Present

  The dim, open warehouse seemed to press in on them as Ganjo’s horrifying narration concluded. Olt watched Ganjo with wide, disturbed eyes. Mariah, having finished her immediate ministrations, sat back on her heels. Her face showed shock, but with slight signs of scientific intrigue. Rebecca stood nearby, her expression grim, and her arms crossed tightly. Lyona looked utterly bewildered by the violent and disturbing tale. Veronica observed Ganjo intently.

  Ganjo’s voice, rough from the telling and the raw emotion of the memory, brought them sharply back to the present. He was breathing heavily, and a genuine bead of sweat traced a path down his temple.

  "I still can't explain that," he said, gesturing vaguely, as his head shook slightly at the thought of Alonso’s impossible recovery, and the strange, mold-like mark.

  "I still can’t explain how he just disappeared."

  Ganjo ran a hand over his face, the gesture weary and haunted.

  "The original mission, what Oliver sent us there for, it was about uncovering corruption. Oliver had intel, rumors about Alberto Pointe. He suspected Krautzberger and Hadic's people were running a side operation."

  Ganjo looked directly at Rebecca, as he provided context for Oliver Nader's regime.

  "Across most of the continent, Firms hold the monopoly on synthesizing the Indigo potion, buying the raw leaves from farmers. But under Oliver, in Synoro, the government controlled everything about Indigo. They controlled everything from farming the plant to brewing the potion. It was his way of controlling Aether access, keeping it out of the wrong hands, or so he said."

  He gestured back towards the unseen horrors of his memory.

  "Our mission was to find proof they were bypassing that monopoly. We suspected they were synthesizing high-grade Indigo at Alberto Pointe, and using it for unsanctioned programs. Shit like creating their own force, off the books, outside Oliver's control."

  He shuddered, a visible tremor running through his large frame.

  "But what I found wasn't just unethical training or illegal production. It was that."

  He gestured towards the floor, the implication of the room still fresh in his mind.

  "The failures…the byproducts. Seems they weren’t farming Indigo, they were farming people."

  He looked away, distant, and lost in the horrific tableau of his memory.

  "I knew then. Saw the extent of it. This wasn't just Hadic being Hadic in some hidden lab. This was Alberto Pointe, a major hospital in the city. It meant powerful people, connected people, were sanctioning that."

  Ganjo gestured towards the floor again. There was revulsion in his voice, as he emphasized the sheer horror of what he had witnessed.

  Ganjo looked back at Rebecca, troubled, and with a deep weariness settling in his eyes.

  "I tried to bring it to Oliver. Showed him what I found, told him it was connected to the Factory, to Hadic, the people the Guardians were created to keep in check. But he didn't…he didn't push it. He didn't investigate it the way I thought he should. He said it was too deep, too dangerous for us to chase alone."

  Ganjo trailed off, carefully, deliberately, avoiding any mention of his own subsequent actions, the choices he had made in the aftermath of that discovery, or the betrayal that had festered within him.

  Rebecca stared at Ganjo, her face pale, her eyes wide with horror and a dawning, furious comprehension. The gruesome details of Ganjo’s flashback, combined with the revelation that he had known Alonso Gijon was connected to Alberto Pointe made her almost boil over. It did not matter to her that Ganjo hadn't grasped the full, nightmarish extent of it until he found that final, horrific room. None of that mattered because he kept this from her. All those years, and she knew absolutely nothing.

  "You…you knew?" Rebecca's voice trembled with fury. "You knew Alonso was connected to that place? You knew he was dangerous?!"

  She gestured towards her own body. The memory of Alonso's attack, of the feel of his hands on her, was still chillingly vivid.

  "He attacked me! He tried to kill me! And you knew what he was capable of, you didn't tell me?"

  Her voice rose, raw with hurt and a profound sense of betrayal.

  "Why, Ganjo? Why would you keep something like this from me? From us? When you knew Alonso was still out there, connected to Hadic's world? You played me!"

  Ganjo flinched under the weight of Rebecca's accusation. He avoided her direct gaze, looking down at the dusty concrete floor. His large frame seemed to shrink slightly.

  "It wasn't that simple, Rebecca," Ganjo said, strained, and heavy with unspoken burdens. "What I saw, what happened in that room, it was messed up. Beyond anything I'd ever dealt with."

  He shuddered, a tremor running through him.

  "Alonso, he wasn't himself. It was like…like something else was in control."

  Ganjo was referring to the demonic shift, the unnatural strength, and the chilling laughter, trying to convey why he hadn't immediately equated that monstrous entity with the Alonso who had later attacked her.

  He took a deep, ragged breath.

  "After Oliver, after everything fell apart, I buried it. I tried to, at least. I convinced myself that that extreme state was temporary. Unique to that place. That maybe Alonso was contained. Or back to being the political pawn I knew, the one who wouldn't get his own hands dirty. He ran like many did, especially after they killed Martin, his father. Besides, if you were able to kill him-and believe me, I checked, then he possibly could not have been the man I went up against."

  Ganjo was describing his compartmentalization, his desperate attempt to rationalize the horror, and to push it away.

  He finally looked up, meeting Rebecca's furious, hurt eyes. His own expression was a complex mixture of shame and a clumsy, almost desperate attempt at sincerity.

  "When you said he attacked you, I was surprised he was even back. But I thought it was Hadic using him…standard enforcer stuff. After all, it’s safe to assume that if we were still alive, it was because Hadic wanted it that way, regardless of the deals I made with the Dasa Vech for protection. Hadic has deals with everyone. So, why wouldn’t Hadic be using Alonso? The last thing I thought about was to connect it to that night," he gestured vaguely, indicating the nightmarish memory, "not at first. Not the real horror of it. I didn't want to believe that Alonso was back. And I didn't want to put that horror on you. You were already dealing with enough."

  Ganjo gestured again, implying Oliver's death, the collapse of their world, the chaos that had followed.

  "I thought…I thought burying it was safer. For everyone. I didn't know he'd resurface. Didn't know he'd come after you like that."

  Veronica watched the emotional exchange, her expression unreadable, as her eyes remained steady. She waited until the tension between Ganjo and Rebecca was at its peak, then she cut in, breaking the moment.

  "The past is informative," Veronica said, stepping forward slightly, as her presence reasserted itself. "But it is the present we must address."

  Veronica looked from Ganjo’s strained, guilt-ridden face to Rebecca’s pale, furious one.

  "Ganjo's account, disturbing as it is, provides a crucial piece of the puzzle."

  She turned her full attention to Rebecca, who was still glaring at Ganjo, the sting of his omission fresh.

  "You asked about Alonso Gijon, about the attack on your home. There’s a reason why I wanted Ganjo to bring up Alberto Pointe, and it wasn’t so much about Alonso."

  Veronica paused, letting her next question settle in the tense atmosphere of the warehouse.

  "Rebecca, do you remember Alonso Gijon's wife? Laura Blake?"

  Rebecca, still reeling from Ganjo's revelations and the raw anger they had ignited, slowly turned her face to Veronica. The name "Laura Blake" cut through the turmoil of her thoughts. It was a name connected to Alonso, to a time before everything had fractured, but not one she had consciously thought about in years.

  "Laura Blake?" Rebecca repeated, the name sounding familiar. A flicker of recognition, a vague memory of a face, a social gathering, surfaced in her mind. "Yes."

  Mariah, who had been quietly observing Olt, looked up sharply at the mention of Laura Blake.

  "Laura Blake?" she said, recognition dawning on her. "I remember her. She's Dr. Elijah Blake's sister."

  She looked from Rebecca to Veronica, then back.

  "From the Blake Family. They're powerful. Old money." Mariah added, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow, "Elijah, he was my former employer at the clinic. He always talked about his older brother, Zachary. Didn't seem to like him much. Said he was 'twisted'."

  Rebecca looked from Mariah to Veronica, her confusion growing.

  "Dr. Elijah Blake? Zachary Blake? What does that have to do with Alonso attacking me?"

  Ganjo, who had been listening intently, his expression grim and focused, nodded slowly.

  "It connects. At the time Oliver's government fell, Alonso and Laura Blake were together in a relationship."

  Ganjo looked at Veronica, then back at the group.

  "Zachary Blake, Laura’s brother, was,” he corrected himself. “Is…an important person of Hadic’s New Dawn Trust. I can’t speak for the entire Blake family, but Zachary’s branch is very involved in that network. Charity work…or so they say."

  Veronica nodded, confirming Ganjo's statement with a slight inclination of her head.

  "Precisely. The Blake Family, specifically Zachary Blake's branch, is deeply embedded within the New Dawn Trust. They are significant contributors."

  She looked at Ganjo.

  "After Martin Gijon's unfortunate incident and the chaos that followed Oliver's death, Alonso needed refuge."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Veronica turned to the group, her voice taking on a narrative tone as she introduced the new location.

  "He sought refuge with Laura and her brother, Zachary Blake. At Greener Pastures."

  She explained its outward appearance.

  "Greener Pastures. A massive ranch and farm owned by Zachary Blake. Publicly, it's known as the largest dairy producer in the region, which in that aspect needs a massive transporter, a Winger Distributions if I might add. And not only that, but it’s also a holistic commune. They say they focus on wellness, personal growth, and community. Typical cult stuff, you know. That’s how they all start. As of right now, it is extremely involved in community programs for Sector 1."

  She added the crucial connection to the Trust.

  "It's also the main supplier of foodstuffs for the New Dawn Trust's orphanages and schools; and simple crops isn’t the only thing they’re growing. It houses the Dasa Vech’s largest plantation of Indigo, this side of the continent.”

  Veronica looked at Ganjo with a slight grin.

  “But, I know you’re very aware of that detail, Ganjo.”

  Ganjo disregarded her statement. There was no reason to acknowledge what was already known. He worked for the Dasa Vech, and as such knew their details.

  Veronica continued, emphasizing Carl Winger’s involvement.

  “Again, boat loads of Indigo, how else are you gonna get it around? Well, a massive fleet of trucks is needed, don’t you think?"

  Olt, who had been listening with growing unease, interjected, the pieces clicking into place for him as well.

  "Freddy is a local drug lord with direct ties to the Dasa Vech leadership. Carl’s trucking company would be crucial to Freddy’s operation, moving more than just dairy and foodstuffs."

  Rebecca's eyes widened as the name "Greener Pastures" and the mention of its role as a supplier connected with her earlier investigation into the Synoran Prosperity Initiative, and the beneficiaries of the SDRA defaults. She let out a small, choked sound. The implications hit her with sudden, sickening clarity.

  The decision to bury herself in the musty archives of the Economic Bureau Records Hall hadn't been her original plan for the day. It had started as a way to kill time, a distraction while waiting for Ganjo's call after the unsettling events of the previous night. Olt's fragmented copies of the Synoro Debt Relief Act, salvaged from the wreckage of her living room, had sparked a flicker of academic curiosity. Cross-referencing them with her own legal tomes and research data on Synoro's economic policies, a disturbing pattern had emerged. There was an overwhelming concentration of high-risk GEM loans (Guaranteed Economic Monies) originating from Sector 1 banks, many defaulting, with the same few entities consistently acquiring the collateral. The anomalies, particularly the involvement of Hooma Bank and the sheer improbability of such lending practices without a hidden agenda, had gnawed at her. What began as a cursory review had quickly escalated into a pressing need for answers, driving her from the chaos of her home to the ordered repository of public records. She needed to trace the ownership of companies like the Synoran Prosperity Initiative, one of the names that kept appearing in the preliminary auction reports she'd skimmed.

  The Records Hall itself, one of the largest wings of the Synoro Central Library, was a monument to bureaucratic diligence and organized chaos. Here, by law, resided the public ledgers of every venture touched by the government. There were contracts awarded, assets auctioned, initiatives funded, and the labyrinthine corporate structures of entities that did business with the state. The information wasn't secret; it was overwhelmingly voluminous. Aisles upon aisles of shelves groaned under the weight of bound ledgers, stacked document boxes, and countless reels of microfilm. This was a sprawling paper-and-film jungle. Finding a single tree was easy. Discerning the forest, or the hidden paths connecting disparate groves, required a particular kind of tenacity and a mind adept at pattern recognition. Luckily, these were skills Rebecca had honed over years of legal practice and academic research.

  She’d started her inquiry hours ago, armed with the knowledge that the Synoran Prosperity Initiative (SPI) had been a significant buyer at Sector 1 foreclosure auctions during the peak years of the GEM loan defaults. That initial data point, the auction results and buyer names, was relatively accessible. But who SPI truly was, that was buried deeper. It required a methodical descent, requesting subsequent layers of public records, from auction ledgers to the corporate registration filings for the winning bidders.

  The archivist, a woman whose own features seemed as faded as the documents she curated, finally returned, pushing a squeaking cart. It was laden with several of those requested dusty, bound ledgers and a few stacks of equally time-worn manila folders.

  "Corporate registrations for the Synoran Prosperity Initiative, as requested," she announced, her voice as dry as the parchment around them. "And the corresponding shareholder disclosures. I've set you up at the microfilm reader on station three. It's… temperamental." She gestured towards a bulky, beige machine with a large viewing screen, humming faintly in a carrel.

  Rebecca thanked her, anticipation tightening in her stomach. She settled at the reader. The microfilm reader was, indeed, temperamental. The spools whirred erratically, the focus knob required constant, minute adjustments, and the crank to advance the film was stiff. It was frustrating. She navigated the blurry, blinking images of SPI’s corporate filings. There were scanned pages of dense legal jargon and bureaucratic boilerplate. Her eyes, already strained, scanned through sections detailing the company's formation.

  Urban revitalization and community development in underserved sectors

  Then, a name jumped out from a poorly scanned document detailing ownership structure:

  Greener Pastures Ranch and Farm – Majority Shareholder

  Rebecca leaned back, surprise momentarily overriding her focus.

  Greener Pastures? The dairy farm?

  Greener Pastures was a holistic commune that supplied a significant share of the city's organic produce, dairy, and preached sustainable living. It wasn't the shadowy investment firm or faceless real estate conglomerate she’d envisioned. This was unexpected. It lent a veneer of legitimacy, almost wholesomeness, to the predatory acquisitions she suspected. A shell company, yes, but one owned by an entity that cultivated an image of benevolent community spirit. The cognitive dissonance was jarring.

  Her discomfort deepened. The microfilm trail was a start, but Rebecca craved the tactile certainty of ink on paper for the finer details. She turned to the physical files, her fingers carefully leafing through a thick ledger detailing SPI's shareholder agreements and investor disclosures. The pages were yellowed, the ink faded in places. Columns of names blurred with unfamiliar corporate entities, individuals she didn't recognize, likely minor players, further layers of obfuscation, or simply opportunists cashing in. Her legal training kicked in, her mind automatically categorizing, cross-referencing, searching for the connecting threads.

  And then, her breath hitched. Her heart seemed to stop, then hammered against her ribs. The name seemed to leap off the yellowed page, searing itself into her vision.

  Nader, Olivia.

  Her sister.

  Nausea overcame Rebecca. This wasn't just abstract corruption, a faceless system preying on the vulnerable. This was personal and intimate. Her own blood, profiting from the misery orchestrated by the SDRA defaults, from the ruin of their father's flawed legacy. The betrayal was a physical ache. It felt hard to breathe.

  Slimy bitch.

  The anger was a raw, burning thing.

  Not the majority owner, that's Greener Pastures. A convenient layer. If shit hits the fan, she can claim she's just an investor, that she believed in SPI's stated mission of community development. Plausible deniability.

  The rationalization was a testament to Olivia's cunning, and her ability to insulate herself while still reaping the rewards.

  Despite the emotional turmoil, years of training kicked in. Her hands, though trembling slightly, moved with practiced precision. She found the antiquated photocopier in a dusty alcove. Each click and whir of the machine felt like a small victory as she meticulously copied the key pages: the SPI registration document listing Greener Pastures Ranch and Farm, and the shareholder ledger bearing Olivia's damning signature.

  She gathered the copies, the crisp paper feeling heavy and potent in her hands. This was it. She had proof. The connection between government asset sales, the corporate shell, and the hidden beneficiaries. The rot festering at the heart of Synoro, and within her own family, was now laid bare on these pages.

  Rebecca left the Records Hall, the copied documents clutched tightly in her bookbag. The early evening sun felt harsher, more unforgiving than before. It was her anxiety. She could not wait to confront her sister, but it would take everything she had not to kill her.

  "Greener Pastures!" Rebecca exclaimed, her voice rising with the sudden, stark realization. The name, once a vague, almost benign entity in her research, now snapped into sharp, horrifying focus.

  "Of course! Greener Pastures, they own the majority of shares in the Synoran Prosperity Initiative!"

  She looked at Veronica, the disparate pieces of the puzzle clicking rapidly into place, forming a clear picture.

  "The GEM loan foreclosures, the properties bought for pennies on the dollar, the Synoran Prosperity Initiative, it all leads back to Greener Pastures. To Zachary Blake. And by association, to the New Dawn Trust."

  Her mind raced, connecting the dots.

  "Of the properties purchased by SPI I could find, many if not all must have been repurposed as orphanages, schools, sports programs."

  Veronica smiled, a slow, knowing smile that acknowledged Rebecca's dawning comprehension.

  "You're catching on, Ms. Santander. Very quickly. Some of those properties have even been turned into social clubs for adolescents. I believe they call them ‘juice bars’."

  The mention of "juice bars" made Ganjo’s head snap up. Ves Malmo’s words echoed in his mind:

  Freddy provides my brother with a significant income between the drugs and those… juice bars… springing up all across Bonao and Pachekho.

  Ganjo’s jaw almost dropped. The connection was immediate, and chilling.

  Veronica gestured towards the documents Chloe still held.

  "Your research on the SDRA and the Initiative is valuable. It exposes the financial manipulation and the front."

  Veronica then shifted her focus, her tone becoming more serious, hinting at the deeper, darker truth that lay beneath the financial machinations.

  "But Greener Pastures is more than just a farm or a front for shady acquisitions. It’s most famous for its commune."

  Veronica paused, letting the word "commune" settle in.

  "A very specific kind of commune. One that preys on the vulnerable, that offers belonging and purpose to those who are lost."

  She looked at Olt, then back at Ganjo.

  "It's where Alonso went after Alberto Pointe. Where he was refined."

  She began to explain the cult's outward appearance and its insidious recruitment methods.

  "Outwardly, it presents itself as a self-help group, a philosophical society, targeting those who are grieving, disillusioned, seeking purpose, like Alonso, after his father's downfall and the trauma he endured."

  Veronica used phrases that mimicked the cult's deceptive language:

  Personal growth, inner peace, and community building.

  "They offer a strong sense of belonging, a charismatic leader, workshops and retreats for self-discovery. And with the SPI acquisition, they’ve finally made their way out of the commune and into the streets. No longer will you go to them. Now, they will come to you."

  Veronica's tone darkened, the earlier hints of amusement and detached observation vanishing completely. She moved from describing the public facade of Greener Pastures to its hidden, rotten core.

  "Beneath the veneer of wellness and community," she said, low and serious, "lies something far more insidious."

  She began to explain the cult's true purpose, her words painting a chilling picture of calculated manipulation.

  "Greener Pastures is secretly funded and directed by the New Dawn Trust. It's their recruitment and manipulation arm. Identifying individuals with specific vulnerabilities, like Alonso, with his Gijon name and his father's history, and then conditioning them for specific purposes."

  She paused, letting the implications sink in.

  "Intelligence gathering, recruitment of operatives, the spread of disinformation. They use psychological manipulation techniques: love bombing, isolation, sleep deprivation, hypnotic techniques, emotional manipulation, exploiting grief and guilt, channeling negative emotions towards their agenda…the list goes on."

  Veronica linked the cult's methods directly back to Alonso and the recent attacks.

  "Alonso, after being retrieved from Alberto Pointe, was brought to Greener Pastures, to be reprogrammed and refined."

  She explained the cult's horrifying purpose.

  "The cult specializes in refining individuals who have been partially programmed elsewhere, taking unstable assets, like Alonso, and bringing them under control."

  She then revealed a key aspect of their operations.

  "One of the main functions of this cult is to take assassin contracts and make them look random. To create deniable assets for Hadic and the Trust."

  Veronica added, as she looked over them, "These assassins, from our information, seem to hold a strange mark on their necks, upper backs, and even chest."

  The mention of a mark triggered a sharp memory in Olt. He remembered the discolored, mold-like patch on the red-haired woman's neck.

  Ganjo, his face grim, spoke out:

  "Yeah, that’s right. That thing on Alonso’s neck. I didn't think much of it then, with everything else going on."

  “Wait, Alonso had that too?” Olt interjected. “I saw the same thing on the woman who attacked my family! Rebecca, did you notice that on Alonso?”

  Ashamed, Rebecca admitted she did not.

  “No, I was in shock. I hadn’t fought in years. I can’t say I was picking up details that night.”

  Veronica then added with a nod.

  "We still don’t know what it exactly is, but for now, we can say it is a side effect of these techniques the cult uses on their subjects."

  She then explicitly connected the recent violence to this sinister operation.

  "Alonso's attack on Rebecca and the attack on Olt’s family, they weren't random acts of violence. They were contracts. I can assure you of that."