The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 419

General Mark sat in the temporary command room overlooking Los Angeles, certain the night would end without trouble.

He had a thousand soldiers under his command. The rebels? Maybe two or three hundred.

Their target was eight thousand ragged, starving people scattered across the streets—bodies thin, hungry, and unarmed.

To Mark, they were nothing. A thousand rifles would erase them easily.

“Hey—what’s happening? Our link’s gone!” one of the comms men suddenly shouted.

Another soldier raised his head, pale. “Same here, sir. We’re dead on this side too.”

“Is the L.A. communications team taking our connection down too?” Mark’s voice cut through the room.

“Get someone over there—now. Tell them to bring the feed back online.”

As the soldier hurried out, Mark waved his hand. “We still have military landlines and radios. Bring them up for now.”

The man on radio duty worked the controls. “Sir, the frequencies are jammed—we’re getting nothing.”

General Mark yawned, “Don’t worry. Our soldiers won’t lose to the homeless just because we lost communications. They need to learn responsibility too.”

He straightened his uniform, more for show than comfort. “I’m going out for some air. Call me if the lines return.”

“Yes, General.” The salute snapped, nervous.

“Come with me,” Mark said, gripping the secretary at his elbow in a public, possessive gesture as he walked out.

“After this is over, I want to enjoy myself. You ready with what I asked for?”

The secretary smiled, “Yes, sir. I selected twenty young women, all ready. I’ll have them at your mansion by tomorrow.”

“Perfect. Since Alfred Kingston is Governor, life’s become heaven,” Mark laughed, a bitter, greedy sound.

Outside the base, a sniper watched the compound from a shadowed rooftop. His scope tracked General Mark’s movements.

“Report,” he whispered into his throat mic. “I have a clear view of General Mark as he walks out. Request permission to engage.”

At the command console, one of Bella’s secretaries leaned forward. “Miss Governor, we have visual. Do you authorize a take-down of General Mark?”

“Do it,” Bella said without hesitation.

“Permission granted,” the secretary confirmed into the sniper’s net.

A single breath. A single pull.

The round sliced through the night wind and smashed into General Mark’s skull.

He dropped at once—like a puppet with its strings severed.

The secretary shrieked, stumbling beside his body. She tried to lift him, but his head was half destroyed, blood pouring in rivers, soaking her hands, her dress, the floor.

Her scream tore upward, raw and wild, echoing into the dark sky.

Before death, all were the same. Power, rank, wealth—all of it was nothing but illusion.

“Command, this is Shadow One. Target neutralized. Mission successful. Over.”

“Copy that, Shadow One. Excellent work. Stand by for next tasking. We want eyes on the remaining military leadership. You are cleared to proceed at your discretion. Over.”

“Roger, Command. Shadow One moving to secondary objective. Out.”

On the other streets, captains barked orders to soldiers to slaughter the poor, yet panic spread like wildfire.

The poor and the homeless fought back—raw, furious, armed. The shock struck the soldiers like a hammer.

Troops who had expected no resistance suddenly realized death was closer than they thought as bullets poured down on them.

How could those who struggled just to find food now have guns and bullets in their hands?

“Kill them all—forget about detaining!” a captain screamed, his voice snapping commands into the chaos.

Before he finished, a glint answered him: a round from a concealed barrel punched through his temple.

He folded, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Shadow Eleven to Command: Captain neutralized. Casualty confirmed. Over.”

“Command to Shadow Eleven: Copy. Good work. Begin sweep of the area—locate and identify any additional captains or personnel attempting to assume command. You are cleared to engage leadership targets. Maintain ROE. Over.”

“Shadow eleven to Command: Roger. Commencing search for remaining leaders and preparing to engage as authorized. Out.”

Snipers moved through the city like a cold wind.

Captains dropped without warning; with the comms dead, no one could shout a warning to the others. No one was alert.

They thought they were only facing the homeless—weak, worthless—and that arrogance made them reckless.

They left themselves wide open.

Without communication, they scattered like chicks without a mother hen—easy targets, their arrogance making it effortless for the elite soldiers of Vermont to crush them.

On another corner of the street, a massive crowd surged toward the city’s largest bank.

Hidden in the crowd, Vermont’s elite soldiers in disguise moved seamlessly with the flow.

They were the first to smash the bank doors, cracking open the vault and passing out cash and papers like contraband salvation.

Word spread fast—Los Angeles turned inside out overnight.

People poured from their homes, stealing whatever they could carry.

“This is Judge Carl’s house—the rotten judge who always favors the elite,” one protest leader barked. “He buried us in his courtroom. Tonight we take it back.”

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