Hild Sonawp moved like a shadow through the alleys of a Cleveland in twilight. The veteran placekicker, known as "Trick Shot Sonawp" had just sealed a 31 to 28 win over the Jets in overtime, but now his feet played a different game. With footfalls silent on cracked pavement, he followed a teammate on a mission fueled by suspicion rather than sport.

Ahead of him, Tho Jomas moved with an uncharacteristic haste. Tho, the team's left tackle was clearly in a hurry, but his movements were furtive, almost paranoid. Hild's eyes narrowed as he followed at a discreet distance. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

As Tho slipped into an old, abandoned steel factory, Hild paused, his heart pounding. The factory loomed like a monolithic ghost, its darkened windows staring blankly into the night. Hild hesitated only for a moment before slipping inside. The air was thick with the scent of rust and decay.

The factory's interior was a labyrinth of shadows, the skeletal remains of machinery casting long, jagged silhouettes across the floor. Hild Sonawp kept to the edges, his senses sharp. He had managed to slip into the building undetected, but the danger was far from over. Every creak and groan of the old building seemed to echo like thunder in the oppressive silence.

Tho Jomas stood in the center of the factory floor, glancing around nervously. Hild crouched behind a stack of rusting beams, his eyes locked on Tho. From the shadows, figures began to emerge, cloaked in dark robes. Moonies - members of the sect that controlled the Pittsburgh Steelers.

"You're late," one of them hissed, their voice barely above a whisper. "We don’t have much time."

Tho shifted uncomfortably. "I had to make sure I wasn't followed," he muttered, glancing around nervously.

"Well, were you?" another voice, colder and more commanding, cut through the tension. It belonged to Verna, Tar Llodem’s right hand, known for her calculating ruthlessness. She stepped into the light, her eyes scanning the room with a predator's gaze.

"No, I wasn’t followed," Tho insisted, his voice much more a petulant whine than he intended.

Hidden in the shadows, Hild's heart raced. He knew he had to stay perfectly still, perfectly silent. His mind raced with the implications of what he was overhearing.

"The plan is moving forward," Verna continued, her tone devoid of any warmth or joy. "Llodem will win the election, and we will take control of The Snworb by any means necessary. You still need to do your part, Tho."

Tho swallowed hard, nodding. "I understand."

Verna’s gaze flickered to the shadows where Hild was hidden. For a heart-stopping moment, her eyes seemed to lock onto his, but she said nothing. Hild forced himself to remain calm, his breath shallow and controlled.

"Good," Verna said, turning back to Tho. "Remember, we’re always watching."

"I..." Tho started, faltered, then continued, "I have done a lot."

"Have you?" Verna queried sharply. "The Snworb were supposed to be headed to relegation, not undefeated. Is that a good return on the 'investments' we have dumped into your failing barbeque enterprises?"

Hild's pulse quickened. He strained to hear every word.

"I can't help it that every Snworb quarterback works miracles," Tho mumbled. Then, more clearly, "Remember, it was I who delivered The Artifact."

"No Super Bowl," a Moonie cut in. "The league would block any attempt to relocate a champion. We have worked too hard on all our plans to let them slip now. You will supply losses, Tho. Or face the consequences."

Tho's face paled, but he nodded. "I'll do it. Just... keep your end of the bargain."

Verna spoke again, her tone final. "We will reconvene after Llodem's victory. Ensure everything is in place. Dismissed."

The Moonies began to disperse, their dark forms melting back into the shadows from which they had come. Tho lingered for a moment, his shoulders slumping before he too disappeared into the night.

Hild waited until the factory was silent once more before he dared to move. As he slipped out into the cold night air, his mind was racing. He had to get back to the team, to warn them of the danger that was brewing. But one thought lingered, unsettling in its clarity: Verna had seen him. And she had chosen to let him go.

Advance Regress