In the Willows

Chapter 52

Night-Shift Guard POV (Before Misery's Attack):

You're halfway through a lukewarm mug of coffee when the lights dip—just a flutter—then steady again. The turbines under the grate rumble like always, but something in the tone is off. You tap the radio. No crackle. Dead.

A second flutter. Emergency bulbs flicker red.

"Generator test?" you mutter, hoping Reed's crew is just fiddling.

Footsteps echo in the intake tunnel—too many, too quiet. You lift your rifle, safety switched off. A woman's voice bounces off concrete.

"Easy there, put the gun down."

She steps into view first: black combat shirt, violet sash tied tight to one arm. No mask, no crazed grin—just steady eyes. Two others in crimson follow, rifles low. Behind them, another in navy unspools cable, already laying control leads toward the main panel.

Your finger hovers near the trigger. The woman raises an open palm.

"No one has to die," she says. "Any of you shoot and the whole place goes up in flames."

More footsteps follow and you soon realize you're surrounded. You glance at the four other Jackson workers—old Gil at the valve console, twins Remy and Rowe by the tool rack, Clare up top on the catwalk. Everybody's staring at you for the call.

The woman nods once, almost polite. "I'm ready to die for my King, choose wisely."

You drop the muzzle toward the floor grating. "Fuck."

She gestures; Vanguard begin to wire cuff everyone, nothing brutal. You let them cinch wrists loose enough for blood to flow. Clare swears but climbs down and hands over her pistol. No one else resists.

Within minutes they've herded the five of you into the break room, shut the door, and blocked it with a filing cabinet. Through the glass you watch them fan out—quiet, organized. They don't smash anything; they flip breakers with practiced hands, shut turbine three, leave one and two spinning at half output.

The Mafia tech pastes a tag on the master relay: "Property of Misery."

Underneath, someone in violet ink adds, "We chose mercy. Remember that."

Emory's POV:

The dam is secure and no lives were lost. Exactly what Kai ordered. It shocks you how easy it was to take over such a facility.

You grab your radio. "Deck clear. Zero casualties."

Kai's static-low reply comes from the downstream catwalk. "Roger. Victor, ask if Jackson wants to come out and play."

"Gladly." Victor responds.

United Mafia techs clip a coded box onto the relay bank—simple bypass keyed to Misery's channel. Power stays on, but Jackson can't throttle up without the code.

Marrow strides in, the red slash around her waist is bright even under dim work lights. "Let Jackson give me a reason and this place goes dark for a week," she growls.

"Not the order," you remind her.

She blows air through her nose and crosses her arms.

Kai appears, crown of thorns adorned. He studies the spinning turbines, listens to their rhythm like a doctor checks a pulse. "Enough to keep lights on, not enough to run the mill," he decides. "Good." He turns to you. "Leave them food and blankets. Lock the outer doors. Post two Valkyries. Rotate every four hours."