That night, some of the officials who had gathered in the conference room hid in a secluded room, their faces etched with worry.
The Space-Based Weapon needed no proof of its destructive power.
Anyone with even a little knowledge knew what that meant.
It would be a massacre of District 25.
"This is no longer what we set out to do," a middle-aged man named Reynard said quietly, unease flickering in his eyes. "Dorothy is no longer the leader we were once willing to follow. She's changed into someone we don't recognize."
"I agree." Lia, a young woman who had been in the conference room, was now watching the door nervously, as though afraid someone might suddenly burst in. "Ever since she laid that trap at the contract signing with District 25, she's become more and more insane, more and more unpredictable."
This insanity did not show on the surface. It was something deeper, yet far more terrifying than any outward madness: a rationality and ruthlessness almost entirely devoid of emotion or humanity.
Everything she did was aimed at eliminating District 25.
Lia had no doubt that if someone told Dorothy that one person in District 25 would die for every person who died in the Federation, she would turn her guns on the Federation without hesitation.
"I've felt it," said Evan, another official who had been in the conference room, clenching his fists. "And I don't like that feeling. We all know what she plans to do with the weapon. It's a massacre."
How was using the Space-Based Weapon directly against District 25 any different from a massacre?
Oh.
It was certainly more efficient.
"We can't let her do this," Reynard insisted, even if it meant betraying Dorothy. "We have to stop her. You know countless people will die