The God 's unpaid intern

Chapter 9: The Fabricated Past

"I’m the reason it started," Diego said. The words tasted like copper and old regret.

Lucía stared at him, her lips parted. The clinking of silverware in the bistro seemed to die down to a vacuum-sealed silence. "You? You’re the reason the floor just tried to swallow us whole? Diego, are you having a psychotic break? Should I call a doctor, or is this some elaborate, shitty prank for your podcast?"

"Oh, pull yourself together," the voice buzzed in his skull, sharp as a whip. "Tell her about the ‘Seismic Sensitivity’ app. It’s elegant, techy, and sounds expensive enough to keep her from calling the men in white coats."

Diego swallowed, his throat dry. "Lucía, relax. It’s an app. A beta test. It uses local sensors and atmospheric pressure algorithms to predict subterranean shifts. I’m a lead tester for a tech startup. I didn't *start* the quake; I just got the notification ten seconds before the rest of you."

Lucía’s eyes narrowed, shifting from terror to deep, cutting skepticism. "An app? The building literally buckled, Diego. You weren't even looking at your phone. You were staring at me like you were waiting for a fuse to blow."

"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 under a strict non-disclosure agreement. That’s why I’ve been acting like a total weirdo lately. I’m under pressure."

"A non-disclosure agreement for an earthquake app?" She stepped closer, invading his space. "How quaint. And what about those shoes? You haven't explained the sneakers."

"Check the data flow, Diego. You’re being dull," the God prompted. "Look at the chandelier above her head. It’s hanging by a single, rusted bolt. A little push, a little vibration, and—boom. Chaos. Use the leverage."

"I don’t want to cause chaos," Diego hissed under his breath.

"What?" Lucía pulled back, her brow furrowed. "Who are you talking to? You’re doing it again, Diego. You’re talking to your water glass."

"I’m stressed!" Diego grabbed her hand across the table. His own was freezing. "Work has been a lot. My brain feels like it’s glitching. I’m sorry if I’m acting weird. I just… I wanted to see you."

Lucía’s shoulders dropped, the anger bleeding out of her. "I get it, but you’re paranoid. You keep glancing at the door like you’re expecting a SWAT team."

"She has no idea how close she is to the truth," the God chuckled. "Speaking of the truth, we have a problem. 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 pushed the coordinates to your internal HUD."

Diego stared at his empty air. "I can't. I have a massive headache."

"What did you say?" Lucía gripped his hand tighter. "Diego, if you’re in trouble with the firm, just tell me. We can go to HR. We can report them."

"It's not the firm," Diego said, standing up abruptly. His chair screeched against the hardwood. "It's… something else. I have to go."

"Wait!"

Diego didn't wait. He bolted out of the bistro, his gym bag—stolen sneakers and all—slung over his shoulder. He hit the sidewalk, the cold air biting at his sweat-drenched skin.

"Faster," the voice commanded. "The Plaza is six blocks away. If you aren't inside in seven minutes, the security grid resets, and the briefcase will be under armed guard."

Diego ran. He hit the intersection, weaving through traffic with a grace that shouldn't have been possible for a paralegal. He didn't stop until he reached the glass facade of the Grand Plaza. He slipped through the service entrance, his lungs burning.

"Okay," he wheezed, crouching behind a catering cart. "I'm in. Now what?"

"Straight ahead. The man with the gray hair by the champagne fountain. That’s Sterling. Grab his briefcase."

Diego crept forward, dodging a server. He saw Sterling—a man who looked like he’d been carved out of granite and cold cash. The briefcase sat on a pedestal next to him, unattended for a split second.

"Do it now," the God hissed.

Diego lunged. His fingers brushed the handle, but a firm grip slammed onto his shoulder. He spun around, staring into the face of a security executive with a jawline made of steel.

"Hey!" the guard bellowed. "I know you! You're the one from the gym!"

"Oh, brilliant," the God remarked, sounding delighted. "Speed buff incoming in three, two, one..."

Electric fire coursed through Diego’s legs. He didn't think; he pivoted, his foot catching the guard's ankle in a perfect, brutal sweep. The man went down with a heavy thud. Diego snatched the briefcase and bolted for the service corridor.

He turned the corner, skidding across the slick kitchen tiles, and slammed straight into a group of late-arriving guests. He stumbled back, his eyes widening.

Standing in the center of the lobby, clutching a designer clutch and staring at him with a look of utter, chilling horror, was Lucía. She’d followed him.

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

"Oh, this is marvelous," the God purred. "She's seen the theft. She's seen the speed. How do you want to play this, Diego? The truth, or the funeral?"

Diego stood frozen, the heavy, metallic weight of the briefcase in one hand and the terrified gaze of the woman he loved on the other. He saw the black-clad security team rounding the corner, their hands on their holsters, eyes locking onto him.

"Diego, drop the bag!" Lucía screamed, her voice bordering on a sob. "Run!"

"I can't run," Diego whispered, his eyes flashing with that same electric light from the bistro. "I'm the one they're hunting."

He looked at the security team, then at the service exit. He knew he had exactly three seconds to make a choice that would define whether he lived as a man or died as a weapon.

"One final push, Diego," the God whispered, his voice vibrating through every nerve ending. "If you jump through that window, you survive the night. But you’ll never be able to come home to her again."

Diego looked at Lucía. She reached out, her hand inches from his jacket, tears brimming in her eyes. "Diego, please."

He stepped back, the glass of the lobby window glowing under the flashing red and blue lights outside. He felt the static of the divine entity consuming his senses, drowning out the fear, drowning out the love, drowning out everything.

"I'm sorry, Lucía," he whispered, and then he shattered the world.