Alex opened the file, his breath catching halfway through the motion.
It wasn't just any file.
It had his name on the cover, officially. Clean block letters, embossed on a dark matte sheet.
Inside, the first page greeted him like a death certificate written in silence:
NAME: ALEXANDER STONE
STATUS: OBSERVATION INITIATED
STAGE: PREY - UNAWARE
CODE: DUSK PATTERN
ENTRY DATE: APRIL 18, 2025
FILE OWNER: RAYMOND CARTER
Alex frowned. "Wait… this file is yours."
Raymond nodded once, arms folded. "It was mine. It still is. That's your initiation file."
"Initiation?" Alex's voice dropped as if the word itself might explode.
"Yes," Raymond said. "It means you've been marked. You're now part of the Prey Registry. You're being watched. Observed. Tested. They'll see how you respond. How you break. If you can be flipped."Raymond pushed away from the cabinet and began pacing slowly. "Because the Circle doesn't guess. It profiles. Maps. Prepares. You weren't just a random pick. You were flagged the moment your mind started pulling at threads that weren't meant to unravel."
Alex looked up. "The Circle?"
Raymond nodded grimly. "The ones who pull strings in the shadows and then rewrite the headlines to make the puppets look powerful. They own the systems. Control the narratives. When someone sees too much, someone like you, they don't silence them immediately. First, they watch. They learn. Then… they take."
"Take?"
"Everything. They strip you of reputation, relationships, resources, and whatever makes you feel anchored to your own identity. When they're done, you'll look in the mirror and wonder if you were ever real."
Alex's chest rose and fell faster. "You said 'they' call people like us something."
Raymond nodded again. "Preys. That's what they call us. Pattern-readers. System-breakers. Most don't last long. Some run. Some try to fight alone. A few get absorbed. The rest? They vanish. Silently."
Alex turned, eyes sweeping across the room again.
The photos on the wall suddenly called to him in a new way. Not just as images, but as a kind of unspoken witness.
"Are these the members?" he asked, walking slowly toward the corkboard.
Raymond stepped beside him, folding his hands behind his back like a guide giving a private tour of a nightmare.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Every face on this board is part of the Circle's web."
Alex's eyes scanned the top row and suddenly froze.
"No way…" he muttered.
Raymond watched him with narrowed eyes.
"That's Sir Henry Ashford," Alex said, pointing. "That's the head of the Ashford family. Richest bloodline in the UK. Maybe even Europe."
Raymond's voice was calm. "He's more than that. He's the Circle's head internationally. The unseen king of the chessboard."
"But I've seen interviews of him. Philanthropy work, clean record, family legacy…"
"And all of it," Raymond said, "is costume."
Alex blinked. "Costume?"
Raymond turned, looking him squarely in the eye. "You really think men like that need to show power? No, Alex. They show purity. Cleanliness. Charity. Because power doesn't scream. It whispers. It smiles. It gives awards while buying silence."
Alex stared at the photo of Sir Henry, suddenly seeing the man's smile differently. It felt cold now. Manufactured.
His eyes dropped to another photo.
"George Agnew? No way."
Raymond cocked an eyebrow. "Local tycoon. The political face of hope."
"He rebuilt half the community after the flood," Alex said. "Funds education centers. Supports green startups. He's helped so many."
Raymond's voice was cold. "And taken twice as much. His hands are clean because the dirt's buried deep. Every school he builds? He gets their data. Every well he funds? He reroutes the water rights. People love him, but they're bleeding, they just don't know where the wound is."
Alex looked stunned. "He gives hope…"
Raymond interrupted softly, "And gives suffering behind the screen."
Alex was stunned silently. He moved down the board.
There was Elizabeth Monique.
"Head of the International Women's Organization…" Alex whispered.
Raymond exhaled. "She built her name on empowerment, but behind it all, she filters which 'empowerment' rises. Anyone who exposes too much or pushes against the Circle's interests mysteriously falls out of favor. Have you ever wondered why some feminist voices disappear without cause?"
Alex shook his head. "I always thought it was internal politics."
Raymond laughed darkly. "That is politics. Controlled, channeled, cleaned."
Alex kept walking down the images until his eyes landed on one more.
"Andrew Baker," he said with a bitter edge. "Prime Minister of the UK. I used to believe in him."
Raymond's face didn't move. "He believes in the Circle."
"But he's elected."
Raymond chuckled, shaking his head. "Votes count for numbers. The Circle counts people. People who own ports, banks, newsrooms, and server farms. Andrew is the friendly face for a machine built in shadows."
Alex swallowed the lump in his throat. It was all too much. And then he saw the last photo.
"Ibrahim Venisu," he murmured. "The head of Islam?"
Raymond nodded slowly. "He rose through the teachings. Earned trust. Then slowly changed doctrine. Not drastically. Just enough to keep eyes closed where they should've been open."
Alex turned away from the board, feeling something twist in his gut. "I thought this was just… a place for analysis. Intel reports. Surveillance summaries."
Raymond nodded. "That's the front. The story we let them believe."
"'Them'?"
Raymond pointed at the corkboard. "The ones you noticed today. The ones in the van. The ones who don't ask questions out loud because they already know the answers. The world we operate in doesn't just trade in currencies or stocks. It trades in perception. Control. Disappearance."
He moved to a drawer and pulled it open.
Inside, folders. Faded. Labeled with dates and names Alex didn't recognize.
Raymond handed him one.
The photo inside made Alex go still.
"Did the man in the van look like him?"
Alex stepped closer. The man in the photo was older, broader in the shoulders, but the eyes, those cold, distant eyes, were familiar.
Underneath the photo:
David Edwards – LEVEL 8 OPERATOR
Status: RECOVERED. REPROGRAMMED. ACTIVE.
"Yes," he said. "You know him?"
"I've never met him," Raymond said, "but I've tracked his work. He doesn't follow people unless they're marked."
Alex frowned. "Marked?"
Raymond didn't answer. Not yet. Instead, he returned the folder, walked to the corkboard, and pinned a new sticky note beside one of the photos.
He wrote: "Alex - Contact made?"
Alex's throat went dry. "So I've been seen?"
Raymond gave him a long look.
"You've been noticed. Seen is too easy. Noticed means someone has placed you inside the game board. That's different."
Alex's pulse quickened. "Why?"
Raymond turned back to the board. "Because people who are seen can hide. People who are noticed? They're already being studied."
Alex took a shaky breath. "So all of them… is the Circle?"
Raymond shook his head.
"No. The Circle is larger than this board. These are just the visible hands. There are others, unseen. Hidden. Some are tech giants with no public identity. Others are descendants of older names, ones that history books 'forgot.'"
Alex looked back at the wall. "But what can we do? There's just… us."
Raymond's gaze hardened. "There used to be more. A network. Before they broke us apart. But you're here now. And you're not nobody, Alex. They flagged you for a reason. They saw what I saw. But I still believe, maybe naively, that you'll choose the right side."
Alex closed the file slowly, the echo of its cover snapping shut like a vault.
He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "So what do we do first?"
Raymond gave a small nod. "First… you learn to disappear. Before they erase you their way."
"..."
"Because they already know you're awake."
"..."