The Trial Hall was a behemoth. It was a sprawling testament to Synoro's ambition. Its vastness showed the grandeur of ancient cathedrals, yet its stark, utilitarian design spoke of a society forged in the crucible of revolution. The auditorium, the largest in the complex, was a sea of faces. Whispers and nervous coughs vibrated through the space. Faculty, staff, even members of the clergy - all crammed into the amphitheater seating. Their eyes were fixed on the central stage. The clergy stood out, their uniforms a curious blend of military formality and modern business attire. The symbol of the Savior's Seal, a tobacco leaf intertwined with a quantum helix, adorned their lapels. On the right sleeve, the enigmatic number 3.14 stitched to the fabric.

Olt, Rebecca, and Mariah edged their way through the crowd. Their bodies pressed against the tide of anxious humanity. Tension clung to the room like a shroud. They found a spot near the back, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the stage.

An elderly woman, her shoulder-length gray hair framing a face etched with wisdom and weariness, stepped onto the platform. She tapped the microphone, and a sharp crackle rang through the hall. The crowd, sensing a shift, gradually quieted.

"On behalf of myself, Francine Tomasina, and the Clergy Committee of the Synoran Institute of Governance, we welcome you all, today."

She paused, as she observed the faces below.

"We have gathered you here for a momentous occasion - the introduction of Synoro's new Director of Education."

The silence that followed was not the respectful kind. It was one that anticipated a grand reveal. It was the heavy, pregnant silence of a room holding its breath, bracing for a blow.

Olt felt it, a prickling at the back of his neck. The unease radiated through the packed auditorium.

Even Francine, her practiced composure unwavering, seemed to sense the shift. Her eyes, magnified by her spectacles, scanned the crowd. Concern momentarily marred her serene facade. She cleared her throat, as to break the silent discomfort.

“It has been two years since our new governor, Hadic Cumberland, brought order to what seemed like Synoro's end. Our people’s end. As scholars for the future of a stable governance in Synoro, we should know better than anyone else the difficulties of disorder. In the last year we have voted for a new assembly to help Governor Cumberland with this great feat. And finally, this new government has trusted our institution’s leadership with a person of great experience. A man who advocated for the creation of this institution even when the despot, Oliver Nader, was against it.”

Rebecca chuckled cynically, and placed her head down to hide her expression. Francine continued.

“Please help me with introducing, Dr. Brian Thesalopolous.”

The applause, a hesitant ripple at first, swelled into a thunderous wave.

Mariah, her anxiety momentarily forgotten, joined in, clapping nervously against the rhythmic pulse of the crowd. Olt and Rebecca remained silent. They were focused on the figure emerging from the shadows.

Brian Thesalopolous was tall and gaunt. His pale skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones. His jet-black hair, slicked back from a high forehead, framed a face that seemed both familiar and unsettling. There was a coldness in his eyes, a subtle tightness around his lips that hinted at secrets buried deep. It was the face of a man who had made choices in the shadows, a face comfortable with ambition and betrayal.

He strode towards the microphone, measured and deliberate. Francine smiled. It was now a touch too wide. She stepped back, her eyes never leaving his.

Brian flashed a smile that could rival the wattage of the stage lights. It seemed to stretch the very fabric of his gaunt face. He began. The sound of his voice was a smooth baritone that carried effortlessly through the hall.

"I know it's been a... complicated time, a time of uncertainty, of change. But I want you all to know, the new administration has been working tirelessly. We've been holding this great institution together, through all the... turbulence."

A ripple of murmurs coursed through the crowd. Some faces softened. A few even nodded, as if Brian's words were a balm to their troubled souls. But others remained skeptical, their brows furrowed, their arms crossed tightly over their chests. They watched him with a guarded intensity.

Mariah, caught in the swell of the crowd's reaction, found herself swaying between hope and suspicion. One moment, she was nodding along with Brian's reassurances, the next, she was squinting at him, searching for any hint of falsehood in his carefully crafted words.

Rebecca, on the other hand, remained stoic. She leaned back in her seat, her arms crossed. She thought of herself as a silent observer amidst the sea of emotions.

Only Olt seemed unaffected by the performance unfolding before them. His face remained impassive. It was the gaze of a predator, watching its prey, waiting for the slightest misstep.

Brian continued.

“This great region was governed for 30 years by a cruel despot. To undo all that existed will take patience not only from you, but from myself and the rest of the new administration.”

Olt scoffed.

Brian took a pause that seemed to last for hours. Whispers among those in the crowd could be heard. Careful and calculated, Brian spoke.

“Thirty years is a long time. To start a new era for Synoro and you, we must make sure that all elements of those dark days are wiped clean. This is especially so for our institutions.”

The amphitheater became a tomb. Not a sound, not a whisper. The only thing that could be heard was the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above. Olt's eyes met Rebecca's. They shared the same dread between them.

Brian's voice, smooth as silk, cut through the quiet.

"To ensure a brighter future, the Institute of Governance cannot remain as it is. And that is why…” Brian’s eyes wandered across the vast space, “...the new administration has made the difficult decision to furlough all current employees."

The auditorium exploded. Shouts, curses, and raw, unfiltered anger crashed against the stage. Olt's jaw clenched. He'd seen it coming, but the reality still hit like a punch to the gut.

Olt thought bitterly.

"Sure, purge the loyalists. And fatten your pockets and egos, while you’re at it."

Francine seemed calm. She gestured for a second microphone. Her assistant, a young man with a nervous twitch in his eye, rushed to comply.

"Please, let us maintain order. We understand your concerns..."

Her words were drowned out by bitter protests.

Someone shouted from the back.

"This is bullshit! We have families to feed!"

Brian raised his hand. A grotesque parody of empathy painted itself on his smile.

"I understand your frustration. These are difficult times, economically and socially. But this is a temporary measure. The new administration is committed to supporting a financial relief effort for all affected employees."

The news left Mariah pale and afraid.

"I might have to take my brother up on his offer and move to Uraan. Start over..."

Rebecca shook her head, leaned in and whispered in Olt’s ear.

"It was bound to happen. Wouldn't be surprised if they come after me next."

She clapped a hand on Olt's shoulder.

"Stay strong, brother."

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Olt said nothing. He just stared at the stage.

...

Sweat and steel described the gym. Sunlight poured through the high windows, painting the worn mats and exposed brick with a gritty glow. Musk and the earthy scent of old wood bathed the space with their fragrance. Its design was large enough to hold a decent cohort of individuals, but not a large community. This was a specialized room.

Olt launched himself into the air, fist cocked for a knockout blow. But gravity had other plans. His foot slipped, a sickening crunch echoing through the cavernous space. He landed hard, the wind knocked out of him. A harsh gasp tore from his throat.

Ganjo, the trainer, loomed over him.

"You sure you’re good? You’ve been rusty, today."

Olt pushed himself up, wincing at the slight discomfort in his ankle. He let out a long, ragged sigh.

"I lost my job."

Ganjo's eyebrows shot up, surprise crossing his weathered face.

"Figures. They were bound to clean-house sooner or later."

Olt managed a bitter chuckle.

"Yeah, well, if it were only me I had to worry about, it wouldn’t faze me."

Confused, Ganjo asked.

“Last I heard you didn’t have kids running around these streets.

Sarcastically, Olt replied.

“Funny. Honestly, I don’t know what’s worse.

He took a deep breath and exhaled.

“My income was subsidizing the family.”

As if all the pieces had come together, Ganjo commented.

“Ah, that explains why you live in South Bonao. The ghetto of ghettos.”

Smiling and with a tone of facetiousness, Ganjo added.

“I thought you were just a cheap fuck.”

Olt flinched a bit. He realized that his ankle might be sprained.

“Yeah, I’m trying to appreciate that Synoran dark humor, but it’s not working. What am I gonna tell Jeffrey?“

Sharp and quick, Ganjo replied.

“The truth. It is what it is. Jeffrey isn’t new to tough times. Regardless, the only person you need to confront in that household is your old man.”

He paused, taking a breath. Then in a pensive whisper, he added

“Besides, with that killer running on the loose, it’s best you stay with your family anyway.

Olt scratched his head, a sign of a nervous twitch.

“Eh, right now I’m more scared of Jeff than the killer.”

Ganjo was gruff, but there was a hint of genuine concern beneath the rough exterior.

"Listen, you'll land on your feet. Plenty of rich folks in Synoro still need tutors for their spoiled brats. Sure, half the city's broke, but remember, the other half's richer than ever."

Olt's tone dripped with sarcasm.

"Thanks for the pep talk."

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his ankle.

"Think I'm done for the day."

Ganjo chuckled, a low rumble that echoed through the empty space.

"Good. Got a busy night ahead, anyway."

Olt, favoring his good ankle, limped towards the short ramp leading out of the ring.

"On a Tuesday? You got fights going on tonight?" he murmured.

Ganjo hopped off the ring with surprising agility, landing with a soft thud on the worn mats.

"Yup. Traffic's been insane lately. Had to open the hall up for a third night."

The gym was eerily quiet. The only sound was the occasional creak of the old wooden benches. The office at the north end, a glass-walled cube overlooking the training floor, stood empty, its door slightly ajar.

Olt lowered himself onto one of the benches, wincing as his ankle protested. He let out a long sigh.

"Times are only getting worse. Probably why you have so much demand."

Ganjo leaned against the ring.

"It’s always been rough in Synoro, especially in this neighborhood."

"But opening the Hall on a weekday? That's a bad sign,” Olt replied.

Ganjo countered with a shrug.

"Bad sign for the people, maybe. But it's good for business."

Olt's lips twisted into a wry smile as he chuckled.

"Yeah, seeing as you're adding new rooms to the space. Even the hall's getting some extensions."

Ganjo, picking up some loose weights and racking them with a practiced ease, replied.

"You know I'm just a manager, right? All that construction is coming from..."

"Your sponsors?” Olt said, cutting him off. He had a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, that’s what they are,” Ganjo replied with a sarcastic chuckle.

The door to the gym creaked open, breaking Ganjo’s laughter. Mariah, her olive skin flushed, her dark eyes flashing, strode in.

She acknowledged Olt with a curt nod, then turned her attention to Ganjo.

"You need to come up to the hall. Now! I'm not in the mood to deal with any bullshit over bets tonight."

Ganjo sighed, placing a weight down with a gentle thud that belied its heaviness.

"I'm sure you're not. I wouldn't be either if I'd lost my job."

Mariah's eyes snapped to Ganjo, then back to Olt. She yelled, her voice tight with frustration.

"Why'd you have to tell him?"

Olt shrugged.

"It just came out."

...

The elevator doors groaned open, revealing a dimly lit hallway. Ganjo and Mariah strode out. Olt trailed behind, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

They emerged into the fight hall, a vast, dilapidated arena carved out of the upper level of the formerly abandoned factory. Sweat, stale beer, and desperation hugged the surfaces. The once-grand structure, now a monument to decay, loomed over them. Its high ceilings and rows of empty seats casted long shadows in the dim light.

Streaming through the high windows, the sunset illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air. The central ring, a blue canvas island in a sea of decay, stood awaiting the brutal spectacle that was about to unfold. The metal fence surrounding it, once gleaming, was now scarred and rusted with countless battles fought and lost.

A few lone figures were scattered around the ring. The atmosphere held nervous energy.

The trio navigated through the dimly lit hall. They passed a makeshift bar, its counter sticky with spilled drinks, and pushed through a door that led to the back end of the betting booths.

Ganjo burst into the room, his presence immediately felt. A man on the other side of the glass window, boredom present, looked up. A woman with a presence of a life lived on the edge, stood abruptly. She demanded, her voice slurred.

"I want to see a manager!"

Ganjo stepped forward.

"I'm the manager, ma'am. How can I help you?"

She leaned heavily on the counter.

"I placed a double-drop bet on Match 8. I want to change it."

Ganjo's eyes narrowed slightly. He could smell the alcohol on her breath.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but once a bet is placed, it can't be changed. House rules."

The lady slammed her fist on the counter.

"That's bullshit! The night hasn't even started yet!"

Ganjo replied calmly.

"Technically, it has. We're ten minutes into the show. But you're welcome to place other bets. We have forty matches on the card tonight, six hours left."

The woman's face contorted in anger. She hissed.

"I know people. I can rat this whole place out. You're running illegal trials here!"

Ganjo's tone hardened.

"You can do whatever you want, ma'am, but it won't be here. You can place another bet, or I'll have you escorted out."

The woman sputtered a string of profanities and stormed off. Ganjo sighed, rubbing his temples.

Mariah stepped forward.

"They want to talk to you on the phone."

Olt stood in the background, watching the scene unfold. He had a feeling this was just the beginning of a long, chaotic night.

The phone, a relic from a bygone era, crackled to life in Ganjo's massive hand. He rumbled into the receiver.

"Ignatius Gant Joseph speaking,"

A torrent of words, sharp and angry, spilled from the speaker. Ganjo listened. He wasimpassive, nodding occasionally.

"Yes... I understand... Sunday's match... Wednesdays are for enforcers... Yes, ma'am."

He continued with a low, calming force.

"If you're patient, I can promise you that tomorrow they'll be there to force the landlord to honor the contract. If the enforcers aren't there by noon, call me back at this number, and I'll get to the bottom of it. But if he doesn't want to honor the contract, then he'll be served a liquidation, and no one wants that."

More angry words crackled through the speaker. Ganjo nodded again.

"Yes, ma'am...Good night."

He hung up, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

“The once mighty Ganjo, now just a customer service rep.”

Olt checked his watch, a frown creasing his brow.

"Damn, last bus to Hooma's about to leave."

Mariah, momentarily pausing her sorting of cash, looked up.

"You're really gonna go all the way out there tonight?"

Ganjo turned from the phone, his brow furrowed.

"Your family can wait a day, Olt. By the time you get to Hooma, it'll be too late to come back. You're going out to the boonies."

Olt sighed, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders.

"I need to get this off my chest. Besides, if I leave now, I'll get there early enough for supper. And I miss my grandma's sweet plantains and cheese."

Ganjo laughed, shaking his head.

As Olt turned to leave, Ganjo called out.

"Hey, Olt!"

“Yeah?”Olt asked.

“I’ll let you know if I might need some help around this place, got it?" Ganjo said, assuredly.

Appreciating the gesture, Olt smiled.

“Thanks, Ganjo.”