From Janitor To God: The System Chose Me

Divorce Papers and Death Threats

The hum of the co-working space buzzed around Ethan like static.

He barely heard it.

Not when the system dashboard blinked with patent claims, algorithmic models, and stolen blueprints now flooding global networks.

But it all went still the moment he saw her.

Brooks Lili aka Lena

She stepped through the glass doors like a scene from a nightmare—too flawless, too poised, too late to pretend innocence.

In her hand: a slim, matte-black folder.

Divorce papers.

Of course she brought them in person.

He didn’t even flinch.

“Ethan ,” she said, soft as smoke, “do you have a minute?”

Ethan leaned back in his chair. The entire room seemed to tilt slightly, voices dimming into white noise.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said coolly. “What happened? Courier service too slow for betrayal these days?”

She forced a laugh. “It’s not betrayal. Just closure. I thought we should end things with grace.”

“Grace,” Ethan repeated. “Right. And poison tastes better in a wine glass, too.”

She smiled, sitting down slowly. “We were good once, weren’t we?”

The scent of her perfume hit him—sharp, citrus, familiar. Memory clawed at his chest: nights spent working side-by-side, her head on his shoulder, dreams once shared.

Then the memory twisted—her signature on the Brooks patent application that used his code.

He snapped back.

“No theatrics,” he said. “Just hand me the blade.”

She slid the folder across the table. “All standards,” she said. “Nothing complicated.”

He flipped it open.

Three copies.

All pre-signed.

Asset clause: forfeiture.

Alimony: zero.

Hidden clause: five-year non-compete, buried in legalese.

She wasn’t here for peace.

She was here to gut him one last time.

Ethan raised his gaze slowly.

“You still love me, huh?”

Her lashes fluttered. She reached forward, brushing his knuckles. “You know I do.”

[System Emotional Scan Active…]

[Detected Emotion: 0% Love, 92% Anticipation, 5% Stress, 3% Triumph.]

He smiled.

Cold. Sharp.

“You always were a better actress than CEO.”

Her face twitched.

He stood.

“Then let’s make this separation official,” he said. “Publicly.”

Her smile faltered.

“What… do you mean by public?”

Forty-five minutes later, a press room buzzed with reporters, influencers, and tech correspondents.

Ethan stood at the podium in a jet-black suit. No tie. No flash. Just calm precision and lethal clarity.

Brooks Lili stood beside him, mask of calm cracking beneath the flashes.

The backdrop read: ZERO CORE TECHNOLOGIES – LAUNCH ANNOUNCEMENT.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ethan began, voice smooth as obsidian, “I’ve invited you here for two reasons.”

A wave of murmurs.

“First—yes. Brooks Lili and I are divorcing. Irreconcilable visions of the future.”

He held up the signed divorce papers. Cameras clicked like gunfire.

“But second…”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small black chip.

“This is the heart of Paragon Zero. A neural-adaptive engine designed to evolve past traditional AI frameworks.”

Lili’s eyes widened.

She hadn’t even seen this version yet.

Ethan placed the chip on the podium.

“In seventy-two hours, Zero Core Technologies will launch the first independent AI performance layer ever built without a single stolen line of Brooks Corp code.”

More gasps.

And then the kill shot.

“I built this from scratch. With no stolen tech. No corporate sabotage. Just a man left for dead who decided to rewrite the rules.”

A beat.

Then a smirk.

“And I don’t need a marriage to do it.”

Reporters exploded. Cameras surged. Microphones shoved forward.

Brooks Lili stood frozen, trapped in a PR disaster she hadn’t predicted.

**

That night, back in his apartment, Ethan finally let the silence in.

The war had started.

But for the first time in years… he wasn’t the one bleeding.

He loosened his tie, dropped onto the couch, and let the exhaustion settle.

Maybe now he could breathe.

Maybe now—

Knock. Knock.

He blinked.

2:14 AM?

He approached the door, frowning.

A delivery man stood outside.

“Package for Mr. Ye.”

Ethan hesitated. “From who?”

“No name. Said it was urgent.”

He signed, closed the door, and opened the box.

Inside: a sealed white envelope… and a folded piece of fabric.

He opened the envelope first.

Four words.

Block letters. No signature.

“LEAVE TECH. OR SHE DIES.”

His heart slammed against his ribs.

He reached for the cloth and unrolled it.

Blood.

Dried, dark, unmistakable.

A scarf.

His mother’s.

The one she wore every Sunday morning to the Old Methodist Church. The one with the tiny embroidered lotus at the corner—hand-stitched by his father before he died.

It was soaked.

And torn.

He stared at it.

No breath. No words. No time.

The system lit up behind him.

[ALERT: Biological Signature Detected – Ada Cole – 94% Match.]

[Status: Critical.]

[Location: Unknown.]

Ethan ’s hands shook—but not from fear.

From rage.

They hadn’t just declared war.

They’d made it personal.