Interlude [h.s]

prologue

Having power means knowing who's worth keeping and who isn't.

Who is a waste of his time and who could end up being useful one day, who is more damaging than anything else and who has potential. The scale of power is one that has to be carefully handled in order to be maintained. It's a complex game to be playing, where one could be at the top of the world one day and in the deepest pits of hell the other. You jump high and fall hard, but the thrill is what makes it worth it.

These are some of the thoughts playing in Harry's mind as he stares at the man sitting in front of him, a reflective look into his green eyes. Despite the large white table between them, he can feel the size of his ego start to fill up the room.

He's the prey. He's the fox that was caught in a trap, waiting for a hunter to come around and end it. Or at least, that's what he wants him to think.

If he was a fox, he'd be the one that triggers the snare with a stick and then hides in the shadows, waiting to jump at the first man that will come close enough. There's no such thing as a prey too big for him. The harder the win, the more rewarding the satisfaction.

He sips his red wine not lifting his gaze from the other man, Pinot Noir has never tasted so sweet. He puts his glass down, tapping against the crystal pensively, the silvery ting of his rings hitting the glass reaching his ears clearly.

"As I was saying, Mr Styles, it's in your complete interest as well," the man states, munching down on a bite of stuffed duck. "You are very young, and everyone knows you didn't get where you are legally. We aim to legalise your power, you know, put boundaries." He shoots him a penetrating glance. "Of course, if you were to disagree, we'd be forced to... eliminate, you."

Harry takes one of the myrtles decorating his own dish and puts it into his mouth, pretending to consider the other's words for some seconds. "It seems to be a rather convenient deal," he then says, earning a nod from the other.

He puts his elbow on the table and leans forward, and Harry has to resist the sudden urge to push his chair back to put some more distance between him and that filthy man. He isn't like him. He's wasting his time.

"The Revolution will stop attacking the warehouses and government buildings if you sign," the older man tells him. "It'd be unfortunate to have to remove you from your position... permanently. I trust you'll do as you're told. You're a smart boy, Mr Styles."

"Naturally" he replies, standing up and taking the bottle of wine in the middle of the table. "May I offer you some more wine?"

The man laughs loudly, a hazed look in his bright blue eyes. "It's a pleasure to talk politics with you, Mr Styles. Pour away."

Harry gives him a short nod, filling the other's empty glass almost to the brim. He knows he'll drink it all in the next ten minutes, anyway.

He sits back on his chair and takes another sip of his own wine, shooting a quick glance in the direction of the huge floor-to-ceiling window on his left. He can see the skyline of his city from there, an intricate maze of skyscrapers and bright lights illuminating the night sky like man-made stars fuelled by electricity.

How could that man even expect to take it all away from him? He knows what the Revolution wants. They want to render him unable to make his own decisions, as if he was an inexperienced child that knows nothing about the world.

It's his world, his country, his city and therefore his rules. They shall kneel before him and accept his will, or leave. He won't have it any other way. He doesn't settle, ever.

"This turkey, by the way, is amazing."

Harry turns his head towards the other man when he speaks, a grimace flashing through his chiselled features at the other man's comment. "It's duck," he says, his voice monotonous.