The night in South London was quiet but heavy, like the city itself was holding its breath. In a derelict yard behind a shuttered warehouse, a circle of men and women huddled close, their faces half-hidden in hoods. Their whispers rose and fell like the hiss of snakes.
At the center, a woman struggled. Her wrists were bound, her face pale in the glow of a single oil lantern. Two of the cultists pinned her down, one gripping her arms while the other pressed a knee against her legs. She kicked, screamed, but the chanting drowned her out.
"Quickly," hissed one of the men near the front. His hands trembled as he held a crude knife, its edge catching the faint light. "Do it—we don't have time for this. Someone might hear."
"Stop yelling," another snapped, shoving him forward. "The offering must be made. Now."
Behind them, the rest of the group hummed, low and guttural, repeating broken phrases they had heard but never fully understood. They weren't priests. They weren't scholars of the old ways. They were pretenders, drunk on William's influence, copying what they thought would bring power.
The knife descended in a clumsy arc. Blood spilled, dark against the concrete. The woman's eyes widened once, then dimmed.
The chanting stuttered but didn't stop. They waited, holding their breath, eyes fixed on the body. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, faintly, her pupils flared—glowing pale, unnatural light before fading into stillness.
A murmur of awe rippled through the cultists. It wasn't the controlled ceremony of William's sacrifices. It was messier, weaker—but it was enough. Enough for them to believe.
"Go," one of them barked, already backing away. "Leave it. Before anyone comes."
They melted into the shadows, their whispers lingering long after their footsteps faded. The body lay cold and alone, the glow gone from her eyes, but the stain of the ritual seared the night.
---
Half a world away, William Lex Webb was buttoning his jacket in a Shanghai hotel suite. The Covenant had been a triumph—applause, investors, the global media eating from his hand as he unveiled his cameras. He'd stood on stage like a prophet of order, selling surveillance dressed as salvation.
Now, he prepared for the flight back to London. His empire was growing, his enemies blind. Only one figure—hooded, violet-eyed—lingered in his thoughts, a smear on his perfect portrait. But that could wait.
His associate, a sharp-dressed man with an eager smile, hovered near the window. "Sir, with the momentum from Shanghai, perhaps we should consider branching into the smartphone market. Everyone carries one. It's the perfect platform. Cameras, apps, constant surveillance in the palms of billions."
William adjusted his cufflinks, his expression unreadable. "We could. But it takes resources. Time. Years of research and infrastructure. Entering a market that saturated isn't innovation—it's imitation."
The associate spread his hands. "But with your camera technology, we'd dominate. Imagine pairing your system with phones. Every citizen holding a piece of your network."
William tapped his chin thoughtfully, then shook his head. "No. If we are to enter the mobile device market, we won't do it as parasites on another system. We won't be chained to Android, or to Apple's walled garden. If we move, it will be with a dedicated OS. Ours. From the ground up."
His assistant, timid but bold enough to speak, raised her voice. "Sir… if I may. Using Android would give us a shortcut. It would let us enter quickly."
William turned, his bulk shifting, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. "Why?" he asked softly.
She hesitated. "Because… the public trusts it. They'd adopt faster. It would make the cameras… normal. Harmless, even."
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the suite. Then William's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Harmless," he echoed. "That's the word they use when they've already surrendered."
He clasped his hands behind his back, looking out over the neon skyline of Shanghai. "No. Android is compromise. And compromise is weakness. If we step into their pockets, we do so on our terms. A dedicated OS. Every app, every feature, every click… under my eyes."
He glanced at his associate and assistant, his voice low but sharp. "Remember this: we're not here to compete. We're here to own. The city. The people. Their secrets. Their fears. All of it."
The skyline glimmered against the glass, but William only saw London. The city that adored him in daylight and whispered about a phantom in the dark. A city waiting for him to return.