The day flew by, and sunset approached, casting long shadows across Rebecca's cramped kitchen. Empty beer bottles, their labels peeling, stood sentinel amidst a mess of takeout containers and scattered documents.

  Exhausted, Rebecca slumped back in her chair. She raised her voice.

  "Olt, I've been over this a thousand times. We don't have a case."

  Bloodshot eyes met Rebecca. Olt’s fingers were stained with ink. He remained hunched over the table, a fortress of legal documents surrounding him. He countered with a low growl.

  "We might, if I can prove I was making payments on the mortgage, even if the property wasn't in my name."

  Rebecca nodded. Then, her voice hardened, a weary teacher repeating a lesson for the thousandth time.

  "I'll say it one more time, Olt. All your arguments are valid if, and only if, we can guarantee that this law will be honored by the courts."

  Olt slammed his hand down on a stack of papers, the sound throbbing through the duplex.

  "Just because the government is conducting an investigation on civil servants doesn't mean the SDRA is subject to nepotism laws. There's no language in the Act that even suggests that!"

  Rebecca leaned back, as she analyzed the chaotic scene.

  “The SDRA was made to aid civil servants who fall into hard times. Considering many people were compensated with public jobs, and other benefits, you don’t see this being argued as nepotism by the state?”

  “That’s why Advocates exist. These types of cases are what built your reputation,” Olt responded, passionately.

  Rebecca disregarded Olt’s statement..

  "So, you're planning to represent yourself?"

  Olt blinked.

  "What?"

  Rebecca remained cynical, taking Olt’s confusion as poor acting.

  "You heard me. You came here asking for help with research, but it's pretty clear you're already thinking about how to argue this in court."

  She paused, her voice dropping.

  "And let's be honest, Olt. You're out of a job. How are you planning to pay for representation? Even if you could find an advocate willing to take this on, the expenses alone would rack up close to a mortgage. That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? And add the fact that no one's ever brought an SDRA case to court before. Meaning whoever would be willing to take a risk on their career in this political climate is definitely not doing it pro-bono."

  Olt's face flushed, embarrassment washing over him. He shifted in his chair, the worn leather creaking beneath his weight.

  "To be honest, Rebecca, I didn't consider it because I knew I couldn't afford it. That's why I didn't take Cristina's suggestion seriously at first."

  He paused, as he looked at the scattered documents on the table.

  "But when I found that document... It was like a lifeline. I got so caught up in the possibilities that I forgot about the practicalities."

  Another silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city. Olt finally broke it, his voice tinged with a wistful longing.

  "Part of me wishes you could represent me, Rebecca. But with your history... it's a miracle you're still breathing, let alone teaching law."

  He looked up, meeting Rebecca.

  "I was hoping you could at least recommend someone. Someone who wouldn't charge an arm and a leg, or worse, sell me out."

  Rebecca's focus drifted towards the window, the city lights twinkling like a constellation. She turned back to Olt, her eyes filled with a melancholic understanding.

  "I'd recommend an advocate, hell, I'd even pay for it myself... but trust me, it's pointless."

  Olt's shoulders slumped, his gaze distant as he traced the edges of a worn legal document.

  "I have about six months to figure out a solution. But in six months... there's a good chance there won't be one."

  A tear, a solitary drop of frustration and despair, rolled down Olt's cheek.

  "I can’t have my family end up in the street."

  He clenched his fist.

  "I’m trying to do something. My options are limited, Rebecca. I’m trying to do this the right way."

  Rebecca remained silent for a long moment. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

  "I understand, Olt.”

  Olt looked up, his eyes questioning. Rebecca continued.

  "In Synoro, there is no right way. Take it from me, even those who did good in this place, did it justifying bad things.”

  She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the cluttered table.

  "They’re framing innocent mothers. People who worked with us-just throwing them behind bars to rot.”

  A shadow passed over her face.

  "Imagine what they’ll do to a strong, young man bringing up fringe laws created by their enemies."

  Rebecca's voice grew thick with emotion.

  "It won’t matter how good your argument is, or who defends you in court. The game is rigged, Olt! And if that’s what you’re up against, imagine what they got in store for me. Fuck the trial, they’ll just make me disappear. I’m sure they’re plotting it as we speak."

  She sighed, the sound heavy with regret.

  "I’m speaking to you as the daughter of Oliver Nader, and a former advocate. I made a great career, Olt. And part of it was because I believed in what I did. But most of it... was due to my father. When you’re the dictator’s child, you can do anything. I was good at manipulating the law because of who I was, not what I knew. I was a pawn.”

  Rebecca looked at Olt, eyes filled with a profound sadness.

  "You see, I’m trying to protect you. The best advice I can give you as an advocate is keep you away from people like me."

  She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips.

  "You’re better off not making your mortgage payments, and waiting to see if the bank actually forecloses it."

  Olt stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. He didn't comment on Rebecca’s words. He simply gathered his belongings.

  "You make a good point. But, my conscience won’t let me take that risk.”

  He turned and left. Rebecca remained at the table. A few moments later, the door clicked shut.

  …

  About an hour had passed. The game show's incessant buzzer, signaling each contestant's failure, echoed through Rebecca's dimly lit living room. She sat there, staring blankly at the screen. The blinking images were a meaningless distraction. Guilt overwhelmed her, a nagging doubt about her refusal to help Olt. She wondered if she had lost her drive, her passion for justice, or if it had simply been buried beneath the weight of disillusionment.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  A sudden creak from the kitchen door, leading to the backyard, jolted her back to reality. The sound was unusual, out of place in the quiet solitude of her duplex. Rising from her chair, her muscles stiff from hours of inactivity, she turned towards the kitchen. Footsteps echoed on the linoleum floor, drawing closer. A figure emerged from the shadows, a silhouette against the dim light filtering in from the backyard.

  Rebecca's eyes widened in disbelief.

  "Alonso? Is that really you?"

  Stepping closer, the figure solidified into the familiar form of Alonso Gijon.

  Rebecca demanded with a mix of surprise and accusation.

  "Why would you come back?”

  Alonso remained silent, his eyes glowing with an eerie, crimson light. The veins in his neck pulsed, a network of neon blue webs beneath his skin. He stepped fully into the room.

  "A new dawn is coming, Rebecca. And people like you... you can't be a part of it."

  Rebecca's heart hammered in her chest. She saw the power coursing through Alonso, the barely contained fury in his eyes. She tried to reason.

  "Alonso, wait! We can talk about this..."

  But the words were pointless. Alonso lunged, a blur of motion. Rebecca barely had time to react before she was tackled, her body slamming into the towering bookcases that lined the eastern wall. The impact sent a shockwave through her, knocking the air from her lungs. She crumpled amidst a cascade of books, her pajamas torn and her mouth tasting of blood.

  Alonso stood over her, his blade gleaming in the dim light.

  "Stay still. This will be quick."

  At that moment, the words Rebecca had told Olt earlier that night echoed in her mind. They were a cruel reminder of their shared reality. The game is rigged, Olt. She was moments away from losing her life to Alonso Gijon, the quintessential daddy’s boy. The irony was a bitter pill to swallow.

  …

  A memory flashed, a scene from a simpler time. The plush velvet seats of a shadowy movie theater. The buttery scent of popcorn mingled with the suspense of the coming attractions. A young Rebecca, her eyes wide with excitement, fumbled with a box of chocolate candy bites. Beside her, a man with olive skin and a thick black beard chuckled.

  "Just don't tell your mom about the candy.”

  Rebecca grinned, popping a chocolate into her mouth. The sweetness exploded on her tongue, a prelude to the cinematic spectacle that awaited them. She snuggled closer to the man. The warmth of his presence was a rare delight.

  The theater was closed exclusively for them, a perk of being the leader of a country. The plush velvet seats, usually filled with chattering patrons, were empty save for the two figures nestled in the center.

  Rebecca fidgeted in her seat. She looked up at the bearded man beside her, her father, Oliver Nader.

  "When can we go do something else, Dad? Like go see a trial battle or a baseball game?"

  Oliver’s face softened, as he looked down at his daughter.

  "Soon, Rebecca. Soon."

  He reached out, ruffling Rebecca's hair.

  "You're almost seven now. You're one year closer to being an advocate one day. Are you excited?”

  Without hesitation, Rebecca responded with youthful admiration.

  "Yup, I'm gonna be just like you.”

  Oliver chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that filled the empty space.

  "If you were like me, then what would I do? There can't be two presidents."

  Rebecca giggled, her laughter bright and high pitched.

  "You're being a smartass, Dad.”

  Amused, Oliver raised an eyebrow.

  "Whoa, that’s not nice."

  Rebecca shrugged, her grin widening.

  "I hear you use it all the time."

  Oliver's smile softened, pride set in his eyes.

  Rebecca continued, earnestly.

  “I understand, dad. People are always bothering you. I’d use bad words too if people kept bothering me."

  Oliver nodded. The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the movie. He reached out, squeezing Rebecca's shoulder.

  "You’re not wrong Becca, not wrong at all."

  …

  I’d use bad words too if people kept bothering me - those words reverberated in Rebecca’s mind, a haunting refrain from a past she couldn't escape. Maybe there was a chance, she thought, a flicker of defiance igniting in her weary heart. She had no other choice; there needed to be a chance. The realization that she was a target, a pawn in a game, had finally sunk in. She had joked about it, but deep down, she hoped she wouldn't have to fight for her life.

  Pulsating light ignited, as Rebecca’s veins suddenly surged with power. The main vein from her jugular shone bright. With a guttural roar, she lifted her legs, kicking Alonso away with a force that sent him crashing into the stairs leading to the second story of the duplex.

  Rebecca’s body vibrated with newfound power. She walked towards the fallen Alonso.

  "Have you flipped, too? Are you working with Hadic? Or worse... did my sister send you? I knew I couldn't trust her to keep her word."

  Alonso’s face contorted into rage, as he struggled to his feet.

  "This is about the new dawn!" he shouted, his voice laced with a chilling fanaticism. "People like you... you're not worthy!"

  Rebecca snapped back, her anger fueling her own transformation.

  "What the hell does that even mean?"

  Alonso didn't answer. He dashed towards Rebecca, his movements full of speed and power. A kick to the stomach, a swift maneuver, and Rebecca's world spun as she was lifted into the air. The next moment, her face smashed onto the floor with bone-jarring force, cracking a hole that looked into the darkness of the basement below.

  As Rebecca laid face-first on the floor of her living room, Alonso jumped into the air. The impact of his elbow drop reverberated through the apartment, collapsing the floor and sending them both crashing onto the cold, concrete surface of the basement below.

  Rebecca groaned, the taste of blood and dust filling her mouth. Before she could react, Alonso was upon her, the blade flashing in the subtle light. But the blade, a mere mortal weapon against the supernatural power coursing through them, shattered on impact.

  Rebecca opened his eyes. They had a defiant glint in their depths.

  "You should know that won't work when we're like this.”

  With a swift karate chop to Alonso's neck, Rebecca broke free from his grip. She scrambled to her feet, the concrete cold and unforgiving beneath her bare soles. The scene before her was a chaotic tableau of destruction: splintered wood, furniture, scattered books, and the gaping hole in the floor above.

  Surely Alonso would know he can't use a crafted blade on me, Rebecca thought, confusion crossing her face. But before she could dwell on the absurdity of the situation, Alonso charged again, his eyes blazing with the otherworldly light.

  Rebecca reacted on instinct, dodging the attack with a speed that surprised even herself. She seized Alonso in a full nelson lock, her muscles straining against the man's superhuman strength.

  "Alonso, please, stop this!”

  But Alonso didn't respond. His body thrummed with power, his veins pulsing blue. Rebecca's grip weakened, her own strength waning against the onslaught.

  Rebecca shouted, desperation edging closer.

  "Alonso, calm down! If we keep this up, the fight's going to bleed out into the street. People are going to get hurt! You should know this!”

  Grunt sounds came out of Rebecca, as she struggled to maintain her hold. Alonso's body didn’t seem to weaken. Rebecca's grip loosened, her own strength waning against the onslaught.

  Rebecca made a final attempt to reason.

  "Alonso! We can't let this escalate! People will get hurt!"

  But Alonso's eyes, blazing with an otherworldly light, offered no response. His body surged with even greater power, threatening to break free from Rebecca's grasp. This had to be ended, quickly. Rebecca couldn't maintain this level of exertion for much longer.

  A surge of adrenaline, a primal roar tearing from her throat, and Rebecca's own eyes ignited with a blinding reddish, almost burgundy light. Her grip strengthened, her muscles tightening like steel springs.

  The basement shook, the concrete floor trembling beneath the force of their struggle. Rebecca's vision narrowed, focusing solely on Alonso's contorted face, the veins in his neck bulging like writhing serpents.

  One minute, Rebecca thought, her mind racing. I have one minute before this power fades.

  Frustration, anger, and a deep sense of betrayal surged through her. Martin, she thought bitterly, leaving his inexperienced son to manage the very thing that kept it all safe. The very thing that would not have left me, Olt, and so many others subject to this bullshit.

  Her anger fueled her power. Her eyes pulsating red, began to bleed, as the brightness surging through her seemed to pierce through Alonso's own unnatural luminescence. With a final, guttural roar, Rebecca's grip tightened impossibly further.

  A sickening crack burst through the basement. Alonso's arms, twisted at an unnatural angle, snapped at the elbows. His back arched, a grotesque parody of a gymnast's bridge, and his neck, unable to withstand the pressure, gave way with a sickening crunch.

  The redness in Rebecca's eyes faded, leaving behind tears of blood. Her body slumped as the adrenaline rush subsided. She knelt on the cold concrete, her chest heaving, surrounded by the gruesome remains of Alonso Gijon.

  …

  Covered in the detritus of the fight, Rebecca managed to make it back to the first floor, kicking the basement door open. Stumbling towards the landline, she reached for the device, its cord snaking across the debris. With a trembling hand, she lifted the receiver and dialed a number.

  The line clicked, then a gruff voice barked.

  "Who's this?"

  Rebecca gasped, her breath still ragged from the fight.

  "Ganjo, It's Rebecca."

  A pause, then Ganjo spoke.

  "Rebecca? It's been a while."

  Fatigued, Rebecca managed to reply. Desperation covered her voice.

  "Yeah. Listen, I need help."

  Ganjo was cautious, guarded.

  "What kind of help?"

  "I need...I need a clean up on aisle 5," Rebecca said cryptically.