The God 's unpaid intern

Chapter 3: Glitch in the System

“I’m the reason it started,” Diego said, the words tasting like copper and regret.

Lucía stared at him, her lips slightly parted, the chaos of the bistro fading into a dull roar in the background. “You… you’re the reason? Diego, are you having a psychotic break? Should I call someone? Is this some weird, elaborate prank for your comedy podcast?”

“Oh, pull yourself together,” the voice in his head snapped, sharp as a whip. “Tell her about the ‘Seismic Sensitivity’ app. It’s elegant, techy, and sounds expensive enough that she’ll stop asking questions for at least ten minutes.”

Diego cleared his throat, his hands sweating so profusely he gripped the tablecloth to keep from sliding off the chair. “Lucía, relax. It’s an app. A—a beta test. It uses local sensors and... uh... atmospheric pressure algorithms to predict tremors. I’m a lead tester for this startup. I didn't start the earthquake; I just got the notification that it was happening ten seconds before the rest of you.”

Lucía’s eyes narrowed, shifting from terror to deep, cutting skepticism. “An app? The building literally shook, Diego. You weren't even looking at your phone. You were looking at me.”

“I have a smartwatch,” Diego improvised, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. “It vibrates. Very discreet. Very high-tech. Look, it’s all very hush-hush, which is why I’ve been acting like a total weirdo lately. I’m under a non-disclosure agreement.”

“‘Non-disclosure agreement’? How quaint,” the God chuckled, a sound that felt like sandpaper on Diego’s brain. “Now that we’ve successfully bored her into submission, we have work to do. There’s a gala at the Grand Plaza tonight. You’re going to swap a set of sensitive merger documents for a set of slightly altered ones. I’ve already sent the coordinates to your internal HUD. Chop chop.”

“I can’t,” Diego whispered to his water glass. “I have a headache. A massive, ‘I’m-never-leaving-the-house-again’ headache.”

“What did you say?” Lucía leaned in, her voice dropping. “Diego, you’re talking to your water again. Is this… is this actually about the job? Are you in trouble with the firm? Do I need to help you hide from someone?”

Diego looked at her, really looked at her, and felt a pang of genuine guilt. She was worried. She cared. And he was currently being piloted by a cosmic entity with the morality of a toddler holding a magnifying glass over an anthill.

“I’m fine, Lucía. Really,” he said, forcing a smile that made his cheek twitch. “I just have to… go. Work thing. Very high stakes. If I don't get there, I’m fired.”

“Wait,” Lucía started, but Diego was already standing, clutching his gym bag—stolen sneakers and all—to his chest.

“I’ll call you! Later! When the app finishes syncing!” He backed away, tripping slightly over the chair leg before turning and bolting out of the bistro.

The Grand Plaza ballroom was a gauntlet of tuxedos, floor-length gowns, and people whose net worth could probably buy a small island nation. Diego stood at the periphery, his hoodie replaced by a suit he’d borrowed from a roommate who clearly had a more muscular build. The sleeves were a bit long, and he felt like a penguin in a room full of sharks.

“Straighten your tie, you look like a disgruntled valet,” the voice chided. “And stop hunching. You’re here for the document swap. See the man by the champagne fountain? Gray hair, looks like he’s judging everyone’s soul? That’s Mr. Sterling. His briefcase is the target.”

“I’m going to go to jail,” Diego muttered, weaving through the crowd. “I’m a paralegal. We file papers. We don’t steal them. Can’t we just send him a strongly worded email?”

“Oh, you’re so remarkably tedious. If you don’t move now, I’ll initiate ‘The Great Fainting Spell’ and have you collapse into the dessert cart. It’ll be messy, and everyone will take pictures.”

Diego groaned under his breath. He navigated the crowd, his heart thumping in his throat. He reached the fountain, his hands trembling. He needed a distraction.

“Look up,” the voice ordered. “The chandelier. One of the cables is loose. You know what to do.”

“I don’t know how to do that!”

“Just give it a little kinetic nudge. Focus your intent. Think ‘gravity is a suggestion.’”

Diego stared at the massive crystal fixture hanging above the main floor. He squinted, channeling every bit of nervous, caffeinated energy in his body into a single point. He felt a weird, tingling sensation in his fingertips, like he was touching a live wire.

Suddenly, a sharp ping echoed through the room.

The chandelier shuddered. One of the heavy iron chains snapped, and the entire structure tilted drunkenly, swinging toward the dance floor.

People screamed. Tuxedos scattered. The room exploded into chaos as the crystal started shedding decorative prisms like razor blades.

“Now!” the God shouted. “Grab the briefcase while he’s looking for his martini!”

Diego didn't think; he reacted. He lunged forward, swiping the briefcase off the pedestal while Sterling was busy ducking under a table. He felt like he was moving at double speed, the world stretching out in slow motion as he dodged a panicked debutante and darted toward the service corridor.

“Hey! You there!”

Diego froze. He stood at the edge of the service hallway, his heart hammering, and looked back. A high-ranking security executive, a man with a jawline made of granite and a piercing gaze, was pointing straight at him.

“That’s the guy!” the executive bellowed. “I saw him at the gym! He’s the thief!”

“Well, this is problematic,” the God remarked, sounding almost delighted. “Speed buff incoming in three, two, one…”

Electric fire coursed through Diego’s legs. He didn’t wait. He didn’t look back. He sprinted, the sound of his own heavy breathing sounding like a jet engine in his ears. He slammed through the double doors of the kitchen, sliding across the slick tile floor and knocking over a server carrying a tower of hors d’oeuvres.

“Sorry! So sorry!” Diego yelled, scrambled up, and pushed deeper into the facility, his chest burning.

“Left! Now right! If you hit the loading dock, you can slip out the back. And don’t you dare drop that briefcase.”

Diego rounded a corner, gasping for air, his vision blurring from the sheer physical exertion. He skidded into the grand lobby—a shortcut, he realized too late—and slammed into a glass door.

He looked up, bracing for the security team to swarm him, when the front entrance opened.

A group of late-arriving guests walked in. Among them, looking absolutely horrified as she stared at the broken glass and the panicked crowd fleeing the ballroom, was Lucía.

She froze, her eyes scanning the lobby, until they locked onto Diego. He was standing there, drenched in sweat, holding a stolen briefcase in one hand and a half-empty champagne flute he’d snatched in his confusion in the other.

Lucía blinked, her hand dropping from her purse. Her expression shifted from shock to a cold, hard clarity that made Diego’s stomach drop.

“Diego?” she whispered, her voice cutting through the distant sound of sirens. “What… what did you do?”

“Oh, brilliant,” the God sighed. “The girlfriend is here. Do try to make this dramatic. I’ve always enjoyed a good romantic standoff before a high-speed chase.”

Diego looked from the briefcase to Lucía, the taste of cheap champagne and terror heavy on his tongue. He was trapped between the law, the woman he loved, and a voice in his head that wanted to see the world burn.

“Lucía,” Diego gasped, his voice cracking. “I can explain.”

“Don't bother,” the voice purred. “She’s not going to believe a word of it.”*