The scene opens in Elysium. The kitchen is pristine and untouched, yet Anton Savor stands at its center like a magistrate in his court. Before him, a carving board. A sharp knife rests beside it, its polished blade catching the overhead light with quiet patience.
“There is a truth that governs every world.
Every domain is bound by laws. Every structure built upon rules. Every force held together by order.
And yet, law is only as strong as its enforcement. A rule that cannot be upheld is not a rule at all. A system that does not prevent disaster is already broken. And a man who places his faith in such things?
A fool.”
Anton lifts the knife, rolling the handle between his fingers.
“You, Jackson Cade, believe in law. In justice. In the written word. You cling to them like a lifeline, as if they are more than ink on paper. You recite them like scripture, believing that so long as they exist, so too does order. That so long as you carry a badge, you have power.
But where was your law when your brother lay motionless, his neck snapped in the middle of the ring? Where was your justice when the rot of Arcadia swallowed it whole? Did the rules you follow so blindly ever protect you? Did they ever save the people you swore to defend?
Or did you watch as they failed you, as they failed him—yet still choose to kneel at their altar?”
Anton lets the blade tap lightly against the board.
“You see, I know my rights, Jackson.
The right to remain silent. The right to stand idly by. The right to let the weight of broken laws crush the weak beneath them.
But I do not invoke them.
Because silence does not make a man immune. Inaction does not grant survival. To remain blind in a world like this is not righteousness. It is surrender.
And I do not surrender.”
He sets the knife down, turning his attention to an uncut fillet laid across the board.
“You believe that you are different. That by enforcing the law, you preserve it. That by maintaining order, you create it. But you are no different than the ones who came before you, Jackson. The ones who believed that a system built on control could ever serve those beneath it. The ones who believed that justice was anything more than a word spoken by men who have never bled for it.
And now you stand before me, holding fast to a law that has already abandoned you. A hollow man carrying an empty book, demanding that the world obey a set of rules that do not exist.”
A pause, the weight of his words settling.
“But I know my rights.
The right to prepare the meal as I see fit. The right to carve away the excess. The right to discard what has already spoiled.
And at Warzone, Jackson, I will exercise them.
Not by the book.
But by the fucking blade.”