Genetic Broken Uprising

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| Sin's of Royal Blood |
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The vast doors to their father's office swung open with a smooth, practiced motion as one of the bodyguards, his expression impassive, held them aside. Zee, Mos, and Bible stepped into the room, their movements synchronized and deliberate, each one attuned to the gravity of the moment.

Inside, the office was a grand space, lined with rich, dark wood paneling and dominated by a massive mahogany desk. Behind it sat their father, his presence commanding and unyielding.

He was engrossed in conversation with an older businessman, whose tailored suit and distinguished demeanor spoke of years in the upper echelons of industry. The older man's voice was low and measured, his gestures precise as he made his points.

The three siblings stood in the doorway, a portrait of quiet respect and anticipation. The office was filled with the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional clink of the businessman's coffee cup against the desk.

Their father, seated with an air of practiced authority, paused his conversation momentarily. His gaze, steely and focused, lifted from the businessman and locked onto Zee. There was a brief, piercing connection—a silent communication laden with meaning—before his eyes shifted back to the older man.

"Leave us." The command from their father's deep, gravelly voice sliced through the air, halting the businessman mid-sentence. The authoritative tone brooked no argument and echoed with an unmistakable finality. The businessman, momentarily disoriented, turned his gaze from the king to the trio of sons standing solemnly at the doorway.

With a furrowed brow and a look of reluctant comprehension, the businessman let out a heavy grunt. He slowly extricated himself from the opulent chair, which seemed to groan in protest beneath his weight. Each movement was deliberate, underscoring the strain of his aging body against the plush, golden upholstery.

He reached for his briefcase, a well-worn accessory that spoke of countless negotiations and high-stakes deals. As he hefted it up, the businessman bowed slightly at the waist, a gesture that was both a sign of respect and a reluctant acknowledgment of the king's superior authority.

"We shall discuss this matter another time, your majesty," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of irritation and deference. "Thank you for meeting with me." With that, he made his way towards the door, his footsteps muffled against the richly carpeted floor, leaving the three siblings standing in the charged silence of their father's office.

The white, crisp buttoned-up shirt Adisorn wore was meticulously rolled up to his elbows, revealing the muscular definition of his forearms. The fabric clung to his biceps, accentuating the strength in his resting posture as his arms lay sprawled on the polished surface of his desk. His fingers, marked with the subtle lines of authority and age, were spread wide but poised, suggesting both readiness and control.

Adisorn's scowl, a deep furrow that creased his brow and intensified the hardness of his eyes, seemed to darken the room with its intensity. With a sharp, deliberate motion, he beckoned his sons closer, his pointer finger extending outwards in a clear, imperious gesture.

Zee, Mos, and Bible responded immediately, their steps measured and silent as they approached. They moved in close, forming a semi-circle around the imposing desk.

"Tell me," Adisorn said, leaning back in his large leather chair, fingers interlaced as his eyes bore into his three sons standing before him. His posture was casual, almost disarmingly so, but the intensity of his gaze sent a chill through the room. His face remained impassive, but the air was thick with unspoken tension.