Victor Laurent sat motionless behind his lavish desk, a tremor coursing through the hand that clutched the USB drive—an artifact that held the key to a highly classified enigma he had guarded with obsessive zeal.
The data it contained—crucial fragments of his covert technological endeavor—were essential, albeit incomplete without supplementary components.
His sharply defined face, accentuated by sleek, rimless glasses, betrayed a flicker of disbelief as he fixed his gaze on Michael, who sipped his tea with maddening tranquility.
How did he penetrate my firewall?
Victor's digital fortress, constructed with the most elite cybersecurity talent New Eridu had to offer, was thought to be impregnable.
Yet this man sat here, his secrets laid bare.
Victor stammered, his voice faltering, but before he could articulate a single word, Michael gently placed his cup onto the saucer with a crisp clink—a sound that cleaved through the dense tension like a scalpel.
"You're wondering how I'm familiar with your work,"
Michael said, rising gracefully. The faint glow of the holo-map embedded in the desk reflected off his ostentatious suit, lending him an air of theatrical gravitas.
"Let us just say I have a connection to a well-known hacker—someone who has recently made a big splash."
Victor's mind whirled.
A name flared in his memory like a flare: Zelrech—the elusive digital phantom who had singlehandedly brought down one of New Eridu's largest underworld syndicates, igniting rampant speculation across the Inter-Knot.
Could it be him?
As the realization took hold, Michael's expression widened into a smile—measured, knowing—and he advanced toward the desk, his voice like silk concealing steel.
"Let's talk about you, Victor."
"A man of immense inherited wealth, you stood at the helm of a business empire sprawling across sectors from Ether-tech to luxury fashion, the only child of deceased industrial titans."
Free from rivals and familial oversight, he wielded power without challenge.
Yet Michael's words unsettled him.
"Not everything went according to your plan."
Yes, he admitted inwardly, as his fingers clenched reflexively around the USB.
Michael's eyes flicked toward a tarnished silver frame lying face-down on the desk.
With quiet deliberation, he lifted and righted it, revealing an image of Victor flanked by his wife and children, smiles frozen in a happier, long-passed moment.
"It hasn't been easy at Laurent Enterprises, has it?"
Michael said, circling the desk like a predator, his tone cutting with genteel precision.
He has me trapped.
The company's board had grown restless—rumors of ousting Victor grew louder with every financial misstep.
Once prestigious, his brands were bleeding market share, collapsing beneath his faltering leadership.
Michael sat again, eyes locked on Victor, his voice deceptively casual.
"You do have a beautiful family."
Victor's restraint shattered. His voice rose, raw with emotion.
"Leave them out of this! They're all I have!"
Unfazed, Michael raised a calming hand, resuming his tea.
"I'd never harm them," he replied, tone smooth.
"But let's speak of them nonetheless. Your wife, Elise—a filmmaker with a reputation for daring as much as yours."
"She's cloistered in a hotel now, overseeing her latest production, isn't she?"
Victor's breath hitched, but Michael pressed forward.
"Your son, Julian—heir to parts of your empire—burns through your wealth with lavish parties and shallow indulgence,"
"And your daughter, Celeste, once hailed as a rising star in fashion, now known more for aggressive tactics than innovation, as her brand falters."
Michael leaned in, his smile now razor-edged.
"Not a true success among them. They survive only on the weight of your name, your TOPS status, your wealth. But that won't protect them forever, will it?"
Victor's stare fell, his trembling hand betraying internal collapse.
He's right.
His legacy, his family, teetered on the edge of ruin.
All his efforts—his empire—crumbling under the weight of his own miscalculations.
"It's only a matter of time," Michael intoned, his words unrelenting.
"A year. A month. A day. Maybe even an hour. Everything you've built—your dreams—will fall apart."
Victor's voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.
"What do you want? A bribe? A cover-up?"
Michael's expression softened—slightly—but his eyes gleamed with focused ambition.
"I ask very little," he said, setting down his cup with a decisive tap.
"I need your name, your face, and your endorsement. I need you to front my initiative."
The Sun Project was dawning.
***
"I want you to serve as the face of our brand,"
Michael announced, his voice carrying weight within the confines of the lavish office, where the rich oak-panelled walls drank in the gravity of his pronouncement.
Victor Laurent, seated behind a stately desk carved from obsidian wood, blinked behind the glint of his rimless spectacles, disbelief settling across the lines of his mid-thirties face.
The holo-map embedded in his desk shimmered uncertainly, casting ethereal azure hues upon his finely tailored charcoal suit—a sartorial masterpiece that could no longer conceal his shaken composure.
"Why me?" he asked, voice brittle with disbelief.
"You've laid my failures bare—my company is collapsing, my family in disarray. Why place your faith in a sinking vessel?"
What is he scheming?
Michael leaned forward, the supple leather of his chair creaking softly, his flamboyant suit catching fragmented rainbows from the chandelier above.
His crimson tie stood out like a bloodstain against his otherwise tranquil bearing.
"You misinterpret," he said, voice as polished and precise as a surgeon's scalpel.
"Your brand—your standing as a TOPS affiliate—is precisely the cornerstone this project requires. With your name at the helm, stability and prestige are guaranteed."
He's the linchpin of credibility.
Victor's brow creased, his hand drifting towards the USB drive near the desk's edge—the one housing projections that still haunted him.
Michael pressed on, unwavering.
"This isn't coercion, Victor. It's an alliance—mutually beneficial."
With practiced ease, he drew a compact holographic projector from his pocket, its casing inscribed with Etheric circuitry.
A gentle tap, and a translucent contract unfurled mid-air, its contents glowing with legal precision.
Michael's gaze sharpened.
"Assist me, and I'll restore everything you've lost—and more. Wealth, influence, stability."
"You will ascend beyond your former zenith. No more dread of decline."
"All I require is your signature and stewardship of the brand. Seamless integration into your conglomerates."
A lifeline woven in silk and steel.
Victor's eyes scanned the floating clauses, their glow mirrored in his glasses.
The silence between them stretched—thick, almost suffocating—broken only by the hum of the ventilation and the distant patrol of drones circling the estate.
"I remain unconvinced," he finally muttered, voice laden with scepticism.
"Grand promises, but how do you intend to rectify my affairs? My assets are draining, my board is conspiring—what can you possibly do?"
Michael inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"Then try something simple," he said, tone deceptively light.
"Open your phone. Invest in NovaTech."
Trust the current.
Victor hesitated.
His hand hovered over the sleek, glass-backed device on his desk, its Inter-Knot interface pulsating softly.
CloverTech—an uninspired Ether-tech entity, adrift in the cutthroat economy of New Eridu.
Why them?
With a reluctant sigh, he followed the instruction, executing a modest investment through the platform.
A quiet chime confirmed the trade.
He placed the phone down, scepticism undimmed.
Michael glanced at his timepiece—a Ladas-crafted marvel whose gears whispered with esoteric energy.
"Give it a minute," he said, smiling faintly.
Time seemed to slow.
Then Victor's phone vibrated—once, then again, its screen flaring with escalating alerts.
He snatched it up, eyes widening as the Inter-Knot feed erupted in motion. NovaTech's shares, once stagnant, were soaring—rocketing in defiance of logic and trend.
Graphs spiked wildly. Analysts scrambled. Commentary exploded:
"NovaTech breakthrough?"
"Historic surge!"
Victor gaped, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.
"How?" he whispered, shaken. This is beyond coincidence.
Michael reclined, his grin widening just enough.
"Now do you see?" The proof speaks.
Victor's grip slackened, the phone clattering onto the desk.
He orchestrated this.
There could be no doubt—Michael, or his elusive collaborator Zelrech, had manipulated the market with surgical finesse.
Defeated, Victor exhaled slowly.
He reached for the floating contract, stylus trembling as it hovered over the signature field.
With a final, resigned motion, he signed.
The projection dimmed, saving the pact into memory.
Michael rose gracefully, pocketing the projector, his crimson tie once again catching the refracted light.
"I'll forward the remaining terms shortly," he said, voice calm, victorious.
"We begin tomorrow." The Sun Project awakens.
He turned on his heel, footsteps silent on the marble floor, the office's grandeur fading into the backdrop of Victor's splintering sanity.
Alone, Victor sat motionless, his glasses fogged, eyes fixed on a family portrait—Elise, Julian, Celeste—enshrined in silver, now a mockery of the empire he'd failed to protect.
What have I committed...
His fingers curled into a trembling fist, the weight of his choice pressing down like a verdict.
———
I slid behind the wheel of my sleek black vehicle, the leather seat still warm beneath me from New Eridu's midday sun.
The engine murmured to life—a quiet, feral purr.
In the rearview mirror, the Sixth Street estate dissolved into the city's neon twilight.
I merged into the flow of traffic, the asphalt shimmering beneath flickering lights, where holo-billboards vied for attention with Ether drinks and Inter-Knot promotions.
Victor must be reeling, I mused, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as I made for Kaori's safehouse in Lumina Square.
The meeting replayed in my mind like a masterfully executed play.
Victor Laurent, trembling and vulnerable, would attribute the NovaTech surge to Zelrech's infamous hacking.
Let him. In truth, it was my Sequence ability—a subtle, pulsing manipulation of probability—that had bent fate.
The watch on my wrist, etched with sigils, had stirred softly, whispering luck into the veins of the market.
Victor would never suspect a Beyonder's touch—Zelrech made the perfect smokescreen.
The surge had also directed his scrutiny toward the decoy Inter-Knot account, leaving my true manoeuvres untouched.
Victor's signature represented a cornerstone in the construction of my plan—TOPS now served as the public scaffolding for the Sun Project.
One major piece secured; others would follow.
The city streamed by in a blur of ramen stalls and aerial couriers, New Eridu's ever-chaotic pulse a familiar rhythm I had long learned to navigate.
I'd remained a shadow player thus far, careful not to disrupt ZZZ's delicate timeline.
I avoided overt interaction with some events—Zhu Yuan's campaigns, the Sons of Calydon's Blazewood arc—sticking instead to peripheral figures like Miyabi and Caesar.
Excessive interference would trigger butterfly effects I couldn't afford. Until now.
Victor's endorsement changed the game.
His reputation provided the shield I needed to approach key players openly—Miyabi's Section 6, Zhu Yuan's officers—without throwing the story off-course.
I could now sculpt outcomes without fear.
The Sun Project—built upon a stolen Ether accelerator and Blazewood architecture—would bear Victor's name, leaving me to manipulate events from the shadows.
I retrieved my phone, its glow cutting through the dimness, and connected the call.
Kaori answered, her tone laced with impatience.
"You ready?" I asked, weaving past a flurry of hover-bikes whose exhausts shimmered like meteors.
"Been ready," she snapped.
I imagined her cat ears twitching in agitation.
"Where are you, Michael?"
"En route," I said, eyeing the holo-clock on the dashboard.
"I won't be long."
Before hanging up, I logged into the dummy account and composed a short post—bait meant for a very particular rat.
"Hope this finds you entertaining, Jane Doe."
My foot pressed the accelerator. The car surged ahead with a snarl.
Lumina Square's glowing towers rose into view, their neon reflections streaking across my windshield like the heralds of power.
The destination was merely the beginning.