Washington D.C. — Presidential Office
Silence ruled the room.
Heavy.
Pressured.
Absolute.
The President sat behind his desk.
Will Smith.
Calm.
Composed.
Untouchable.
Across from him—
Sat men who controlled billions.
Top businessmen.
Industrial giants.
The hidden backbone of the United States economy.
Among them—
One stood out.
Robin D'Souza.
Head of one of the most powerful business families.
Cold eyes.
Sharp mind.
Dangerous presence.
Will leaned slightly forward.
Fingers interlocked.
"My friends," he began.
His voice was soft.
But it carried authority.
"My farmers…"
A faint smile.
"…have given me a tip."
The businessmen exchanged glances.
"You are not paying your taxes properly."
Silence.
Thick.
Uncomfortable.
Will's gaze swept across the room.
"So," he continued calmly,
"I have two options for you."
A pause.
"First…"
"You pay everything you owe."
Another pause.
"Second…"
His tone dropped.
"…you do nothing."
The room grew colder.
"And in that case…"
Will leaned back.
"There is a man sitting outside this office."
Silence deepened.
"He will expose everything."
"Your affairs."
"Your shell companies."
"Your hidden accounts."
A pause.
"And every lie you have fed to the citizens."
No one spoke.
No one dared.
Will's eyes stopped at one person.
Robin D'Souza.
"Mr. Robin," Will said calmly.
"Come forward."
Robin stood.
Walked slowly.
Sat directly in front of the President.
The tension shifted.
From group pressure—
To personal confrontation.
Robin leaned slightly forward.
"You threaten me?" he said quietly.
Will smiled faintly.
"No."
A pause.
"I remind you."
Robin's eyes narrowed.
"I am the backbone of this country," he said coldly.
"In one move…"
"…I can shake your entire system."
Silence.
Will nodded slowly.
"I know."
A pause.
"That is why I called you."
Robin froze for a moment.
Then—
A small smile.
"Then speak."
Will leaned forward.
"My proposal is simple."
"You continue your business."
"No interference."
A pause.
"But…"
His voice sharpened.
"You support me."
"Every election."
Silence.
Robin leaned back.
Thinking.
Calculating.
"The Constitution allows only two terms," Robin said.
"You have one."
"And after that…"
A pause.
"…your power ends."
Will smiled.
"No."
A single word.
Robin's eyes narrowed.
"I will create my successor."
Silence.
"And through him…"
Will continued,
"…I will hold power beyond my term."
The room felt heavier.
Robin studied him.
Long.
Deep.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
A pause.
"So…"
He leaned forward.
"We are the same."
Will didn't deny it.
"Let's talk about profit sharing," Robin said.
Will shook his head slightly.
"I don't work for profit."
"I work for the nation."
Robin laughed softly.
"No one works without profit."
Silence.
Then—
Robin extended his hand.
"I will support you."
"Every election."
A pause.
"But remember…"
His voice dropped.
"…power is a dangerous game."
Will shook his hand.
"I know."
A moment passed.
"Who is your successor?" Will asked.
Robin smirked.
"My son."
Will's eyes sharpened slightly.
"…Your blood."
"Yes."
Will leaned back.
"Good."
A faint smile.
"I look forward to meeting him."
Robin stood.
"This partnership…"
He said quietly.
"…will shape the future."
Then he walked away.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Will looked at the empty room.
Then whispered—
"The system is working."
Cut.
Russia — Snowfall Night
The wind howled.
Snow covered everything.
White.
Cold.
Merciless.
A man walked slowly.
Barely protected.
Shivering.
His breath was heavy.
Weak.
He stumbled.
Then—
A hand caught him.
Strong.
Steady.
John Smith.
"Why are you outside?" John asked calmly.
"You will die in this cold."
The man looked up.
Eyes tired.
"I have no choice."
A pause.
"My children…"
"…are hungry."
Silence.
John observed him.
Not his words—
His desperation.
"I see," John murmured.
A moment passed.
Then—
John sat on a nearby chair.
Calm.
Composed.
He snapped his fingers lightly on the table beside him.
"I have an offer."
The man blinked.
"A contract."
A pause.
"You serve."
"Loyalty without question."
"And in return…"
"Your family lives."
Silence.
The man's breath trembled.
"…Serve who?"
John's eyes darkened slightly.
"My successors."
The word echoed.
"You are not equal to them."
"You do not command."
"You obey."
A pause.
"Always."
The man lowered his head.
"…I accept."
Without hesitation.
John nodded.
"Good."
He stood.
"From today…"
"You are no longer who you were."
A pause.
"Your name is…"
"…Albert Siddiqui."
The man frowned slightly.
"Why Siddiqui?"
John's voice remained calm.
"My loyal servants…"
"…carry that name."
Silence.
"You are now one of them."
Albert lowered his head.
"…Yes."
A moment passed.
Then—
He asked—
"How many successors… do you have?"
John turned slightly.
"Six."
Albert froze.
"They will compete."
"To prove their worth."
"Only one…"
"…will inherit everything."
Silence.
"And the others?" Albert asked.
John's voice became colder.
"They will serve."
The air froze even more.
"You…"
John continued,
"…will serve them all."
Albert bowed deeper.
"…I understand."
John walked slowly.
"In every country…"
He said,
"…I will select ten servants."
"Highly trained."
"Efficient."
"A total of…"
"1950."
Albert's eyes widened slightly.
"They will protect…"
"Serve…"
"And ensure…"
"My successor's rise."
Silence.
John stopped.
"The world…"
He whispered,
"…is not ruled by leaders."
A pause.
"It is ruled by systems."
He looked at Albert.
"And I…"
"…am building one."
Final Scene
Snow continued to fall.
Albert stood still.
Head bowed.
Behind him—
A new life had begun.
Ahead—
A system beyond imagination.
Elsewhere—
Six Eagles.
Rising.
Unaware—
That one of them…
Would fall.
John stood in the snow.
His eyes calm.
"The final phase…"
He whispered.
"…begins now."
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