A week had elapsed since the charged boardroom confrontation at Laurent Enterprises, and Michael now sat ensconced in a corner office on the tower's forty-third floor, its glass walls offering a commanding view of New Eridu's neon-veined skyline.
The office was a study in meticulous order-stacks of papers neatly arranged on a polished obsidian desk, their edges aligned with geometric precision, each document detailing Project Dawn's intricate logistics.
Holo-screens hovered above, their soft glow casting data streams of market trends and Inter-Knot analytics across the office.
The air carried the faint scent of ink and polished leather, a testament to the relentless grind of corporate ambition.
Michael leaned back in his ergonomic chair, its cushions sighing softly, and reflected aloud to the empty room, his voice a measured cadence.
"Things have progressed smoothly-smoother than anticipated. The directors, once skeptical, have begun to extend their trust, their doubts eroded by early results. I've even secured a few branches under my oversight-logistics, R&D, and Ether procurement."
His lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of weariness.
"But it's come at a cost-time, always time."
Kaori, meanwhile, had parted ways with him, dispatched to the outer ring's main work centre-Blazewood's rugged industrial sprawl, where the skeletal frame of Project Dawn's facility rose against the desert's cracked horizon.
Her white scientist's coat was now a distant image, her cat-like ears and twin tails likely swaying as she oversaw the project's core operations, her calculations driving the stolen Ether particle accelerator's integration.
I will talk to her later.
Michael noted, his fingers grazing a data pad, its screen displaying her latest report on ether extraction yields.
Night fell, enveloping New Eridu in a tapestry of neon and shadow, the city's pulse echoing through the streets below.
Michael gathered his papers, securing them in a sleek briefcase, and donned a tailored overcoat, its dark fabric blending with the office's dimming lights.
He exited the tower, the glass doors sliding shut with a whisper, and stepped into the cool night air, where taxis endlessly passed, their engines humming softly.
The pavement glistened with recent rain, reflecting the kaleidoscope of holo-billboards advertising Bangboo upgrades and Sixth Street festivals.
Michael raised a hand to hail a taxi, its sleek chassis gleaming under a nearby streetlight, when his phone buzzed sharply in his pocket, an insistent vibration cutting through the city's din.
He retrieved the device, its screen casting a pale glow across his face, and answered with a cautious.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was immediately recognizable-a former colleague from the company where he had previously worked.
The tone was one of surprise and joy, bringing back memories.
Now, this is unexpected.
Michael's grip tightened on the phone, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the street, the taxi's headlights now a distant beacon in New Eridu's nocturnal sprawl.
***
New Eridu is a harsh, forging ambition or breaking spirits under its neon glare.
As I sat in the back of the taxi, its worn leather seats creaking beneath me, I looked out at the city's pulsing skyline-spires of glass and steel awash in holographic advertisements for Bangboo mods and Ether drinks, their colours bleeding into the night's smoggy haze.
My suit with the overcoat felt out of place against the taxi's chipped dashboard, where a flickering holo-display looped traffic updates.
How long it's been since I saw him, I mused, my crafted watch humming faintly.
But the call from earlier-an unexpected voice from a buried past-stirred memories I'd long suppressed of a life before my memories of the previous world awakened, when I was just another faceless cog in New Eridu's machine.
Back then, my career-or lack thereof-was as bland as the city's mass-produced ramen packets.
Newly graduated, devoid of connections and of any exceptional talent, I lacked both the brawn and aptitude required to venture into the Hollow Zones and the guile to operate as a proxy within the city's treacherous underworld.
I was average to a fault-condemned, by birth and by mediocrity, to serve in the black corporations that writhed in New Eridu's economic shadows ruled by conglomerates.
The city's rapid industrialization, fueled by Ether control discoveries, had birthed a voracious demand for labour.
Factories churned out Bangboo drones, tech firms engineered Ether reactors, and financial giants like my old employer, Reed Financial, sprouted like weeds, their glass towers crowding the skyline, their promises of prosperity masking predatory intent.
Naive doesn't cover it.
"How naive I was," I muttered, my breath fogging the taxi's window as the city's lights blurred past-neon signs for Sixth Street bars, drones darting through alleys, street vendors hawking glowing skewers under LED canopies.
A lifeline and an opportunity to climb the harsh ladder of New Eridu once appeared in front of me in the form of Reed Financial.
On my first day, I was greeted with disarming warmth-seniors in crisp suits offering handshakes, their smiles as polished as the firm's marble lobby.
They treated me to coffee, mentored me through spreadsheets, and even shouldered my workload to ease me in.
Is this heaven?
I'd wondered, blind to the trap being set.
That first week, I woke early, eager, my cheap apartment's flickering lights barely registering as I rushed to the office, desperate for acceptance.
Within the week, the warmth curdled. The mentors retreated.
The smiles vanished.
What followed were long hours beneath flickering fluorescents, condescending remarks cloaked in professionalism, and tasks piled upon my desk with the hollow excuse of "learning opportunity."
Before long, I was their errand boy, fetching coffee, running reports, and chasing deadlines while they lounged.
"It's repayment," they would say, honeyed voices concealing the sting of exploitation.
"A small token for our early guidance."
Reality hit hard.
I was confined to a corner cubicle, its beige walls closing in, a chipped mug of cold coffee my only companion.
Sleep became a memory, home a distant concept, replaced by the office's fluorescent glare and the hum of overworked servers.
My life shrank to data entries and overtime, the city's neon pulse a mocking reminder of the freedom I'd lost.
This is what I am.
Social connections withered; I had no time for friends, no energy for life beyond the grind.
And yet, in that grey, suffocating mire, there was one exception: Ethan Reed.
A fellow subordinate-unrelated to the corporate lineage despite his surname-who wore cynicism with charm.
His lopsided smirk, the way he resisted total surrender to monotony-it kept us tethered to some semblance of humanity.
We'd swap stories over vending-machine snacks, commiserating about the seniors' tyranny.
He was the only one I called a friend until Reed Financial imploded in a scandal-fueled bankruptcy, scattering us like ashes.
I hadn't heard from Ethan since-until tonight's call, his voice a ghost from that forgotten life.
What does he want now?
The taxi slowed, its brakes hissing as it pulled up to the address I'd given-a nondescript Lumina Square apartment building.
The driver, a grizzled Bangboo with a cracked optic, grunted as I paid via Inter-Knot transfer.
I stepped out, the night air sharp with the scent of rain and ether exhaust, my briefcase heavy.
Time to see what this is about.
I stepped out of the taxi, its engine humming into the night, leaving me before a weathered apartment block in Lumina Square.
My suit, slightly damp, clung to my frame, the crafted watch on my wrist glinting faintly.
I climbed the steps to Ethan's apartment, my briefcase in hand, and knocked sharply on the door, the sound cutting through the city's distant clamour.
The door swung open, revealing Ethan, his familiar lopsided grin unchanged since our Reed Financial days.
His dark hair was mussed, his casual jacket a stark contrast to the corporate cages we'd once shared.
"Michael! Good to see you-come in, make yourself at home," he said, his voice warm, gesturing into the apartment with a flourish.
Still the same.
I shrugged off my overcoat, hanging it on a sleek rack by the door, and scanned the space.
Ethan's apartment was a collector's haven, its walls lined with shelves showcasing vintage Bangboo figurines, their optics glowing softly, alongside polished crystals that pulsed like captured stars with various masks.
Framed holo-posters of Hollow Special Operations Section 6 and Hollow raid victories adorned the walls, their colours vivid against the room's warm wood tones.
A retro jukebox hummed a nostalgic synth melody.
This is a nice place.
I slipped off my suit and the overcoat, finding a spot on a plush couch, its fabric worn but inviting.
"Bathroom's down the hall," Ethan called, already bustling toward the kitchen.
I nodded, passing through a pristine bathroom-its tiles gleaming, a quirky bamboo-shaped soap dispenser perched on the sink-before returning to settle on the couch.
Ethan emerged with a steaming hotpot, its broth a fragrant medley of herbs, chilies, and thinly sliced meats, the aroma curling through the air like a warm embrace.
He set it on a low table, grinning.
"Must've been pouring out there, huh?"
"Just a drizzle," I replied, picking up chopsticks.
Feels like stepping back in time.
We dug in, the broth's spice bursting on my tongue, and our conversation flowed into memories of Reed Financial, that black corporation where we'd been chewed up by New Eridu's corporate grind.
We'd been naive recruits, lured by promises of ascent, only to drown in endless data entries and seniors' errands.
"Late nights, stale coffee, their smirks as they dumped their work on us."
We laughed about sneaking vending-machine noodles, Ethan's quick quips lightening the weight of those gruelling shifts.
"How's life treating you now?"
I asked, fishing a slice of meat from the pot, its warmth grounding me. Ethan chewed thoughtfully, his grin widening.
"Landed an insane job-vice manager at ElenCore, a startup climbing fast."
"No more Mr errand-boy nonsense."
"But you, Michael? Word is you're the soon-to-be vice president of Laurent Enterprises. That's huge!"
I chuckled, the sound lighter than the tension coiling within.
"It's been quite a climb."
Ethan's smile softened, his eyes glinting with warmth.
"I'm glad to see you, man. It's been too long since we talked like this."
"Too long," I agreed, the hotpot's steam a bridge to our shared past, before Reed Financial's bankruptcy scattered us.
But my smile faded, my face hardening as I set down my chopsticks, the clink sharp against the bowl.
"Ethan, what's the real reason you invited me here?"
My voice was low, edged with suspicion.
"I didn't expect my one friend to be part of the Exaltists."
Ethan's smile didn't waver, but his eyes sharpened, a glint of recognition flickering.
He set down his bowl, the gesture deliberate, the hotpot's steam curling between us like a veil.
"I'm impressed," he said, his voice smooth but laced with intent.
"I was right about you, Michael."