The Outcast: Michael Grey's Rise to the Top

The rays of the evening sun spilled through a thick layer of clouds hanging over Whitewood City, one of the largest cities on the Eastern Coast. Among the crowds, a young man with unremarkable dark hair walked quietly down the street. Around him, skyscrapers loomed, and holographic ads flickered in the air above bustling sidewalks.

He wore a sleek black jumpsuit that hugged his athletic frame and a pair of black sneakers with soft soles that silenced every step.

His dark hair was an anomaly, a detail that made sense only when you knew the truth about him. His name was Michael Grey, grandson of Walter Grey, the powerful patriarch of one of the most influential corporations in the world. But his father had been cast out of the family decades ago for reasons never made public. The Grey family was known for its distinctive blond hair color, a trait Michael didn’t share—something that helped him blend in without drawing attention.

As he wove through the moving crowds, Michael glanced up at the glowing digital billboards and augmented reality projections that lit up the skyline. Some advertised cutting-edge gadgets or luxury fashion. Others were more ominous, flashing public safety alerts and corporate surveillance notices.

He didn’t stop to watch. He had a mission, and nothing was going to get in his way.

He reached a towering building stamped with the emblem of a well-known corporation and walked through its doors without hesitation.

Inside, the air buzzed with the energy of machinery and murmuring employees. Michael moved quickly, navigating a maze of cubicles and glass-walled meeting rooms, his eyes scanning every screen and shadow.

Then he saw his target—a middle-aged man in a business suit, briefcase in hand, heading toward the elevators.

Michael acted without pause. He moved fast, his body fluid and precise, and in one clean motion, he snatched the briefcase and disappeared into the throng before anyone could react.

Back on the street, he ducked into a quiet alley and opened the case. Inside, data chips glinted in neat rows. He allowed himself a small smile. It was exactly what his employer had sent him to retrieve.

The sounds of building panic echoed from the street behind him. He could picture the man raising the alarm, security scrambling. With the kind of tech available these days, it wouldn’t take long for them to track his general location.

But they’d be too late. This wasn’t Michael’s first job. Moving like someone who’d done this a hundred times before, he slipped between buildings and disappeared into side streets, gradually putting distance between himself and the noise behind him.

The glittering corporate towers faded into everyday city blocks—convenience stores, apartment complexes, and restaurants far less glamorous than what he’d just left behind.

He slowed down to a casual pace. Running here would only draw attention. In this part of the city, he was just another face.

Eventually, he reached a hidden alley nestled in shadows where the setting sun barely touched the ground. It was empty except for a few scattered trash cans and the quiet hum of the city beyond.

A soft purring sound caught his attention. A sleek black cat jumped up onto a trashcan, rubbing against his leg with a low meow.

Michael crouched and scratched behind its ears, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey there, little black cat,” he said quietly. “How’s your day been?”

“You know, you really shouldn’t pet stray animals.”

In a flash, Michael stood up and stepped back, one hand clutching the briefcase, the other reaching behind him instinctively.

A man stood a few paces ahead. He was dressed in dark clothing too, though his three-piece suit had an unsettling quality, as if it drank in the surrounding light. He held a smoking pipe and wore a calm expression that gave away nothing.

Michael’s posture eased slightly when he recognized the man. His features settled into a neutral expression as he stepped forward and held out the briefcase.

“You should stop taking these jobs,” the older man said, his voice steady.

Michael shrugged. “Easy for you to say. You’re the one wearing the thousand-dollar tech suit.”

The man raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. With a quiet sigh, he scanned Michael’s wrist with his own. Both wore Biz-Watches, devices that had replaced wallets and credit cards decades ago. Most transactions across the world now run through these slim bands. The company that had created them had even managed to unify the global economy under a single currency: the dollar.

Michael glanced at the screen on his watch. Ten thousand dollars glowed in bright red. He didn’t react. The man noticed.

“We’re done here,” Michael said flatly, turning to leave.

“Michael.”

He paused, tilting his head slightly.

The man took a slow drag of his pipe, then exhaled a thin stream of smoke.

“This world’s more dangerous than ever,” he said. “You never know who to trust anymore. Just… be careful.”

Michael said nothing. A small shrug was his only reply as he turned and vanished into the street beyond.

Left alone in the alley, the older man looked over at the black cat still perched on the trashcan, watching him with unblinking blue eyes.

“I don’t suppose I could count on you to keep an eye on him?”

“Meow?”

He chuckled softly, reaching out to stroke its fur. “That’s what I thought. Take care, little fella.”