Nikolai Wynn leaned back in his leather swivel chair on the top floor of Wynn Corporation. He swirled a glass of fifty-year-old scotch, a triumphant grin stretched across his face. On the glass conference table in front of him lay a thick, bound document stamped with an official patent application seal. "Is the file fully secure?" Nikolai asked, looking up at his chief technical officer. "Yes, Mr. Wynn," the technician replied, nodding eagerly. "Our informant inside Starburst Tech delivered the complete blueprint of Aren Greyson's core energy logic." "It is a masterwork of software engineering." Nikolai let out a loud, mocking laugh that echoed through the private executive suite. "That helpless cripple actually thought he could build an empire from a wheelchair," Nikolai sneered. "He spent years writing this code, and now it belongs entirely to Wynn Corporation." "With this patent locked down, Starburst Tech will be dead before their public grid test even begins."

Panic exploded across the main research lab at Starburst Tech.Alarm klaxons blared overhead, flashing bright red lights across dozens of frozen computer terminals.Engineers ran frantically back and forth, screaming at one another as error messages flooded every screen."The master backups are zeroed out!" a technician shrieked, tearing at his hair."The local drives are completely fried! Everything is gone!"The rogue lead architect, a man named Marcus, stood near the central server rack.He was holding a wiped flash drive, trying to blend into the chaos with a fake look of horror on his face.Suddenly, the heavy glass doors of the lab slid open.Aren rolled smoothly into the room in his electric wheelchair, his presence instantly silencing the room.Xavier marched right behind him, his icy glare locked directly onto Marcus."Mr. Greyson!" David, the lead systems engineer, cried out in despair."It’s a disaster! Someone executed a root-level purge command! Fifteen days of work just

The digital clock on the dashboard of the black van glows a sharp, aggressive green against the suffocating darkness of the cabin. It reads 2:17 a.m. Outside, the cold night air bites at the asphalt behind Starburst Tech’s main server facility. Heavy with the scent of damp concrete and impending ruin. Four men step out from the shadows of the alley, their movements swift, calculated, and devoid of hesitation. They are professionals hired by Nikolai Wynn. Cold-blooded corporate mercenaries who have gutted dozens of high-security networks without ever leaving a trace. Their clothes are pitch black, designed to swallow the faint amber glow of the security lamps overhead. Thick tactical balaclavas conceal their faces entirely, leaving only narrow, focused slits for their eyes as they scan the perimeter. Heavy steel toolboxes clang softly against their thighs with a dull, muffled rhythm as they break into a low, purposeful jog toward the outer perimeter fence. They carry h

High above the floor, behind a thick panel of dark, tinted bulletproof glass overlooking the server hall, Aren Greyson watches their chaotic panic unfold. He sits in his wheelchair, completely unmoving, his hands resting flat against the armrests. The sharp, burning heat of the Hand of Fortune continues to pulse steadily through his lower spine, radiating outward like a hidden engine warming his core. His face is carved out of absolute stone, showing neither anger nor excitement as the four men run back and forth beneath him like trapped rats in a maze. Xavier stands beside the glass, his hand resting calmly on the wall-mounted environmental control board. Xavier’s thumb hovers directly above the high-capacity air ventilation overrides. "They are fully contained, Young Master," Xavier reports, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "No radio signals are leaving this sector. The cellular dampeners are running at full capacity." Aren slowly reaches out his right arm, pulling the

The morning sun rises over the city like a dull copper coin, casting long grey shadows across the cold streets. Early news broadcasts report a quiet industrial accident on the edge of town. A small, abandoned warehouse caught fire overnight due to faulty electrical wiring, leaving behind scorched concrete and twisted metal. The anchors on television read the report in smooth, calm voices, assuring the public that no nearby buildings were damaged and no lives were lost. The media believes the fire was a simple accident. Nobody knows that the destroyed building was meant to mask the messy, failed raid on Starburst Tech's server facility hours earlier. Three miles away, inside the top floor of his luxury office tower, Nikolai Wynn sits perfectly frozen in his heavy leather chair. The room is completely silent except for the fast, erratic ticking of a expensive grandfather clock in the corner. Nikolai’s hair