On his way to the airport, Silas's mind was occupied with the call he had just received. The proposition had been straightforward, yet laden with implications—an alliance with Russia.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road but vision clouded by the storm of thoughts swirling within him.
"An alliance with Russia, huh?" Silas muttered, his lips curling into a half-smile.
He would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued. The notion held potential—potential for power, for leverage, for positioning himself in a global arena. Yet, it also screamed of disadvantage.
Aligning himself with Russia would spotlight him in a way he wasn't ready for. The world's scrutiny was a sharp and unforgiving gaze, one that Silas preferred to sidestep until he had secured his foundation.
To Silas, a pact with Russia was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it would bolster his resources and potentially streamline his ambitious projects.
On the other hand, it would put him on the global radar as a potential threat, inviting a level of scrutiny that could unravel his carefully constructed façade.
He knew that aligning with Russia would turn him into a lightning rod for international suspicion, branding him as a rival to the Western powers and potentially igniting a global arms race against him. The thought alone sent a shiver down his spine.
Russia was no ordinary ally. A world power with an extensive military apparatus, a vast intelligence network, and significant geopolitical influence. Their reach was formidable, stretching from the cold Siberian expanse to diplomatic halls across the globe.
Silas recalled the voice on the other end of the line, smooth and controlled, dripping with the subtle arrogance of power.
President Dmitry had extended the olive branch cautiously, presenting the alliance as a mutual benefit. But Silas knew better.
He wasn't naive enough to believe that Russia's motives were altruistic. No, their offer came with strings—strings that could strangle him if he wasn't careful.
Without even delving deeply into the pros and cons, Silas recognized that the proposed alliance was lopsided.
It would serve Russia far more than it would serve him. They sought to strengthen their position against Western adversaries by using him as a hidden trump card.
And while Silas possessed technological advancements that eclipsed what any modern nation could fathom, the benefits Russia offered seemed to pale in comparison to what he already had within reach.
The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the quiet ticking of an antique clock perched on a nearby shelf.
Across from him sat two men—the head of the SVR, a steely-eyed operative named Ivan Petrov, and Viktor Sokolov, an enigmatic figure whose presence alone commanded attention.
"What do you think?" Dmitry's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"He won't accept," Ivan said, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. The man's reputation for bluntness was well-earned. His sharp gaze met Dmitry's, unblinking.
The President nodded slowly. He had anticipated that response. Silas wasn't an ordinary man—far from it.
Securing him as an ally would require more than diplomatic overtures. It would require leverage, something they didn't yet possess.
Dmitry turned his attention to Viktor, whose expression was inscrutable. The man's knowledge was vast, his network of informants even more so. If there was anyone who could read between the lines, it was Viktor.
"He won't accept it," Viktor echoed, his voice low and thoughtful. "He has too many secrets to protect."
Dmitry's eyebrows lifted, intrigued. Viktor rarely spoke without reason. "Explain," Dmitry prompted.
Viktor's eyes narrowed, his expression growing solemn. "I tried looking into him, as did many of our counterparts. We found nothing. No traces, no leads—a blank slate where there should be a web of connections. I initially thought it was the Americans protecting him, but after combing through their databases, I found nothing."
Dmitry's interest piqued further. The SVR was unmatched in uncovering buried secrets, yet here they were, grasping at shadows.
"And?" Dmitry pressed.
Viktor shifted in his chair, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I contacted that organization—the one that deals in the esoteric and unexplainable. Even they came up empty-handed. Silas is an enigma. But more importantly, the strength he's shown is not characteristic of any average Phenomenal."
A cold silence blanketed the room. Dmitry's eyes glimmered with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. He leaned forward, his fingers tightening around the armrests of his chair. "What are you trying to say, Viktor?"
Viktor's face hardened, shadows playing across his features. "I think he's one of them—or at the very least, connected to them. Perhaps a descendant."