just one measly castling, hoping that the terrorists would clearly be unprepared for such a move.

And, as if in mockery of his thoughts, the camera, or rather, its detachable block, where the battery was to be located, soared into the very gap between the sturdy figures of the guards.

Which this time, obviously, had a somewhat different stuffing inside.

The thrown object hit the polished floor of the stage several times, soon finding itself only a dozen meters away from Jacques Schnee and Willow.

And in half a breath turned to a bright flash of fire. Neither the valiant bodyguards, much less the SB or Ironwood officers, had time to react to its detonation. Nor Jacques Schnee himself.

At the very last moment, he intended to jump face down in the opposite direction of the explosion, but remembering his own warnings, he grabbed his wife's shoulder and threw her to the floor.

Dozens of bodies were torn to bloody shreds, and numerous metal shards began to reap a bloody harvest from the people near the epicenter of the blast.

A wave of fire passed overhead, still scorching his shoulders and neck, burning through the fabric of his jacket and shirt, and leaving deep burns on his back immediately afterward.

Several shards stabbed into his side and right thigh, tangentially striking many parts of his body.

Traitorous moisture rushed from his eyes, pain covering his eyes and leaving a deafening emptiness in his head.

"Jacques? Jacques! Jacques!" - Willow's shout was barely audible to him in the background noise, as if she wasn't directly below him but sitting in the far corner of the hall.

Jacques watched distantly as drops of blood dripped down the face of his wife, pale as a sheet of paper.

His blood.

He saw her tears rolling down her cheeks, contrasting sharply with the bloody streams, which were getting larger and larger.

Hundreds of red-hot needles were thrust into the man's entire body, making his teeth clench into a quivering agony, and black spots began to flicker in his eyes.

And yet why were his wife's irises now covered with tears?

Was it because of him? Yes, of course. The very thought of such a thing already seemed like a joke to the man.

The puddle of blood under him on the glossy floor was getting bigger and bigger, while the noise around him did not even think of subsiding, only gaining more and more momentum.

Jacques Schnee, chairman of the SDC, Atlas's first businessman, had fallen into oblivion under the influence of painful shock.

He didn't pay attention to the chaos on the stage and among the audience, to Ironwood running toward them with a look of excitement on his face, to Willow in hysterics, or to the siren of the Mantle Palace.

The same all-consuming darkness awaited him, its embrace alone bringing calm and utter indifference to the turmoil around his weakening body.