The Corporate Council met in secure session, no recording, no minutes.
Just twelve people deciding the fate of eight thousand.
"The generators are the key vulnerability," Director Tanaka said, pulling up surveillance imagery. "We've identified eleven of the twelve industrial units Chen installed. All illegal, all seizable under Station Code 4419."
"Why haven't we seized them?" Chen Wei asked.
"Because," Commander Wright interjected, "seizing them triggers another riot. We'd be cutting power again, but this time people know it's deliberate warfare rather than maintenance. The PR would be catastrophic."
"We're already at war," Chen Wei said. "Why pretend otherwise?"
Volkov, the Council Chair, raised a hand for silence. "Wright's concern is valid. But so is Chen Wei's point. We need a permanent solution, not endless escalation."
"Permanent solution?" Tanaka repeated carefully. "You mean—"
"I mean decisive action. Full raid. Seize all assets—generators, water tanks, medical supplies, everything. Arrest anyone providing material support. Shut down the entire operation in a single coordinated strike."
The room went quiet.
"Casualty projection?" Wright asked.
"High." Tanaka pulled up tactical analysis. "Chen's people will resist. They did before, they will again. We're looking at potentially hundreds dead if it goes wrong."
"Acceptable parameters?"
"None of this is acceptable," Wright said sharply. "We're discussing mass casualties to shut down food distribution and medical care. That's not enforcement—it's a massacre."
"It's necessary," Chen Wei countered. "Every day Chen's operation continues, labor participation drops. Workers organize. The infection spreads. If we don't cut it out now, we're looking at station-wide revolt."
"Or," Volkov said quietly, "we could offer Chen a deal."
Everyone turned.
"What kind of deal?" Tanaka asked.
"The kind that removes him from the equation without making him a martyr." Volkov leaned back. "Chen's a junkie who got lucky. He doesn't want revolution—he wants security. What if we offered him that? Full amnesty. Level 3 citizenship. Wealth. In exchange for a public denunciation of the violence and a call for everyone to stand down."
"He'd never take it," Chen Wei said.
"Maybe. But it costs us nothing to ask. And if he refuses, we have proof we tried peaceful resolution before the raid." Volkov smiled coldly. "Either way, we win. He accepts and we defuse the situation. He refuses and we have moral cover for decisive action."
Wright's jaw tightened. "You're setting him up."
"I'm offering him a choice. What he does with it is on him."
"And if he accepts? We bring a drug dealer into Level 3? Make him one of us?"
"Stranger things have happened. And frankly, I'd rather have him in Level 3 where we can watch him than in Level 8 organizing revolution." Volkov pulled up financial data. "His money's running out. By our projections, he has less than a year left. The smart play is offering him an exit before he's desperate enough to do something truly dangerous."
"What's more dangerous than what he's already done?" Chen Wei asked.
"Organized resistance. Real revolution. Right now, it's Chen's charity operation. People follow him because he helps them. But if he shifts to organizing—teaching them to help themselves—that's when we have a problem. Because organized labor doesn't need a benefactor. It just needs solidarity."
The truth of it settled over the room.
"The offer is a good idea," Tanaka said. "But we should prepare the raid simultaneously. Plan for both outcomes."
"Agreed," Volkov said. "Wright, I want tactical plans for full asset seizure. Minimal casualties where possible, but effective shutdown regardless. Tanaka, draft the offer. Make it appealing. Make it seem like we're being generous. Chen Wei, coordinate with Infrastructure on utility cutoff protocols in case we need pressure tactics."
"And if he takes the deal?" Wright asked. "If he publicly denounces everything and walks away?"
"Then Level 8 loses its king, and the operation collapses on its own. We mop up the remains through standard enforcement. Clean, legal, boring." Volkov stood. "Either way, this ends within the month. One way or another, Nico Chen's time as King of Level 8 is over."
The Council dispersed to their tasks.
Wright lingered, staring at the tactical plans already forming on his screen.
Projected casualties: 40-80 civilian deaths if resistance was heavy.
Property damage: 2-5 million credits.
Political fallout: Moderate to severe, depending on media management.
Probability of success: 94%.
The numbers were clean. Professional. Accurate.
But Wright couldn't shake the image of Mrs. Huang, seventy years old, trampled in the last riot.
Or Terrence Rodriguez, nineteen, bleeding out from a gunshot to the leg.
Or the forty-five others who'd died because Wright had authorized weapons free.
How many more for this raid?
How many kids? How many elders? How many people who'd just been trying to eat?
His comm buzzed. Tanaka: "Wright, I need casualty minimization protocols for the raid plan. Best case scenarios."
He started typing.
Professional. Efficient. Accurate.
And tried not to think about the bodies those numbers represented.
In Level 8, Nico had no idea the raid was being planned.
Had no idea the Council was drafting an offer designed to destroy him either way.
He was too busy installing another hidden generator and trying to convince a food cooperative to take on three more families.
Too busy trying to make tomorrow work.
While Corporate planned to ensure there would be no tomorrow at all.
The clock was ticking.
Neither side knew it.
Both were about to find out.