The room was almost entirely made of glass, giving the illusion that it had no walls at all. Dim light clung weakly to the vast space. Silence filled it—not air.

  The chamber was large enough to house an entire library, yet it contained only a single desk and a chair. On the polished ebony surface lay a tablet and a glass of amber alcohol. The chair faced the glass walls, turned toward the endless sky beyond.

  A young man sat there, staring outward.

  Black hair fell partially over his golden eyes. His head rested against his knuckles, one arm draped lazily over the armrest. Whatever occupied his thoughts remained unreadable. His expression was so cold it seemed capable of freezing the sun itself. His features were sharply defined, unmarred except for a thin scar cutting across his right eyebrow—the sole imperfection in an otherwise flawless face.

  He wore a long black overcoat, the fabric absorbing the shadows around him. The tower he occupied was impossibly tall; beyond the glass, there was nothing but clouds and the curve of the atmosphere.

  A knock shattered the silence.

  “Come in,” he said, his voice deep and devoid of warmth.

  The door slid open with a soft hiss. A young woman stepped inside, her wavy, shoulder-length hair framing eyes the color of polished steel. She wore a crisp buttoned-up shirt and a knee-length pencil skirt. The echo of her heels followed her across the floor like a ticking clock.

  The man turned, his expression unchanged.

  “Status update, Evelyne?”

  “The rebels have been neutralized,” she reported, her voice efficient. “The rumors have been suppressed, and there have been no strikes since last week.”

  “Good. And the plague?”

  “It has spread throughout the Southern Nation as projected. The Western Nation is next.”

  “The death toll?”

  “Approximately eight hundred in the first wave.”

  “Good riddance.”

  A twisted smile flickered across his face before vanishing just as quickly. He lifted the glass, taking a slow, deliberate sip.

  “And the Northern Nation?”

  “Troops have been mobilized.”

  “Mobilize the Eastern Nation’s forces as well.”

  “Of course, sir.” She hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Will you be attending the Gala tonight?”

  He paused, swirling the liquid in his glass. “I suppose I must.”

  “I’ll inform Mr. Foster, then.”

  “They’re tedious affairs,” he said, standing up. The movement was fluid, predatory. “Listening to ants talk about greatness when they can’t even manage a dog.”

  They walked together toward the exit, Evelyne falling into step beside him. The doors slid open onto a vast corridor. The floor was glossy black, reflecting their silhouettes like ghosts, while the walls were streaked with gold.

  They passed under a massive painting adorning the wall: Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment. The irony seemed lost on everyone but him.

  “How are things in the Northern Nation?” he asked, glancing at the painted souls being condemned to hell.

  “The teams currently assembled show considerable potential. Sentra predicts a success rate of nearly seventy percent.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “And the Eastern Nation?”

  “Seventy-five percent. It appears the virus is working.”

  “Of course it works,” he snapped. “You know who designed it.”

  “Of course, sir. My apologies.” Evelyne lowered her gaze instantly.

  “I wish we saw eye to eye more often,” he continued coldly, his voice echoing in the hall. “He’s a coward—brilliant, but a coward. I need his support. I want to create a perfect world, Evelyne. Total order. Absolute control. I will be the next Genghis Khan… the next Alexander.”

  He stopped abruptly beneath the painting of Christ the Judge.

  “I want perfection. Look at the world and tell me it isn’t broken. I can do this forever now. Nothing can stop me. Nothing will stand in my way. Not even God.”

  Something in his eyes shifted—his pupils dilated, a darkness swirling within the gold.

  “It—” Evelyne began, sensing the shift.

  “SECURITY BREACH! SECURITY BREACH!”

  A man stumbled into the corridor, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath. He nearly collided with the wall.

  “Take your hand off the wall,” Dr. Holden said coolly. “You’re smudging the gold.”

  The intruder froze, pulling his hand back as if burned.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Evelyne demanded.

  “S-sir,” the man panted, his eyes wide with terror. “There’s been a breach at the Western Gate.”

  Holden’s eyes widened slightly, a crack forming in his composure. “What?”

  “Who is responsible for Western Gate security?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  Evelyne glanced at her tablet, her fingers flying across the screen. “Victor Westport.”

  “Victor,” he said softly, tasting the name. “Bring him to my office immediately. Inform the Leaders as well.”

  “Of course, sir.” Evelyne turned sharply to the messenger. “Come on, Michael. Move.”

  She grabbed the sweating man by the arm and pulled him away before he could say another word.

  They returned to the office a few hours later. Victor Westport was dragged in, handcuffs cutting into his wrists.

  “Unhand me at once!” Victor snapped, struggling against the guards. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? How dare you interrupt my vacation—”

  He stopped mid-sentence.

  His face drained of color as his eyes locked onto the man seated behind the desk.

  “Dr. Holden,” he whispered, the arrogance evaporating instantly. “Forgive my behavior. These two handcuffed me without explanation, and—”

  “You were brought here on my orders,” Dr. Holden said calmly.

  “Oh. I—I see.” Victor lowered his head, trembling. “Forgive me, sir. I didn’t know.”

  Dr. Holden showed no interest in the apology. He didn't even blink.

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “N-no, sir.”

  “You know,” Dr. Holden continued, leaning forward, “you used to be competent, Victor. I even admired your work ethic.”

  Victor looked up, confusion flickering across his face. Hope, fragile and desperate, sparked in his eyes.

  “What went wrong?” Dr. Holden asked gently. “Did you get distracted?”

  “I—I suppose I did get a bit—”

  “What were you doing,” Dr. Holden cut in smoothly, “when you should have been working?”

  “I—I—”

  “You used to be gold. Now you’re coal. And I hate coal.”

  Victor glanced around the room, pleading silently for help, but neither Evelyne nor Michael met his gaze.

  “Show me the picture again, Evelyne.”

  “Yes, sir.” She handed him the tablet.

  Dr. Holden turned the screen toward Victor. It displayed a photo of Victor standing beside a dark-haired woman at the edge of a cliff. Behind them, a sunrise unfurled in soft golds and crimson. They were smiling, their eyes sparkling with affection.

  It was a picture of happiness.

  “Pretty scenery,” Dr. Holden said, his voice flat. “But this was taken when you should have been updating the security system algorithms.”

  “It was only for a day, sir,” Victor said, his voice tight with panic. “It was my wife’s birthday. I wanted to do something special. I—I didn’t think—please, sir. Just give me another chance. I’ll dedicate my entire life to—”

  “Do not humiliate yourself further, Victor,” Dr. Holden said evenly. “You only disappoint me more.”

  Victor stopped speaking. The air in the room grew heavy, suffocating.

  Dr. Holden rose from his chair. He walked around the desk, stopping just inches from Victor.

  “You know I don’t give second chances,” he said. “I detest imperfection. It was lovely knowing you, Victor. But your employment is... terminated.”

  The color drained from Victor’s face. He knew what "terminated" meant in this building.

  “N–no. Please, sir. Please,” he stammered, tears spilling over. “I’ll do anything. I’ll never take another day off. I have to—”

  Dr. Holden was already walking away, a faint, twisted smile curving his lips.

  The doors opened.

  Two guards in black-and-gold military gear entered the room, heavy weapons secured in their hands. They didn't look like police. They looked like executioners.

  “You know where to take him,” Dr. Holden said quietly to one of them.

  The guard nodded.

  “No—no!” Victor screamed as they dragged him backward. “I don’t deserve this! Please! I have a family!”

  His screams were cut off as the soundproof doors slid shut.

  Silence filled the room once more.

  Evelyne and Michael stood frozen, staring at the floor.

  “Have the Leaders arrived?” Dr. Holden asked, checking his cufflinks as if nothing had happened.

  “They have,” Evelyne replied, her voice steady despite her pale face. “They’re waiting in the meeting room on the 155th floor.”

  “Good.” Dr. Holden walked toward the exit, his coat billowing behind him. “We have much to discuss.”