The dim, flickering lights of the syndicate's underground base did little to lift the oppressive atmosphere. Kieran and Vance moved through the labyrinthine corridors, their faces carefully expressionless.
On the surface, they were just two loyal mbers going about their duties, but under the influence of Hypnoveil, they were sothing far more dangerous—a ticking ti bomb planted in the syndicate's heart.
Kieran stood near one of the supply stations, looking over a list of items set to be distributed to various hideouts. His eyes flitted down the inventory before deliberately marking incorrect destinations on the manifest. He knew where this crate of magical amulets was actually going—to a dead-end storage facility in the middle of nowhere.
It wouldn't be found until long after its importance had been forgotten. Beside him, Vance did the sa, relaying the wrong drop points for a shipnt of enchanted weapons, carefully guiding them away from their intended locations.
The syndicate's internal logistics were falling apart, and no one even suspected them. Hypnoveil's influence had woven its way through their thoughts, making them willing agents of Mikhailis's plan. They'd leak information—carefully planned falsehoods that made it seem like a rival faction was ddling with syndicate business.
And it was working; tension was growing, whispers of an unknown group—a phantom enemy—reached even the highest levels of leadership.
Rodion's voice echoed inside Mikhailis's mind as he watched it all unfold through his glasses, the projection hovering just above the lenses.
Mikhailis smirked, tapping his fingers on the desk in front of him.
"Good. It's all about creating enough confusion to keep them chasing ghosts. The syndicate's paranoia will do the rest of the work for us."
Mikhailis rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm not planning on making them too suspicious just yet. We'll keep the pressure up—enough to make them sweat, but not enough to blow the lid off our little operation."
Rodion's tone seed to carry a hint of sarcasm.
Kieran moved on from the inventory station, slipping through the shadows of the base's lower levels. Vance, on the other hand, made his way to a room where syndicate mbers were gathered around a table, discussing their next moves.
His task was more delicate—planting false information that would make it seem as though one of their rival factions, a particularly vicious gang, had orchestrated recent setbacks.
The room was dim, smoke hanging thick in the air as the n argued. Vance approached, keeping his expression stern.
"Got so news," he muttered, just loud enough for them to hear. They turned toward him, eyes narrowing as he pulled up a chair.
"What is it?" one of them, a bald man with a jagged scar across his forehead, asked gruffly.
Vance leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"One of the guys from the northern sector—he says the Serpent's Claw might be behind the missing shipnts." He paused, letting the na sink in.
"Seems they're trying to make a move on us. They've been too quiet lately, you know? Makes sense if they're trying to undercut our operations."
The n around the table exchanged glances, their expressions darkening. The Serpent's Claw was a known rival, a thorn in their side that had been lying low for far too long. Suspicion and distrust began to take root, just as Mikhailis had intended.
Mikhailis observed through the holographic display, his eyes twinkling with amusent. Perfect. Let's keep them chasing shadows while we pull the strings behind the curtain.
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