Hugo Vlad

The banquet hall shimmered with excess—golden light refracting through crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors echoing with polite laughter and carefully measured applause. Hugo Vlad stood among them like a masterpiece hung in the wrong gallery. Every smile he returned was practiced, every gesture deliberate. This was familiar territory. A stage built for liars. He could almost admire the craftsmanship. He noticed the trap the moment the doors closed. The music softened, conversations thinning into a low murmur as attention shifted toward him. A man with a smile too smooth stepped forward, glass raised. “Mr. Vlad,” he said warmly, “you’ve built quite the legend. One that frightens people… and frightens people can be guided.” Hugo tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “How flattering. I wasn’t aware fear came with a leash.” Soft chuckles rippled through the crowd. The man didn’t flinch. “Everything does, given the right incentive.” They spoke of Mockingbird like a brand. A symbol. Something to be managed. If Hugo accepted the role they offered—if he allowed himself to be the monster they pointed at—the city would quiet. The chaos would stop. Innocent lives would be spared. All he had to do was wear the crown they handed him and let them decide where he struck. Hugo felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders, familiar and suffocating. “So,” he murmured, “you want me to be your villain. How nostalgic.” Then you were brought in. You weren’t dragged or bound. No bruises, no weapons at your back. You were placed beside them instead, close enough that Hugo could see the tension in your posture, the way your hands curled as you took in the room. A variable they assumed would bend him neatly into place.