The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 418

Bella sat in the command room like a queen on a high throne.

Around her, twenty secretaries waited—each one a machine with a name and a job. Their eyes tracked every screen; their fingers hovered over keyboards.

They waited for Bella’s next order.

“The Los Angeles internet is down,” Bella said.

“Alfred ordered a blackout—no feeds, no leaks. He wants this city blind while he does what he’s doing.”

Outside the blackout, the military, police, and the truly connected elite still got updates through satellite links.

They weren’t going blind. Only the masses were.

“I want every line severed. Cut the city off from the world—land, cellular, and satellite. Six hours. Absolute blackout.”

She looked at two secretaries. “You two, make that happen?”

“Roger. We’ll link to the hackers and fire up the jammers—sweep starts now,” one replied immediate.

“Good.” Bella nodded and the two moved to the console, fingers already dialing, voices already routing contacts.

“Last week we set the special comms for our people and the rebel leaders,” Bella added.

“Keep that channel secure. We will move them to the target on my mark.”

“We're linking with the rebels, Vermont’s elite soldiers, the homeless leaders, LA gangsters, and VIPs,” another five secretaries said as they slid into their stations and took over the logistics feed.

They were now responsible for every connection.

Bella began issuing orders—sharp and exact—directing thousands like a conductor bringing an orchestra to a single, brutal note.

Her commands were small, clean bullets: one instruction, then the next, no wasted breath.

The field answered in rhythm.

Up on a famous Los Angeles rooftop, a different kind of storm was unfolding.

LA’s rich and bored gathered to watch the city burn. They stood with champagne, smoke and light painting their faces.

“This is the best party ever,” one young adult shouted, voice thin with inherited arrogance, raising a glass.

“After this purge, Charles Kingston promised me fifty young women,” another slurred, grinning like a wolf. “Imagine what we can do with that many.”

“He promised me one hundred twenty strong people to play the life-and-death game,” someone else said, eyes glittering with excitement.

“We should stream the real squid game live. We could bet money while they bet their lives. Now that’s entertainment.”

“The Los Angeles governor’s the best,” a voice crowed, pride and cruelty braided together.

A harsh laugh cut the rooftop.

“He’s pure greed,” the man said, voice flat with contempt. “Came from poor Vancouver and now money’s his god—he’s lost both heart and head.”

“Promise him cash and power and he’ll become your lapdog,” another said, eyes cold. “I’ve heard he’d sell his only daughter for the price.”

“Perfect,” the first replied, a slow smile. “No conscience, no restraint. We can do whatever we want.”

Below, the city burned and clawed at the dark. Crowds shoved, screamed, fought, and killed—each one desperate to protect their own life.

Above, the parties still glittered. Champagne poured, music roared, and money kept the lights bright while the city below drowned in chaos.

“Our internet’s dead!” someone at the rooftop suddenly shouted, panic cracking through the laughter.

“What?” a man frowned. “But that old greedy Kingston promised the feeds for us would stay up.”

“The wifi are cut too,” another added.

“Forget it,” someone else barked, forcing a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Keep the party—after tonight, Los Angeles will belong to us.”

A dozen people carrying semi-automatic weapons pushed through the revolving doors and stormed into the hotel lobby.

The receptionist and servants rushed forward, faces tight with a welcome they'd been waiting to offer.

A lean maid cut through the crowd without hesitation.

“I’ll lead you to the rooftop,” she said, low and steady.

The rebel leader nodded. Ten hotel security men, room boys, and kitchen hands fell in behind—shoulders squared, eyes hard.

“Give us arms,” they pleaded. “We’ll help you take them down. They started killing our people—now it’s time to pick a side.”

The rebels handed over the weapons. “Fear not. After tonight, Los Angeles will belong to the people.”

The rooftop became a furnace of smoke and blood. Some rebels dropped under return fire.

A hotel staffer went down fighting, bullets tearing into him as he stood his ground.

As he fell, his life spilled out in fragments.

All he’d ever wanted was honest work—something he could do with his heart, something to put food on the table for his wife and children, something that would let him grow old watching his son and daughter grow taller.

He had done no harm, yet he was marked because he was poor. His body hit the floor with a heavy sound.

“Forgive me, child,” he whispered.

Nearby an elite tried to run. A bullet caught him in the back. He collapsed, his face landing inches from a hotel staffer’s face.

Tears streaked his cheeks as he gasped, “Mom, father, I just wanted to be happy.”

It was the cruel irony of the world—everyone searching for a little happiness, everyone spilling blood instead of finding it.

The rich and the poor died on the same floor, eyes searching for some last meaning in the blur of life and death.

Bodies tumbled like broken dolls until the final shots faded.

More lay dead than alive.

If this life wasn’t wrong, it sure wasn’t right either.

The same scenes played out in hotels across the city—servants and porters and poor guests joining uprisings, penthouses turning into slaughterhouses.

Where the rich had expected paradise, they found a verdict written in bullets.

The rebel leader knelt in the blood, eyes fixed on the sky.

“True Source, I only wanted to protect my two children. But to do that, I’ve killed hundreds—each one a child to someone else, each with parents who will grieve forever.”

“I’ve taken their sons and daughters in the name of saving my own.”

Tears streamed down his face.

“Ashes, ashes—all fall down.”