Chapter One.
The hum of the fluorescent lights above buzzed like mosquitoes in Klein Moretti's ears. Three years in Axion Tech Solutions, and he swore the office still hadn't changed the bulbs.
"Cutting-edge technology company," Klein muttered to himself, tugging his badge against the scanner. "Can't even afford a quiet light."
The door beeped. He shuffled into the lab, where the smell of burnt solder and stale instant coffee hit him like a familiar slap. His cubicle was a chaos shrine: circuit boards stacked like toppled books, screwdrivers scattered like thrown darts, and a soldering iron stand that looked one sneeze away from collapsing.
Dean, his colleague—and, in Klein's opinion, walking proof that charm was a more valuable skill than competence—leaned lazily against a desk.
"Morning, Moretti," Dean drawled, holding a cup of coffee with the confidence of someone who'd never burned their tongue in a rush. "Big client presentation today. Don't screw it up."
Klein dropped his bag with a thud and sank into his chair. "Good morning to you too, my radiant ray of sunshine. Don't worry, if the prototype explodes, I'll try to aim it in your direction."
Dean chuckled, the way people chuckle when they know you're joking but secretly hope you're not.
Looking at Dean's face, Klein couldn't help but lampoon.
With a face like that, he could sell snake oil on the street and people would line up to buy it. Shame the only thing he's actually good at selling is himself.
By 10 AM, Klein was elbow-deep in wires. His lunch—instant noodles—sat untouched beside him. He poked at the spaghetti tangle of circuits with his screwdriver and sighed.
"I got a degree for this," he muttered. "Benson thought I'd be building rockets. Turns out, I'm babysitting overpriced microwaves."
"Talking to yourself again?" Dean called from his chair, scrolling on his phone.
"No," Klein shot back without looking up. "I'm auditioning for the role of 'Burned-Out Engineer #3' in the hit drama Life Without Joy. Think I nailed it?"
Dean smirked. "Well, don't mess up today, or it's your head."
But Klein knew deep inside, as if the universe was telling him, that something was about to go wrong the moment he saw the thing that had been hunting him since his university days.
The word ERROR flashes on the screen.
"Ah," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "My old friend. ERROR. At this point, you should just marry me."
The presentation was a disaster waiting to happen. And it did.
The moment the client plugged in the device, the prototype gave a weak bzzt, spat sparks, and died. Smoke curled upward like incense for a funeral.
Klein stared at it, dumbstruck, his lip twitching as the machine really did give its last wheeze.
"Marvelous," he said dryly.
The clients didn't even crack a smile. One of them coughed pointedly, waving a hand through the smoke.
Dean's grin collapsed. He leaned forward quickly, hands spread. "This… this must be a small defect. Nothing major! Our engineer here will explain."
Management looked for someone to blame. And, of course, their eyes landed on Klein.
"Oh, will I?" Klein muttered under his breath, then straightened. "Well, if by 'small defect' you mean catastrophic implosion of the entire system, then yes, I can confirm. Nothing major. Happens all the time. Truly cutting-edge work."
The department head's jaw tightened. "You were the one in charge of final checks, correct?"
Klein blinked. "…Yes, but—"
Klein's head whipped toward him.
What the hell is this brain-dead-beauty talking about? Trusted me? The only thing Dean's ever trusted is the mirror to show him his best angle.
Out loud, Klein snapped, "You trusted me? Dean, you're the one who signed off on that capacitor! I told you it was unstable."
Dean raised his hands like a saint caught in false accusation, his expression so angelic it could have been printed on stained glass. "Hey, hey, no need to get defensive. Mistakes happen."
Klein laughed bitterly. "Mistakes happen? Dean, if mistakes were currency, you'd have your own central bank. Hell, you'd be printing money in the basement by now."
The department head's glare cut through the room like a guillotine. He slammed the folder shut, the sound sharp enough to make one of the clients flinch. "Enough, this level of negligence is unacceptable. We cannot risk further failures under your supervision. Effective immediately—your employment is terminated."
Terminated. The word echoed in Klein's skull like a bad ringtone he couldn't switch off.
He wanted to shout, to argue, to drag Dean's smug face across every blown capacitor in the lab. Instead, his lips pulled into a crooked smile.
"Of course," Klein said. "Fire the guy who actually works, and keep the one who flirts with his reflection. Brilliant management strategy. Truly, Axion Tech is an industry leader—in incompetence."
Nobody laughed.
Later, Klein shoved his belongings into a cardboard box. A mug with a chip in the rim. His worn screwdriver set. A half-dead desk plant. Three years of his life reduced to trash and trinkets.
He held up his trusty screwdriver, giving it a mock salute. "Well, at least you never betrayed me. Loyal to the end."
The monitor across from him reflected his haggard face, shadows clinging to the edges of his eyes. His reflection in the blank monitor smirked back at him, tired eyes ringed with shadows. Burnout chic, he thought. Very fashionable this season.
He carried the box out of the building, the automatic doors hissing shut behind him like a snake.
"Congratulations, Klein," he muttered to no one but the buzzing street outside. "Unemployed at twenty-five. Living the dream."
The sky above was gray, heavy, almost sneering. Klein tilted his head at it.
"Go on then, world. What's next? Hit me with your best shot."
Note:
Low and behold the King of lampooning and raising death flags himself.