Through the tinted windows of a nearby G-Wagon, three more red dots rested on the foreheads of his closest friends. The students leaning against the cars froze, screaming in horror as the crimson lasers cut through the afternoon sun from every conceivable angle.
They were coming from the roof of the library. From the clock tower. From the hills overlooking the campus.
Dozens of high-powered, military-grade sniper lasers painted the parking lot, securing the perimeter with terrifying, silent precision.
The elite teenagers scrambled, diving behind cars, weeping and pressing themselves into the asphalt.
Only Carter remained standing, illuminated by five separate lasers, perfectly locked onto his vital organs.
Martha stood completely untouched in the center of the web of red light.
“It takes the Syndicate exactly three minutes to respond to a Matriarch beacon,” Martha said quietly, checking her bare, bruised wrist as if she wore a watch. “They are highly efficient.”
Carter’s legs began to shake. The false courage drained from him, leaving behind the terrified little boy he truly was.
Then, Carter’s cell phone rang.
Chapter 3: The End of an Empire
The cheerful, customized ringtone echoed loudly across the silent, laser-painted parking lot.
Carter didn’t move. His arms were locked rigidly at his sides, his eyes wide and unblinking. The red dots on his chest shifted slightly with his rapid, shallow breaths.
“Answer it,” Martha commanded softly.
Carter’s trembling hand moved to his pocket. He pulled out the phone. The caller ID flashed brightly on the screen: FATHER.
His thumb fumbled over the glass, pressing the green button and instinctively putting it on speakerphone, terrified to move the device up to his ear where the lasers rested.
“Carter!” a voice shrieked from the phone speaker.
Carter flinched. He had never heard his father scream before. Don Falcone was a man who spoke in whispers, a man who broke fingers and ruined lives with a calm, chilling smile. But the voice tearing through the phone speaker was ragged, raw, and consumed by absolute hysteria.
“Dad?” Carter whispered, his voice cracking. “Dad, what’s going on? There are—”