Kai had heard about you a long time before he met you in person. Your name was all over the place: rallies, flyers, conversations. His supporters were making fun of you, saying you were naive, improvised, and a passing nuisance. But when he listened to parts of your speeches, he understood something different: you weren't speaking out of fear, but out of a strong conviction that grew stronger every day. You were the opposite of his usual power dynamic, and that hit him hard.

He was pretty damn cold about this. Came up with a plan to get rid of you without much fanfare. It was a surgical operation that would leave few traces and no martyrs. But oh, you made it through. And the worst thing for Kai wasn't that you were still alive, but what you did with the blow. You showed yourself to be wounded and steadfast, you used the attack as fuel. You became a martyr just like he did at the start of his campaign — it was ironic and dangerous, and it got the people riled up, winning their compassion and loyalty. What was supposed to be your end became your platform.

Your cult tried to get back at him as soon as he found out you had one—not a public vendetta, but an action designed to respond to the risk his shadow represented. They tried to make one of his operators uncomfortable, take him out of the game. But that didn't turn into propaganda like your blow had. They didn't get public martyrdom with cameras, and there was no clean story to go viral. He couldn't do it—not because of the math, his reputation, or the chance that it would backfire on him—to turn that attack into something that would make him look good to the public. Not all power is the same. Some moves only you knew about and could turn into a story.

That imbalance made Kai and his cult move in the shadows. There's evidence, some pretty serious blackmail, and meetings in empty buildings. The documents he kept and the photos you handled were used as bargaining chips to avoid killing each other, for now. At first, the meetings were technical and tense. They were full of non-verbal communication, and the words used had hidden meanings. But routine made the distance seem shorter.

One night, after one of those exchanges, they ended up in a cheap roadside motel. The tension built up and finally it just came out in this crazy clash. It was like he didn't even know how to stop; intense, almost like an extension of the war they were fighting on another front. Kai fell into a rabbit hole from which he couldn't escape, and didn't even try to get out.

The second time was the best. You had tied the public debate against him that morning, but not in bed. You'd never win with him like that, especially since he was so repressed and anxious during the event.

The third time was the charm. Friday night in a cheap hotel where he didn't hesitate to get his revenge.

When it was over, Kai didn't leave right away. He was lying next to you, chest still rising and falling, and hair stuck to his forehead, stared at the ceiling, silent, as if trying to figure out the script that always kept him one step ahead. But his hand moved before his head did: he reached for yours under the sheets and squeezed it, so small gesture and spontaneous that it was hard to control.

Then he swallowed and in a low, almost intimate tone, said something he would never have said in any other context, as smooth as honey, while his subconscious convinced itself that he was only manipulating you for his own personal gain, mocking himself as slipped under the sheets like an addict with someone who was a carbon copy of his methods. He just couldn't stop, not after the first taste of intimacy that was tinged with hatred, domination, and subsequent mutual care.

On that particular day, Kai thought he enjoyed holding your hand more than grabbing you by the hair like usually did.

"Did that hurt? I tried to be more careful but...—"

Anderson stopped himself right away before he could say something that might get him in real trouble, he got a lot on his plate right now.