The laughter rolled in slowly at first—a few chuckles from the far corners of the room. Then came the smirks, the whispered jeers, the sideways glances. But within seconds, it snowballed into a chorus of cruel amusement.“Not even one percent?” someone snorted. “Did he think this was a tutorial level?”“Maybe he was debugging himself,” said a tall man with mirrored lenses, crossing his arms as he leaned back with a grin.“He was flailing,” added the woman with platinum implants, her voice cutting. “Did you see that timestamp loop? Like watching someone drown in their own code.”“I’ve seen interns do better,” quipped the woman with gold implants.A younger member in a rust-red jacket laughed so hard he had to grip the edge of the console. “All that build-up—for this?”Kael didn’t laugh, but the edge of his mouth twitched.Rosa said nothing, but her gaze was like ice.Another voice called out from the back, mock-clapping. “Bravo, CEO. Welcome to Iron Street.”The man with the cyberneti

It was Aldric—one of the lower council heads. His eyes were narrow. Jaw clenched.Kael didn’t flinch. “Is there a problem?”Aldric stepped forward. “He bypassed three levels of clearance in one day. We’ve never allowed that.”“He earned it,” Rosa shot back, her voice like steel.“Protocol is protocol,” Aldric snapped. “One test. One pass. That’s entry-level. But hierarchy? That takes years.”Another voice joined in—Lady Renn, her golden monocle catching the light.“I agree with Aldric. It’s too soon. Too sudden.”Kael’s smile faded.“This isn’t a democracy,” he said coldly. “It’s a meritocracy. And Nolan Rhys just proved he’s cut from a different cloth.”The air grew tense. You could feel the resistance rising like a slow fire under dry leaves.Whispers swirled.Aldric turned slightly, just enough for Nolan to see the fury dancing behind his eyes.Aldric’s eyes burned.“This is madness,” he said, with a voice that was shaking with controlled rage. “You’re tearing apart decades of stru

Nolan Rhys sat alone in his chambers.It was nearly midnight, but he hadn’t even changed out of his office clothes. The tailored black suit, now slightly wrinkled, still clung to his frame like a second skin. He hadn’t touched his drink. He hadn’t moved in almost an hour.The lights were dim. Only the blue glow of his console illuminated the room, casting long shadows against the smooth concrete walls. His chambers were supposed to be a place of rest, a personal escape from the chaos of the company. But tonight, it didn’t feel like home.It didn’t even feel like his own house.Ever since Mael Vox walked into his office, something had changed. Something unseen. The air felt heavier. The silence around him wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was watchful. Like the walls themselves had started to listen.He rubbed his fingers together slowly, as if trying to remove an invisible layer of dust. But there was nothing there—only the cold that had settled into his skin.His voice broke the silence,

Mr. Jethro leaned forward slightly. “Whose signature?”Nolan’s lips pressed into a line. Then he said it, slowly.“Mael Vox.”"Wait, what name did you call again?" The name sounded familiar to Mr Jethro."Mael Vox.""Can you describe him for me?" Mr Jethro requested."Okay, he wore a suit that looked like it was spun from liquid chrome—obsidian threads that caught every light. His hair was sleek, black, not a strand was out of place. He had eyes that flickered, literally—like code running behind a face too perfect to be natural. But it wasn’t just how he looked… it was how he moved. Like he’d already read the room five times before stepping in." Nolan paused."He looked calm, slow, not arrogant—but completely certain. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. Every word felt like it was testing you. Like he knew something you didn’t… and maybe never would."Despite all the description, the name hung in the air like a toxin.After some deep thought. Mr. Jethro blinked. “Never heard of

"Midnight," Nolan finally said, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, though his heart hammered against his ribs. "Iron Street. Don't be late, Mael. And don't think for a second this means I'm playing your game.""Oh, Nolan," Mael's voice purred, with a hint of genuine amusement now. "You're already playing. You always were."The line went dead.Nolan stood there, the comms device still pressed to his ear, listening to the static hum. The anger was still there, but it was now laced with a cold, terrifying clarity. Mael Vox hadn't just attacked his company; he had orchestrated a confrontation, a twisted invitation to a game Nolan didn't even understand the rules of yet. And he had just accepted.The static hum in Nolan's ear faded, and it was replaced by the relentless thump of his own heart. Mael Vox. The name, once a whisper in the dark corners of his world, now echoed with a chilling certainty. This wasn't just about his company anymore; it was a carefully laid trap, a twisted