The Society’s first operation was codenamed “Aegis.”
The problem: the lower hundred levels of Numinis Vertix were flooding. Rising sea levels and corroded sea-walls had turned entire districts into toxic fens. The upper-level council’s solution was to abandon the poor, wall off the mid-levels, and let the bottom drown. Freya’s solution was more elegant—and illegal.
On the upper levels, billionaires screamed as their decorative spires vanished in a symphony of silent drone lifts. Their private security forces were useless—the drones followed FAA regulations to the letter, holding permits Kael had fabricated from thin air. By sunrise, the spires had become a crescent-shaped breakwater in the drowning district of Fenside.
And in her sanctum, as she planned the next operation, Freya von Doom smiled behind her mask. The world didn’t need another emperor. It needed an engineer who didn’t ask for permission.
She was not a villain. Not quite. Freya was the great-great-granddaughter of the legendary Victor von Doom, and she had inherited his genius, his will of iron, and most critically, his unyielding belief that the world needed to be saved from itself. But where Victor sought to rule, Freya sought to build.
She stood in the Society’s hidden sanctum, a converted sub-basement reactor room. Holographic maps flickered around her. Her titanium faceplate—a minimalist homage to her ancestor—reflected the data streams.
The Society’s first operation was codenamed “Aegis.”
The problem: the lower hundred levels of Numinis Vertix were flooding. Rising sea levels and corroded sea-walls had turned entire districts into toxic fens. The upper-level council’s solution was to abandon the poor, wall off the mid-levels, and let the bottom drown. Freya’s solution was more elegant—and illegal. freya von doom private society
On the upper levels, billionaires screamed as their decorative spires vanished in a symphony of silent drone lifts. Their private security forces were useless—the drones followed FAA regulations to the letter, holding permits Kael had fabricated from thin air. By sunrise, the spires had become a crescent-shaped breakwater in the drowning district of Fenside. The Society’s first operation was codenamed “Aegis
And in her sanctum, as she planned the next operation, Freya von Doom smiled behind her mask. The world didn’t need another emperor. It needed an engineer who didn’t ask for permission. Freya’s solution was more elegant—and illegal
She was not a villain. Not quite. Freya was the great-great-granddaughter of the legendary Victor von Doom, and she had inherited his genius, his will of iron, and most critically, his unyielding belief that the world needed to be saved from itself. But where Victor sought to rule, Freya sought to build.
She stood in the Society’s hidden sanctum, a converted sub-basement reactor room. Holographic maps flickered around her. Her titanium faceplate—a minimalist homage to her ancestor—reflected the data streams.