Having power means knowing who's worth keeping and who isn't.

Who is a waste of his time and who could end up being useful one day, who is more damaging than anything else and who has potential. The scale of power is one that has to be carefully handled in order to be maintained. It's a complex game to be playing, where one could be at the top of the world one day and in the deepest pits of hell the other. You jump high and fall hard, but the thrill is what makes it worth it.

These are some of the thoughts playing in Harry's mind as he stares at the man sitting in front of him, a reflective look into his green eyes. Despite the large white table between them, he can feel the size of his ego start to fill up the room.

He's the prey. He's the fox that was caught in a trap, waiting for a hunter to come around and end it. Or at least, that's what he wants him to think.

If he was a fox, he'd be the one that triggers the snare with a stick and then hides in the shadows, waiting to jump at the first man that will come close enough. There's no such thing as a prey too big for him. The harder the win, the more rewarding the satisfaction.

He sips his red wine not lifting his gaze from the other man, Pinot Noir has never tasted so sweet. He puts his glass down, tapping against the crystal pensively, the silvery ting of his rings hitting the glass reaching his ears clearly.

"As I was saying, Mr Styles, it's in your complete interest as well," the man states, munching down on a bite of stuffed duck. "You are very young, and everyone knows you didn't get where you are legally. We aim to legalise your power, you know, put boundaries." He shoots him a penetrating glance. "Of course, if you were to disagree, we'd be forced to... eliminate, you."

Harry takes one of the myrtles decorating his own dish and puts it into his mouth, pretending to consider the other's words for some seconds. "It seems to be a rather convenient deal," he then says, earning a nod from the other.

He puts his elbow on the table and leans forward, and Harry has to resist the sudden urge to push his chair back to put some more distance between him and that filthy man. He isn't like him. He's wasting his time.

"The Revolution will stop attacking the warehouses and government buildings if you sign," the older man tells him. "It'd be unfortunate to have to remove you from your position... permanently. I trust you'll do as you're told. You're a smart boy, Mr Styles."

"Naturally" he replies, standing up and taking the bottle of wine in the middle of the table. "May I offer you some more wine?"

The man laughs loudly, a hazed look in his bright blue eyes. "It's a pleasure to talk politics with you, Mr Styles. Pour away."

Harry gives him a short nod, filling the other's empty glass almost to the brim. He knows he'll drink it all in the next ten minutes, anyway.

He sits back on his chair and takes another sip of his own wine, shooting a quick glance in the direction of the huge floor-to-ceiling window on his left. He can see the skyline of his city from there, an intricate maze of skyscrapers and bright lights illuminating the night sky like man-made stars fuelled by electricity.

How could that man even expect to take it all away from him? He knows what the Revolution wants. They want to render him unable to make his own decisions, as if he was an inexperienced child that knows nothing about the world.

It's his world, his country, his city and therefore his rules. They shall kneel before him and accept his will, or leave. He won't have it any other way. He doesn't settle, ever.

"This turkey, by the way, is amazing."

Harry turns his head towards the other man when he speaks, a grimace flashing through his chiselled features at the other man's comment. "It's duck," he says, his voice monotonous.

"Oh, sure," the older one comments, stuffing his face with some more food.

He might be a leader, but Harry knows he isn't a hunter. If he was, he'd know never to turn his back to his game animals. Deers run away in that case, but foxes take it as their golden opportunity to attack back.

Unknowingly, he has just started the hunt again. And this is one Harry is not going to lose.

He cuts a piece of his own duck, toying with it a bit on his dish before leaving it alone again and resorting to sitting back against his chair, sipping his wine slowly. He knows he has to make it last.

The man in front of him lets out a rough cough and frowns, letting his fork hit the porcelain of the dish harshly.

"Is there something wrong?" Harry asks him, and he shakes his head quickly, drinking the rest of the wine in his glass quickly. "Need some more wine?"

The man pushes the chair back, using the corner of the white embroidered tablecloth to clean some sweat that's forming on his forehead. "Do you have some water?" He asks roughly, and Harry nods.

He stands up and rounds the table, taking a water bottle from under the table and opening it, pouring some into the glass in front of him and watching as the clear liquid turns pink because of the residual wine at the bottom of the glass.

He puts the transparent bottle on the table and goes back to his seat, tapping against the armrest of his chair as he observes the man in front of him down the contents of his glass.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asks him when he coughs some more, and he finally gets up on his feet, wobbling a bit and putting his hand on the table to stabilise himself.

"I don't feel well," he mumbles, "I'm afraid I'll have to cut our dinner short and leave now. I'll leave the contract with the terms of our deal here." He puts a bunch of papers on the chair he was previously occupying and walks towards the door on the right side of the room, seeming on the brink of falling down with every step he takes.

He finally reaches it and puts his hand on the handle, trying to pull it down, but to no avail. He turns his head to look at Harry, that is still sitting on his seat, his crystal glass of wine on his hand, watching him struggle.

"The door doesn't open," he mumbles out between little choking sounds to the younger man, that finally puts the glass down.

"I know." Harry stands up, taking a single step towards him. "I'm afraid to tell you that I won't accept your deal. It's not good enough for me. You made a mistake by coming here."

The man narrows his eyes at him. "The food," he spits, realisation flashing through his cerulean eyes. "You fucking bastard."

Harry shoots him a side-glance, taking his own glass of wine from the table and drinking it as he walks towards the huge window, staring at his own reflection against the skyscrapers of the city, barely aware of the way the man behind him slumps to the ground.

He stares at himself as he brings the rim of his crystal glass to his mouth, an amused look into his green irises as he recognises his own win.

If he was a fox, he would be the one that gets the hunter. And he did get him, like clockwork. He wonders why people keep underestimating him and what he's capable of. If they thought they were dealing with a stubborn child they just needed to scare into compliance, they were wrong. And, when it comes to these things, being wrong brings to an inevitable demise.

He sends one last glance at the man and puts his glass down on the table as he walks past it to get to the second door, that is right behind his chair.

He opens it and leaves the room, locking it behind himself and making his way down the empty white corridor, only illuminated by the yellow lights on the walls.

A tall blonde woman walks by him and he stops her quickly, his simple touch on her arm sending her into a halt.

"Send someone in the north dining room to clean up in an hour or so, Evie," he states, and she nods quickly.

"Of course, Mr Styles," she chimes, and he gives her a sharp nod, letting her arm go and walking past her, acting like he never even encountered her in the first place as he goes to his rooms, his mind going to the whiskey he'll get to drink while catching up on some work. There's nothing of more satisfying than drinking after a long, tiring day.

He enters his private living room and turns on the light, walking to his minibar and pouring himself a third of a glass of bourbon, sipping it slowly as he sits down on his black leather couch.

Having power means knowing who's worth keeping, and who isn't. Unfortunately for that man, he just wasn't.

• • •

The Northfair News, 578th, February 28th 2263

THE FEAR IS OVER: leader of the Revolution found dead after dinner at the Presidential Palace

Markberg was found dead yesterday night after dining at the Presidential Residence. [..] The authorities confirm there's no reason to suspect foul play is involved.

A/N: Welcome to my new story! It'd mean a lot if you let me know what you think about this one! I hope you enjoyed this little chapter x
Miki