A Moment Of Hope?

Upon arriving at the event stage, Seyfe was momentarily taken aback by the sheer volume of people packed into the plaza. The air buzzed with excitement and hope as cheers erupted from the crowd, chanting Henzel's name like he was already the savior of their future. Bright campaign lights flashed, giant holoscreens displayed the candidate's face, and well-dressed staff weaved between camera crews and cheering supporters.

Seyfe stood off to the side, keeping his distance from the main spotlight. His role, after all, was to observe—not be seen.

He scanned the area carefully, noting exits, elevated positions, and any suspicious figures. Yet despite the procedural focus, his mind kept drifting.

"Why do they put so much faith in just one man?" he thought as his gaze swept across the crowd. "Is it hope, desperation, or just ignorance?"

He couldn't help the cynical edge in his thoughts. Maybe it was the way the world had burned down in front of him before—how leaders and promises meant nothing when the system collapsed. Now, standing in the middle of a hopeful sea of faces, he felt like a shadow in a celebration.

Ferez, standing a few feet behind him, leaned over slightly. "You look like you're about to throw a philosophical monologue."

Seyfe didn't turn. "Just wondering why so many people put their lives on pause to cheer for someone who probably won't remember any of them."

Ferez smirked. "Because it's easier to hope for a hero than to fight for change yourself. Besides, he's got good hair and a suit. That counts for something."

Seyfe grunted in reply, but the point stuck with him. As the mayor took the stage and the crowd erupted louder, Seyfe narrowed his eyes and continued to observe—not just Henzel, but the people around him.

Henzel stepped onto the stage, arms raised, his face lit by both the artificial lights and the warmth of the people's cheers. The podium bore the sigil of his campaign—an outstretched hand pulling another from rubble.

He gave a small wave and then leaned into the mic, voice smooth and rehearsed, yet charismatic enough to ignite the crowd.

"My friends… survivors… people of Sector Twelve…"

"For too long, we have lived in the aftermath. We've waited for promises to be kept by those who don't walk the same streets, who've never had to step over the bones of the old world just to make it to work, to school, to put food on the table."

"But I am not here to mourn the past. I am here to offer you the future. A future where no child grows up in fear of the Echoforms creeping in at night. A future where borders aren't lines we cower behind, but strongholds we proudly defend."

"I've walked the ruins. I've seen what the broken city has done to our people. And I will not let that be our story's ending. I am running to be your mayor not because I want power, but because I believe in rebuilding, not just cities—but dignity, safety, and purpose."

"Under my leadership, we'll reinforce every eastern border, expand medical assistance to the refugee zones, and fund Veiler support teams who risk their lives every day to keep us safe."

"Let them say it's impossible. Let them call me idealistic. Because if dreaming of a better tomorrow is foolish, then I'll proudly be your fool!"

"Sector Twelve, it's time we rise together!"

The crowd exploded in cheers, some raising handmade banners, others simply yelling Henzel's name with wild hope in their eyes.

But while the people were focused on their would-be savior, Ferez's eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right.

"...Seyfe," he said, barely above a whisper into the comms, his tone sharp and focused. "East tower, twenty meters up. There's movement—non-patterned, not local security. Looks like... a scope glint."

Seyfe didn't hesitate. His gaze snapped to the tower across the border from the dead city—just visible behind the campaign banners and light scaffolding. A shadow shifted, briefly catching the setting sun.

"Copy that," Seyfe muttered. "Looks like someone wants this speech to end early."

The applause followed like thunder. But while the crowd hung on every word, Elan Rove's focus narrowed.

From his angle near the eastern fringe of the stage, he spotted movement — too deliberate, too precise — on one of the towers bordering the Dead City ruins. Something metallic glinted against the filtered sunlight. A scope.

He tapped his earpiece once, voice low and tight.

"Branton. East tower. We've got a nest. Possible shot."

Branton's pulse tightened, but his face remained composed. Years of forced survival taught him how to hold his expression. With practiced ease, he walked up to the stage's side, whispered to one of the aides, and took the mic as if it were part of the program schedule.

"Apologies, everyone — just a quick change in the agenda. Let's give Mr. Henzel a quick breather while we update you on upcoming campaign stops!"

The crowd shifted in confusion but stayed calm. Henzel blinked, caught off-guard, but nodded slightly as he stepped back.

As Branton began to rattle off the fabricated tour schedule with artificial enthusiasm, he subtly gestured to Henzel's personal security to tighten their perimeter.

Meanwhile, Elan moved quickly and silently offstage, his hand discreetly brushing his hip where a concealed baton extended slightly under his jacket. He blended into the moving crew with ease as he circled toward the building's base.

Back on the mic, Branton continued:

"And we're proud to say this city is just the beginning — change doesn't stop here, and neither will we. Let's stay united, vigilant, and hopeful."

His eyes flicked toward the eastern tower once more.

"After all, together, we're not just raising our voices — we're watching each other's backs."

He held the smile long enough for the crowd to clap again — just as Elan made his way up the structure's base, ready to deal with what he hoped wasn't an assassin, but already expected was.

[Name switched From their real name to their cover name for this scene]

[The following scene would be happening at the same time frame]

Branton Meyer stood under the harsh lights, the mic still warm in his hand, his voice steady as he fabricated a campaign update with convincing flair.

"And after Westvale, we'll be moving toward the inner ring, addressing water purifiers and housing efforts! Be sure to follow our campaign trail — hope has wheels, people!"

He paced the stage with false excitement, every sentence aimed to keep the crowd's eyes on him. Behind him, Henzel was being quietly ushered toward a safer spot behind the stage curtain by his personal guards. Seyfe never once looked back, but he kept count of every footstep and shadow crossing the edges of his vision.

Beneath his breath, through the internal comms, he muttered, "Status?"

Elan Rove moved with quiet precision, his boots barely tapping on the stairs. The building was long-abandoned, coated in dust and crumbling walls. The signal from his tactical lens tightened as he neared the rooftop. A glint again — steady, aimed.

Crouched behind an old ventilation unit, he peered out.

There, tucked between two broken walls, was a figure dressed in patchy armor, a crude long-range rifle propped up on a rusted tripod. The person was clearly not a civilian — far too calm, far too rehearsed.

Elan whispered into his mic.

"Confirmed. Single hostile. Long-range Echo-modded gear. Not human... or not entirely."

Just then, the figure stiffened — their head turning as if hearing something that shouldn't have been audible. It twisted unnaturally, vertebrae cracking as it looked behind itself.

Elan barely had time to react as the figure lunged from the tripod, abandoning the rifle and charging him directly.

Branton caught the noise in his earpiece — static crackled, followed by a short grunt. The speech didn't skip.

"And let's not forget the youth programs we'll be launching. This city's future doesn't rest on promises alone — it rests on hands willing to rebuild."

He raised his voice to match the volume of the cheering crowd while subtly scanning for any signs of panic.

But there was none. Not yet.

His fingers curled around the side of the podium — ready.

Elan ducked under the creature's first wild strike. The attacker moved like a marionette — its limbs twitching and adjusting in sharp, jagged motions. Up close, its face bore a partial human resemblance... layered with Echo corruption. This wasn't a person anymore. It was a scout. Or worse — a trigger.

The baton extended in Elan's hand, humming low with charge. He struck the creature's side, causing it to spasm violently before it tried to retaliate with a sickening, talon-like swipe.

"Target's altered. No ordinary sniper. Might be a decoy," he hissed through gritted teeth.

The moment Ferez's voice came through again, Branton subtly stepped down from the platform, making sure the crowd's energy had reached its peak.

"Keep your eyes sharp out there, citizens — the future's always watching!"

He handed the mic to one of the staff and made his way toward the backstage area. Henzel was already being escorted into a secured vehicle. Seyfe followed casually — every step still part of the act.

But his eyes were sharp. If there was one decoy... there could be more.