The morning air was crisp as our car pulled up to the private terminal of the airport. I got into our prepared limousine, watching the familiar skyline of home slowly disappear behind us, replaced by the sterile efficiency of airport infrastructure. In the seat across from me, Evelyn sat with her characteristic composure, her black blindfold in place, a briefcase of documents balanced on her lap. She’d agreed to come as both my secretary and as living proof of the Cain Protocol experiments, a reminder to the world leaders of what unchecked power could create and to prevent any leaders from denying what had happened.
"Are you sure about this?" I asked her for what must have been the tenth time since we’d left the apartment.
"Rey," she said with a slight smile, "I’ve spent years aiding the government and seeing what they’ve been doing behind everyone’s back. Maybe it’s time the world saw the consequences of their choices."
The car came to a stop, and I could see the sleek outline of a government jet through the terminal windows. But what caught my attention more was the figure standing near the boarding area—a man in an absolutely ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and cargo pants, somehow managing to look both completely out of place and entirely comfortable with that fact.
"Anthony," I muttered, shaking my head as we got out of the car.
He turned at the sound of our approach, grinning broadly. "Hey, Boss. Ready for the diplomatic circus?"
"Anthony," I said, gesturing at his outfit, "we’re going to Switzerland. Where they announced that it might be snowing. To meet with world leaders. And you’re dressed for a beach vacation."
He looked down at his shirt showing a vibrant pattern of palm trees and surfboards against a sunset orange background and he simply shrugged. "What? It’s comfortable. Plus, nobody ever suspects the guy in the Hawaiian shirt of being a spy."
"That’s because actual spies don’t wear Hawaiian shirts to international diplomatic meetings."
"Exactly. It’s the perfect disguise." He adjusted his cargo pants with apparent pride. "Besides, I’ve got everything I need in these pockets. Surveillance equipment, communication devices, emergency supplies, snacks—"
"Airport food is terrible, and I get cranky when I’m hungry. Trust me, you don’t want me cranky during a diplomatic crisis."
Despite everything, I found myself smiling. Anthony’s complete disregard for conventional professionalism was somehow reassuring.
"Gentlemen, and madam," came a voice from behind us. We turned to see a tall man with silver hair and kind eyes approaching. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit and carried himself with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to command. "I hope I’m not interrupting."
I knew him immediately from the news coverage, though seeing him in person was different. Prime Minister Thomas MacLeod of Canada—the man who had publicly thrown his support behind me after my global broadcast. He was in his late fifties, with the kind of weathered face that spoke of years in public service, but his eyes held genuine warmth.
"Prime Minister MacLeod," I said, extending my hand. "Thank you for arranging the transportation."
"Please, call me Tom. And it’s my pleasure." His handshake was firm, his smile genuine. "When I announced my support for your cause, I meant it. The world needs to hear what you have to say."
As we shook hands, I activated Scan, curious about the man who had become my most prominent political ally.
Job: Political Coordinator (A-Rank)
Public Unity (Lv. 9) – Inspires collective trust and cooperation across diverse groups, reducing conflict and aligning communities toward shared goals.
Resource Management (Lv. 8) – Optimizes allocation and utilization of available assets, ensuring efficiency and sustainability during operations.
Crisis Leadership (Lv. 9) – Maintains composure and decisive action under extreme pressure, guiding teams and populations through emergencies with minimal chaos.
Interesting. His Political Coordinator job explained how he’d managed to maintain such broad support across different political factions. Public Unity at level 9 meant he could bring people together, find common ground where others saw only division. Crisis Leadership suggested he was at his best when things were falling apart. No wonder he’d been willing to support me—he probably saw the coming conflicts and positioned himself accordingly.
Though what’s most shocking is how he is an A-Ranker with only 3 skills. Granted each one is so high levelled that he likely doesn’t struggle with any sort of political meeting.
"This is Evelyn," I said, gesturing to her. "She’ll be serving as my secretary during the meetings."
MacLeod’s expression shifted slightly as he noticed her blindfold, but he recovered quickly. "Ms. Evelyn, a pleasure. I’ve heard about your... situation. I want you to know that the Canadian government has been investigating the Cain Protocol experiments. What was done to you was unconscionable."
"Thank you, Prime Minister," Evelyn replied with quiet dignity. "I hope my presence at these meetings will serve as a reminder of why we need better oversight of research regarding the system."
"And this is Anthony," I continued, trying not to smirk. "He’s... providing security consultation."
Anthony extended his hand, completely unfazed by meeting one of the most powerful politicians in North America while dressed like he was heading to a luau. "Hey there, PM. Nice to meet you. Hope you don’t mind the casual attire—I find it helps people underestimate me."
MacLeod looked at Anthony for a moment, then laughed—a genuine, hearty sound. "You know what? I like you already. In a world full of people trying to impress each other, someone who’s comfortable being themselves is refreshing."
"See?" Anthony said, looking at me with vindication. "The man gets it."
We made our way through the terminal and onto the plane. It was a government jet, but not ostentatiously luxurious—comfortable seating, a small conference area, and enough space for the four of us to spread out. As we settled in for the flight, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in months: genuine relaxation.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t worried about sabotage or assassination attempts. I wasn’t hiding my identity or looking over my shoulder. The Prime Minister’s presence provided a level of official protection that even my high level skills couldn’t match, and my global broadcast had generated enough public support that most governments were treating me as a legitimate political figure rather than a vigilante threat.
"You know," I said to Evelyn as the plane leveled off, "this is nice. I’d forgotten what it felt like to travel without constantly expecting something to go wrong."
She smiled, her blindfolded face turning toward the window. "The irony is that you’re heading into what might be the most dangerous situation of your life, and you’re more relaxed than I’ve seen you in months."
"Maybe that’s because I know what I’m walking into this time. No surprises, no hidden agendas—well, not hidden from me, anyway. Just straightforward political manipulation and psychological warfare."
"When you put it like that, it sounds almost pleasant," Anthony said from across the aisle, where he was methodically working his way through what appeared to be a family-sized bag of trail mix from one of his cargo pockets. "Just remember, Boss—if anyone tries to poison you, I’ve got antidotes in pocket seven."
"Left cargo pocket, third compartment. I’ve got everything organized." He patted his pants with evident pride. "Pockets one through six are surveillance gear, pocket seven is medical supplies, pocket eight is emergency rations, and pocket nine is recreational reading."
"Recreational reading?"
He pulled out a worn paperback. "Comic books. They’re lightweight, entertaining, and nobody ever suspects important intelligence is hidden in a comic book."
Prime Minister MacLeod, who had been quietly reviewing documents, looked up with amusement. "Mr. Anthony, I have to ask—are you actually a spy, or are you just someone who enjoys acting like one?"
"Don’t worry Sir, I’m an A-Ranker," Anthony replied cheerfully. "Started out as actual military intelligence, but I found that being obviously weird made people less suspicious than trying to blend in. Plus, cargo pants are genuinely practical."
"He’s more effective than he appears," I said, defending my unconventional team member. "His intelligence gathering is what made this whole meeting possible."
"I don’t doubt it," MacLeod said. "Sometimes the best way to hide in plain sight is to be so obvious that people assume you’re harmless."
We settled into comfortable conversation as the flight progressed. MacLeod shared insights about the political landscape we were entering, his Political Coordinator abilities allowing him to analyze the complex web of alliances and conflicts with impressive clarity. He confirmed much of what Evelyn had told me about the various leaders, but added context about their domestic pressures and recent policy changes.
"The thing you need to understand," he said as we discussed the upcoming meetings, "is that most of these leaders are genuinely trying to do what they think is best for their countries. The problem is that ’best for their country’ often conflicts with ’best for the world,’ and our skills have made it easier to prioritize short-term national interests over long-term global stability."
"You think they’ll be willing to listen?" I asked.
"Some will. Others will see you as a threat to be neutralized. And a few will try to recruit you for their own purposes." He leaned forward slightly. "The key is to remember that you’re not just representing yourself anymore. Your global broadcast made you a symbol of something larger. People around the world are watching to see if there’s actually a better way to do things."
"No pressure," I said with a wry smile.
"Actually, that’s exactly the pressure you should feel," MacLeod replied seriously. "But it’s also your greatest strength. Public opinion matters, even to dictators. Especially to dictators."
Evelyn had been quietly listening to our conversation, occasionally adding observations about the leaders’ psychological profiles. Her insights were invaluable, but I could see the tension in her posture as we got closer to our destination. This would be her first public appearance since the Cain Protocol experiments, and despite her composed exterior, I knew she was nervous.
"You don’t have to do this," I said quietly during a lull in the conversation. "I can handle the meetings alone."
"No," she said firmly. "The world needs to see what their governments are capable of when they operate without oversight. And you need someone there who can read the room without being manipulated by it."
"Because of the blindfold?"
"Because of what’s behind the blindfold," she corrected. "They can’t use eye contact to influence me, can’t read my micro-expressions, can’t manipulate my body language. I’m invisible to most of their psychological techniques."
Anthony looked up from his comic book. "Plus, she’s scary when she’s angry, and politicians respond well to being scared."
"I’m not trying to be scary," Evelyn protested.
"You don’t have to try," I said while chuckling. "I still remember the fear you put in me during our fist encounter."
As we began our descent into Switzerland, I felt the familiar tightness in my chest that came with approaching danger. But it was different this time. It wasn’t the sharp edge of immediate physical threat, but the deeper tension of knowing I was about to step onto a stage where every word, every gesture, every decision would be analyzed and judged by people with their own agendas.
"Ladies and gentlemen," came the pilot’s voice over the intercom, "we’re beginning our final approach to Geneva. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened and your seats are in the upright position."
I looked out the window as the Swiss Alps came into view, their snow-covered peaks majestic and imposing. Somewhere below, in a specially constructed facility, some of the most powerful people in the world were gathering to decide the future of human enhancement and global governance.
"Ready?" MacLeod asked as we felt the plane touch down.
"As ready as I’ll ever be," I replied.
The plane taxied to a stop, and we gathered our belongings. Anthony made a final check of his numerous pockets, Evelyn collected her briefcase and adjusted her blindfold, and MacLeod reviewed his notes one last time.
"Remember," he said as we prepared to disembark, "you’re not just representing yourself. You’re representing hope."
MacLeod stepped off the plane first, followed by Anthony, then Evelyn. I took a deep breath and stepped out into the cold Swiss air.
The first thing that hit me wasn’t the cold—it was the sound. A roar of voices, shouting questions, calling my name. The second thing was the light—dozens of camera flashes going off simultaneously, creating a strobing effect that was almost disorienting.
As my eyes adjusted, I saw what seemed like a crowd of well over 2500 people pressed against security barriers, reporters with microphones and cameras, photographers with telephoto lenses, and behind them, ordinary people holding signs and banners. Some supported me, others opposed, but all of them were there because of what I represented.
I straightened my shoulders and walked forward into the chaos, ready to face whatever came next.