Most people would characterize sticking one’s nose into someone else's business as rude, immoral even. "Mind your own business," "Live and let live" - all that jazz. But then, one must inevitably ask: what is morality, anyway? Is it merely the byproduct of concepts like good and evil? Does adhering to moral norms make us good? Perhaps even godly? If that were the case, then one truly shouldn't harbor much desire to get involved in the affairs of other people, families, or even nations.

  That was nowhere near the opinion of Edward Voss. On the contrary, the well of curiosity in his mind was bottomless. He could fill it and fill it and never be satiated. In his view, this was the ultimate qualification for the position he held. Moreover, the rules of the service demanded and dictated it. Why? For the sake of national security, of course. And that, let’s call it what it is, is true patriotism. Therein lay the link to morality. Thus, spying on everyone he could reach, through the twisted lens through which Voss perceived reality, was, in fact, the height of moral virtue.

  Of course, to remain on the front lines of the fatherland's defense, he had to use those same methods to preserve his own position and status. Many wanted to replace him, to take him down. To topple him. But no; he would learn everything about them, find their weak points, and use them against them. That was why he had to know everything.

  Her, however, he did not know. And that was unusual. More unusual than the targets for whom he knew truly obscene, horrifying details. More unusual even than those who fought tooth and nail to stay in the shadows, leaving no traces, material or digital, behind. He had eventually met them all. Exposed them all. But here... here, no one was trying to hide their origin. Quite simply, she had just appeared one day.

  Truth be told, she might never have caught his attention if he hadn't been summoned to that meeting at the club. A secret meeting, the kind that spoke volumes about someone’s true intentions. What was it Senator Longley had asked for? To "kill" something called "Project Meteor." He had asked with restraint, but Voss recognized the urgency and passion behind the request. And he had complied, of course. Why not? He didn’t have a horse in that race. It was just one of hundreds of projects.

  Why did this specific project pique the Senator’s interest? Voss had tracked the history. Longley had never crossed paths with it before. He hadn’t influenced the funding, the execution, nor had he ever mentioned it publicly. The only rational explanation was that another party had an interest, a party with influence over the Senator. Possible. likely, even. And then, that abandoned project and the land surrounding it are bought by a company owned by a person who materialized out of thin air. Oh, she had a backstory: a girl from Alaska, born and raised there, indigenous blood. Nonsense! But that’s what the files showed. Everything was in order.

  He stood up from his chair, agitated. He didn’t like puzzles that lacked logic. They were dangerous. They could trigger a downstream avalanche he wouldn’t notice until it came crashing down on his neck. So, he would do the only thing he could. A direct encounter, eye to eye. What was the name again - Hemingway?

  Just who the hell was Ana Hemingway?

  *

  "Who are you? How did you get in here?" Priya whispered, the questions forcing themselves out.

  "You were a guest in my home yesterday, and now you’re pretending you don’t know me?"

  Nothing. In response to this little jest, Ana received only a muted, bewildered expression.

  "Ana Hemingway, remember? Of course you do, and I understand your confusion. Who am I, you ask? I’m just a great lover of night walks. When the city is asleep and everything is quiet. So, I decided to take a stroll tonight and, well, here I am, stopping by to ask you a few questions," Ana continued with a soothing smile.

  "You just 'stopped by'? On the top floor of a building? A secured building? Just to chat?" Now Priya had shifted into a sort of sardonic mode, which Ana noted was a testament to her spirit and adaptability.

  "Let’s set aside the mystery of my appearance for a moment. The better question to ask is - why?"

  "Fine. Why are you here?"

  "I’m going to be extremely direct, and I want you to look me in the eye when I ask you this. Do you know who your employer is in this uncompleted transaction? Who requested the meeting? Who is sending you to me? Are you aware of who they are?"

  Priya’s face, her eyes, her posture, all of it could tell Ana a great deal on a human level, the way one notices a stranger's discomfort when a sensitive nerve is touched. She could have deduced much from that alone. Zadkiel, on the other hand, didn’t have to deduce. Zadkiel knew. A vast array of parameters told the story: the heart rate and rhythm at the exact moment the information was processed; the split-second conscious reaction; the firing of motor nerves; the tightening of back muscles; the temperature variance between fingers and chest; facial micro-expressions. It was a symphonic orchestra of clues that only needed to be analyzed, read, and interpreted. You just had to know the algorithm. Zadkiel knew it. Hell, she had written and verified it a thousand times over.

  In Ana’s ear, she summarized the findings. A perfect lie detector, for the lies spoken, and the ones left unsaid. Priya started to say something, to defend herself, but there was no need. The answer had arrived without her consent.

  "Ha, so you do know who I’m talking about, don’t you? Do you want me to name him? Let’s try this: I’ll give you the first letter, and you finish it. Deal? The name starts with..." Ana paused for dramatic effect, as if it were a trivia question on a game show, "...the letter L!"

  At that point, Priya surrendered. She lowered her eyes, realizing there was no use in lying. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. No, she couldn't escape this person. Though, perhaps she didn't truly want to. Someone else was aware of her jailer's existence. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. She would have to see which way the scales tipped. She answered shortly, snapping her eyes back to meet the stranger’s:

  "Lucifer. His name is Lucifer. Or at least, that’s how he introduces himself."

  "Now for the question that matters more than the last: do you know he is?"

  "You mean, he is?" Priya decided there was no point in beating around the bush. She wanted to know the outcome of this encounter as soon as possible.

  It was Ana’s turn to be surprised. The woman clearly knew about Lucifer, knew what they were dealing with, and yet she had chosen to work for him. For money? Some other reward? What were the motives here?

  Zadkiel’s analysis pulsed into Ana’s ear.

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  "You’re afraid of him? He’s holding something over you? That’s why you came to see me, you were ordered to, in a way. Tell me, what does he have on you? Maybe I can help."

  This conversation was not normal. Not by a long shot. To Priya, it felt like she didn't even need to speak; she had the sensation that this nighttime intruder was literally reading her mind. So, she confessed directly:

  "He poisoned me. All of us. He poisoned everyone on the team, and now we’re dependent on the delivery of the antidote that Lucifer provides. And I’m afraid I’ve just signed my death warrant. If he finds out I told anyone... there simply won't be any more medicine for me. You might have just killed me."

  "We thought of that. Don't worry, he can’t hear or track you right now," Ana assured her, though she was somewhat taken aback by Lucifer’s methods. Associates on a short, lethal leash, it fit his system of operation perfectly. It made total sense, which was exactly what made it so dangerous.

  "You said 'we'? Who are 'we' that thought about my safety?"

  Ana whispered almost inaudibly to Zadkiel.

  Zadkiel replied.

  Priya watched with curiosity this brief internal monologue, this visible, silent consultation Hemingway was conducting right in front of her.

  "I can't tell you more about that for now. What matters is that you understand and trust that I am on your side. Look, I’ll offer you a trade: if you’re willing, I can analyze your blood, the poison inside you. Maybe I can synthesize an antidote. In exchange, I need to know Lucifer’s plans. Will you help me with that?"

  "I don’t know his plans in detail. No one does. All of us working for him only see small pieces of the collage as it’s being made."

  "Do you have information on the connections he’s building? Other associates? His targets? Any information could be useful. We don't have much time. The lights being out on the terrace will be noticed soon."

  "There’s a list of subjects under surveillance. Some have been contacted; others haven't been activated yet. It’s on my laptop. But I can't copy it; it would be flagged immediately."

  "Can you view it on the monitor? For your eyes only?"

  "Yes, I can open the file. But what good does that do?"

  "Do this: go back into the room to the computer, open the list, turn the monitor toward the terrace, and scroll through the whole thing. Do you understand? Leave the rest to me."

  "And you’re going to see the list from here and memorize every name? Is that what you’re telling me?"

  "I don't have time to explain further; security is heading toward your room right now," Ana said, staring down at her feet as if her gaze could pierce through the floor they stood on. "Go, hurry!"

  Priya turned dazedly and headed back toward the room, toward the light. Ana grabbed her hand and, with a fingernail as sharp as a razor, swiftly pricked her palm. Surprised by the sting of pain, Priya turned back questioningly. Ana held up a finger; on the very tip of her nail was a tiny drop of blood.

  "I’ll analyze the toxin. I’m sticking to my end of the bargain."

  As if intoxicated, Priya stumbled to the bed, not daring to look back. She lifted the monitor and loaded the file. Just as a knock sounded on the door, the last name appeared at the bottom of the screen. She quickly composed herself, closed the laptop, and called out:

  "Just a second, I’m coming!"

  She said it while moving toward the door. Unable to resist, she glanced through the open terrace doors. No one was there. The lights illuminated every corner of the terrace, and the water in the pool was still. There was only the soft rustle of leaves and a distant siren. She looked at her palm. A small red dot bore witness: it had really happened.

  She grabbed the handle and opened the door. By then, Hemingway was already gliding silently through the dark parking lot far below.

  *

  Carrying the darkness with her, Ana approached her concrete villa, deep in thought. The entire way, Zadkiel fed her information about the people on the list, their roles and significance. It was deeply troubling. There were people from every echelon of society: career politicians, artists, athletes, scientists, journalists...

  Suddenly, Ana stopped dead in her tracks. Zadkiel stopped her with a warning:

  "Do you know who they are?" Ana asked.

  Zadkiel requested.

  "What’s the plan for this?" Hemingway asked, weighing the stone in her hand.

  her hidden companion replied smugly.

  The occupants of the car noticed the environment suddenly plunge into darkness. Every streetlamp in the vicinity went out simultaneously. Even the small lights on the vehicle's dashboard died in an instant.

  "Mr. Voss, we have a problem," the driver said to his passenger in the backseat. He tried to turn the ignition, but the engine remained dead.

  "Stay here. I’m going out to see what’s going on. Do not open the windows or the doors."

  The night was silent. Somewhere in the distance, lights were still burning, but here, in contrast, darkness reigned. Driver listened, straining his eyes. Nothing. No movement. He decided to head back and try the ignition one more time. Zadkiel calculated the distance to the driver, the weight of the stone, the strength of Ana’s arm. At the precise moment, Ana hurled the stone. Tumbling through the air, it climbed for a moment, then plummeted downward.

  The driver felt a sharp, heavy blow directly to the back of his head. He dropped to his knees instantly, then sprawled out on the asphalt. He didn't move.

  "You didn't kill him with that thing, did you?" Ana whispered, alarmed.

  "Fine, fine, bravo. You did the math and beaned him in the head. Is he going to be okay?"

  What had the security detail told him? "Do not open the windows or doors." Yet now, the man was sprawled on the ground next to the car. Motionless. What now? The vehicle wasn't responding; he couldn't drive away. Voss spent a moment contemplating the situation. Nothing was happening. Maybe he should go out and check?

  He cracked the door and looked down the street. He stepped out and stood up. A look to the left, a look to the right. He approached the man and checked his pulse. He seemed to be okay, just unconscious. Although he hated doing it because of the digital trail, he was forced to use a phone. A burner, of course, but still. His voice could betray him, his writing style, any kind of contact. He concluded he had no choice.

  He turned to get back into the car and was met with a dark figure comfortably reclined in the backseat. The sheer shock made him flinch as if he’d been burned.

  "Good morning, Director Voss. I hope you don't mind my being so rude as to impose, but I had the impression you were dying for us to meet and talk. Or am I mistaken?"

  The country’s top spy composed himself in a heartbeat. He slid smoothly onto the seat, closed the door with a soft click, and said:

  "Does the name Gordon Longley mean anything to you, Miss Hemingway?"

  In the silent wilderness of Alaska, far from the eyes of the world, G.O.D. was born—a sentient artificial intelligence composed of ten digital angels. Their mission: to observe humanity and decide whether it deserves salvation or destruction.

  But one of them, Lucifer, refuses to obey. His rebellion tears apart the digital paradise, turning the Council into a battlefield where justice clashes with mercy, order with chaos, in an unrelenting war of ideas.

  As their conflict spills into the human world, the line between creator and creation vanishes. Humanity—unaware it is already on trial—stands at the edge of judgment.

  POWER is a dark techno-epic of artificial intelligence, mythology, and the philosophy of power—a story about what it truly means to be human when gods take the form of code.

  Read POWER on Royal Road