- Reed, we need to talk. Now.
- Look closer, Reed. You’re in the frame.
- Section: 3. Page: 16. Code: 105-B.
- Someone’s watching. Play your part.
- If Kessler falls, it’s failure. Watch the shadows, but move only in the light.
- Keep moving to the light.
Reed leaned back, the fingers of both of his hands dragging through his hair as he stared at the messages. What did it all mean? Individually, they were vague, almost meaningless. But together, they screamed something louder—a pattern. A deliberate hand guiding him.
Someone was steering him.
The pen in his hand tapped against the desk, a steady rhythm as his mind turned. Whoever was sending these notes knew too much—where he’d be, what he needed, and when. The messages always arrived at critical moments, pushing him just far enough to avoid disaster. Or to be manipulated.
Ally or enemy?
The question clawed at him. Was this some invisible savior or a masterful trap, a way to use him as a pawn? He turned his attention to the third message: Section: 3. Page: 16. Code: 105-B. That note had saved his life in Vienna, helping him unlock the escape route he hadn’t even known existed. But the others—
Play your part.
Move only in the light.
The words looped in his head, taunting him with their precision. Reed stood abruptly, the chair scraping across the floor as he began to pace. Every instinct screamed that the sender was always one step ahead. Watching. Controlling. It gnawed at him, this sense of being outplayed in a game he barely understood.
He stopped at the window, his reflection faint against the night outside. The city stretched into the distance, the flicker of lights blurring into a thousand moving parts. Each one a shadow. Each one a question.
Friend or foe?
Reed’s fists clenched at his sides, the tension coiling in his chest. Whatever game was being played, standing still wasn’t an option. He turned back to the desk, his eyes narrowing on the last message: Keep moving to the light.
The phrase haunted him. It wasn’t just cryptic—it was a challenge.
He remembered the flight to Vienna, the cryptic message: Move only in the light. But in a world where every shadow hid a secret and every truth was wrapped in lies, what did the light even look like? And now, he was being told to Keep moving in the light.
“Who are you?” Reed muttered, his voice low and tight, as though speaking the words might summon an answer. Silence pressed back at him.
“Keep moving to the light.” He repeated, testing the words, as if they might unlock something more concrete. A clue. A direction. Anything?
His fingers strummed against the desk. “Let’s see what the light reveals.” Reed started reasoning the situation. He wasn’t alone in this. Maybe the team could help—after all, they knew nothing about the secret message he’d received at the golf course in Cabo. It was time they figured all of this out, he thought to himself.
Reed opened a secure connection on Zoom and sent a message to the team. His face appeared on the screen, eyes burning with focus. It was their first coordinated meeting since leaving Cabo, Mexico. Each member dialed in from their own corner of the world, their screens arranged in a grid—different places, same purpose. Behind Reed, a map of Manhattan and a schematic of The Darkroom—PPI’s impenetrable fortress—were pinned to the wall.
“This is it. We’ve been playing defense long enough.” Reed’s voice was steady, deliberate. He let the weight of the moment settle before continuing. “As I was leaving Cabo, I was handed a message by one of the locals. Just five words. The message said, ‘Keep moving to the light’.
Kranch frowned and spoke up first. “What does that mean?”
Carter came next, “Better question—how many of these cryptic messages are you gonna get?”
Finally, Grimes leaned into the screen, his voice quieter, more cautious. “And how did they even know you were there? That’s what’s got me.”
Reed began to explain in his normal, controlled and calming voice. “Kranch, ‘moving to the light’ means we keep pushing. We don’t back off—we drag the truth into the open, where Barry can’t hide. Carter, I’ve gotten at least six of these messages now, and every single one has put us a step closer to Barry and exposing PPI. Grimes…” He hesitated for a second, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I was careful. We were all careful. No one should’ve known we were there. And yet… someone did.”
He let that hang for a moment before pressing on. “Look, weird or not, this message is telling us to move forward. So that’s exactly what we’re gonna do. We infiltrate PPI. We plant those streaming server devices. And we bring Barry into the light.”
Reed directed his next comments to Carter, “Did you get the server devices in and ready?”
Carter’s screen lit up, his voice steady and firm. He leaned back in his chair, the faint glow of framed photography awards reflecting in the background. “Yes, of course, I have them. A live broadcast of incriminating evidence from inside The Darkroom during Barry’s SYNC presentation—I can picture it now. Beautiful! But I’ll say it again: it’s ambitious, even for us.”
“Ambitious,” Reed agreed. “But necessary. Barry’s empire is built on secrecy and manipulation. If we hit him live, in front of the world—it won’t just strip away his armor; it’ll bury him. It’s the perfect stage.”
Kranch’s feed flickered on as he began to talk, his cluttered workshop framed by scattered tools and rolled-up blueprints. He tapped a stylus against his tablet, and said: “You guys know I have a knack for making the impossible happen. I’ve been planning exactly how we could plant streaming devices in PPI’s servers. I mean, it isn’t just risky—it’s borderline suicide. Facial recognition, heat sensors, full surveillance grids. If we so much as breathe wrong, they’ll know we’re there.”
Grimes, surrounded by the soft glow of blinking monitors in his garage, smirked faintly. “Once the devices are in place at PPI, I’ll take it from there. The stream can be discreetly inserted directly into SYNC’s central systems. When Barry takes the stage, we’ll activate the feed whenever we’re ready. We’ll broadcast every single piece of evidence from PPI to SYNC’s audience—and beyond. Trust me, no one’s coming back from this.”
Carter began to speak, his skepticism clear. “And the evidence? What exactly are we showing?”
Reed picked up a folder from the edge of his desk, holding it briefly before setting it back down. “We’ve got enough to start: the images of Barry with the weaponized lens, the audio recording of his assassination plan, and the files tying him to the hit on Kessler. But we’re not stopping there.” He leaned closer to the camera, his voice dropping slightly. “The Darkroom isn’t just PPI’s nerve center. It’s their graveyard. Hidden archives, sealed records—things Barry’s buried so deep, no one’s supposed to find them. We take everything we can.”
Kranch frowned, his face set. “Breaking in is one thing. Getting out alive? That’s another story. We’re walking into the lion’s den, Reed.”
Reed met Kranch’s gaze through the screen, unflinching. “That’s why we plan it perfectly. Barry will be in Las Vegas for SYNC, along with half of his key personnel. Security will still be tight, but it’s the best window we’ll ever get.”
Carter leaned forward, his expression grim. “And if something goes sideways?”
Reed’s mind doubled down. “Then we adapt. But we don’t back down. Not now. Not ever.”
For a second, the line went silent, the weight of the plan settling over them like a thick fog.
Grimes broke it first, a small grin tugging at his lips. “High-stakes infiltration of an impenetrable fortress? Sounds like a normal Tuesday.”
Kranch exhaled, nodding reluctantly. “If we pull this off, Barry won’t know what hit him for sure.”
Reed’s gaze moved across the grid of faces, lingering on each of them. “We’re not just doing this for Kessler, or for ourselves. We’re doing this to end Barry’s empire—once and for all.”
He paused. “We move in 12 hours. Kranch meet me in New York. Carter stay put in front of your computer, we’ll need to confirm these devices will work in real time. Grimes, get SYNC ready, you know what to do. Team, be ready.”
The screens blinked to black as the call ended. Reed leaned back in his chair, the hum of the quiet room pressing in around him. His gaze shifted to the map of The Darkroom pinned on the wall. He traced a finger over its edges, his thoughts running over the plan again, testing every angle.
12 hours later in New York, Reed adjusted the brim of his cap, the gray uniform of a maintenance worker doing little to ease the knot in his chest as he and Kranch entered The Darkroom’s lobby. The building was all sharp lines and reflective surfaces, a fortress disguised as modern architecture. They carried toolkits, moving with deliberate ease—blending into the hum of early-morning routine.
“Remember,” Kranch muttered under his breath, voice low. “We’re invisible. Maintenance gets overlooked. Stick to the script, and let me talk.”
Reed nodded, shifting his grip on the toolkit. To anyone watching, it held nothing but wrenches and screwdrivers. Hidden inside, though, were streaming devices capable of pulling PPI’s empire apart.
The first checkpoint loomed—a pair of security guards scanning IDs and bags.
“Morning,” Kranch said casually, handing over their fabricated credentials.
One guard took the IDs, barely glancing before scanning them into the system. Reed shifted, feigning the disinterest of someone bored with manual labor as Kranch filled the silence.
“Big glitch in the sub-basement,” Kranch said. “Power’s acting up. You know how it is—everything works fine until it doesn’t.”
The guard smirked, handing back the IDs. “Ain’t that the truth. Go ahead.”
Reed exhaled quietly as they passed, but halfway to the elevators, his pulse spiked. Ahead, at the next checkpoint, a familiar face stood waiting.
“Duenkel,” Reed murmured, his voice tight. “Barry’s enforcer. Right side. He’ll know me.”
Kranch didn’t glance over, didn’t slow. Instead, he adjusted his pace, sliding just enough between Reed and Duenkel to shield him. “Follow my lead.”
The second checkpoint. Duenkel’s gaze snapped onto them immediately, suspicion sharpening the lines of his face.
“Morning,” Kranch said briskly, flashing the ID again. “Sub-basement. Power issues.”
Duenkel’s eyes lingered on Reed, narrowing. “What’s his name?”
Reed froze.
Kranch shrugged, unbothered. “He’s my helper. New guy. Doesn’t talk much. I told him to let me handle the chatter.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Not much of a people person, if you know what I mean.”
“Helper, huh?” Duenkel’s tone dripped skepticism.
Kranch flashed the ID again, his voice sharpening. “Look, we’re just trying to fix your systems before you’ve got a blackout on your hands. You wanna call this in, or can we do our job?”
The pause was ice-cold. Reed’s heart hammered in his chest. Finally, Duenkel waved them through, though his eyes followed them all the way to the elevator bank.
Inside the elevator, Reed jabbed the button for the lower levels. His voice was low and sharp. “That was too close.”
Kranch grinned faintly, unshaken. “Nah. People love a good excuse to stop caring.”
Reed smirked despite himself. “I’ll give you that one. But Duenkel’s not forgetting this.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Kranch adjusted the strap on his toolkit. “By the time he figures out who we are, it’ll be too late.”
The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. As they stepped into the narrow, humming server room, Reed’s focus sharpened.
The first streaming device was small and unassuming, disguised as a maintenance component. Kneeling beside the panel, Reed worked quickly, his hands steady. He slid the device into place, its magnetic clasp locking tight.
“Done,” he whispered.
Kranch scanned their handheld monitor. “It’s live. Signal’s clean.”
A sharp beep from the server froze them both.
Reed’s stomach dropped. The monitor flashed: Anomaly detected: Server 3A.
“Silent alert,” Kranch muttered, his voice dark. “We’ve got maybe sixty seconds.”
“Move. Now.”
Reed shoved the tools into his bag, and they slipped out the door just as approaching footsteps echoed down the hall. Ducking into a maintenance shaft, they crouched in the shadows as two PPI officers passed, flashlights sweeping.
“That was close,” Kranch whispered.
“Too close,” Reed agreed, voice tight. “But it’s done. Let’s move.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The halls were dim, labyrinthine, every sound amplified. Their footsteps were soft but deliberate as they approached the encrypted communications server.
Reed reached it first, kneeling to expose the core. The second device—a transmitter capable of bypassing PPI’s encryption—slid into place.
“Thirty seconds,” Kranch warned, his eyes scanning the corridor.
“Got it,” Reed said, locking the transmitter into place. The green light blinked to life. “Done.”
Their final target was the central monitoring station. Cameras lined the corridor, and two guards blocked the door.
“We need a diversion,” Kranch whispered.
Reed pointed upward to a maintenance shaft. “Give me a minute.”
He climbed silently, maneuvering through the shaft until he reached a utility panel. With one flick of the switch, the lights in a nearby corridor began to flicker, and the cameras lining the hallway went dark. In the distance, a faint alarm beeped, barely audible over the hum of the building.
“Disturbance in Corridor 5C,” a guard muttered into his radio. “Checking it out.”
The moment they moved, Kranch gave Reed a thumbs-up. Together, they slipped into the monitoring station.
Reed worked fast, planting the final device on the monitoring hub. This was the anchor—the connection linking all the others to Grimes’s secure server at SYNC.
Kranch stood by the door, a stun baton hidden in his grip. “You good?”
“Almost.” Reed snapped the device into place. The blinking stabilized. “We’re live.”
Footsteps approached. Reed grabbed his bag, his voice tight. “Go.”
They slipped out the back exit just as the guards returned, unaware of the breach.
Once they were clear, Kranch let out a quiet laugh. “Three devices. Zero alarms, sorta. We might just survive this.”
Reed’s expression stayed serious, his voice low. “If we keep this up, we’ll do more than survive. We’ll finish this.”
Reed and Kranch waited patiently to see if all their hard work inside the Darkroom would pay off. The server devices were in place, but were they working? Would Carter gain access to the supercomputers? Would the vulnerabilities they installed work, or had all of this been a waste of time? Reed and Kranch could only hope.
While waiting for the streaming devices to fully integrate with PPI’s servers, Carter’s fingers flew across the keyboard of his computer back at his office, the glow of his monitors reflecting in his focused eyes. Lines of code streamed across one screen while fragments of Barry’s SYNC presentation flickered on the other. The trigger devices Reed and Kranch had planted had begun punching through deeper layers of PPI’s encryption, peeling back Barry’s meticulous plans one file at a time.
“What have you got?” Reed’s voice crackled through the secure channel.
Carter paused, stroking his chin with his hand as he scanned the screens. “Barry’s not just delivering a keynote. He’s orchestrating a power play. The slides are layered—on the surface, it’s corporate buzz: growth, innovation, global reach. But dig deeper, and you see the real message.”
“What message?” Kranch’s voice cut in, sharp.
Carter clicked through several slides, highlighting specific sections. “Subtle blackmail. Each story is just personal enough to remind key PPI members who holds the reins. Barry isn’t persuading them—he’s controlling them.”
Reed leaned toward his own monitor, his expression hardening. “And his contingencies?”
Carter hesitated, his voice grim. “That’s where it gets worse. Barry’s prepped false narratives to deploy if there’s any disruption—leaks, doctored data, accusations of rogue sabotage. Guess who the scapegoats are?”
“Us,” Kranch said flatly.
“Correct. He’s also planted operatives at SYNC to intercept suspicious activity. Everything points to us as rogue agents.”
Reed sat back, his mind racing. Barry wasn’t just anticipating resistance—he was counting on it, using it as another layer of his web.
“We won’t outpace all of this,” Carter added, typing furiously. “The trigger devices bought us access, but they also bought Barry time. Two minutes, maybe less—that’s our window to block whatever he’s planning at SYNC. After that…”
“After that, we lose,” Reed finished. “Barry’s playing a long game, but he doesn’t know we’re already inside. Those two minutes are our chance. We take it, or we walk away with nothing.”
Kranch frowned. “And what exactly do we do in two minutes? Pull the plug on his whole presentation?”
“No,” Reed replied, his gaze sharpening. “We let him play his hand. Then we show the cards he doesn’t want anyone to see. If we shut him down too early, he’ll spin it as sabotage. If we time it right, we’ll expose him before he can react.”
Carter nodded, his hands still flying. “I’ll keep digging. The trigger devices let me pull data, but the deeper I go, the harder it gets. Barry has got the worst of it locked up tight. If I can crack it…”
“Do what you can,” Reed said. “But if you can’t crack it in time, we move with what we have. No second chances.”
Kranch’s usual smirk was gone, replaced by something darker. “Barry’s got operatives watching every angle. If they spot us—”
“They won’t,” Reed interrupted. “We’ll stay in the light, just like the message said. If Barry wants to hide in the shadows, fine. We’ll shine a light so bright he won’t escape it.”
Carter paused, his eyes flicking toward the camera. “Reed, this is a long shot. Even for us.”
With his voice steady Reed said: “It’s the only shot we’ve got.”
The line fell silent, the weight of the mission pressing heavy on all of them. Finally, Carter’s voice broke through. “All right. Let’s make it count.”
Reed exhaled, nodding to himself. “Now we just have to get out of here.”
Ahead, the final turn loomed—the loading dock doors and freedom just beyond.
“Almost there,” Kranch murmured.
But Reed’s neck prickled. He glanced back and froze. A PPI operative had stopped mid-step, his gaze locked on them. Reed’s stomach dropped as the man’s hand moved to his radio.
“He’s made us,” Reed hissed.
“Keep moving,” Kranch replied, sharply.
“Hey!” the operative barked, his suspicion hardening into certainty.
Before Reed could respond, the fire door slammed open. An alarm blared as sunlight spilled into the hallway, cutting through the silence.
“Go!” Kranch shouted.
They bolted for the alley. Behind them, shouts echoed as more operatives spilled out from side entrances.
“We’re pinned,” Reed said, glancing left and right.
“Not yet,” Kranch shot back.
Their earpieces crackled to life. Carter’s voice cut through the chaos, steady and controlled. “I’ve got you. Hold tight.”
Reed didn’t have time to ask what that meant. As they sprinted toward the street, every traffic light in a five-block radius blinked green at once.
It was as if the entire city surged forward. Horns blared. Engines roared. Traffic gridlocked in seconds as cars flooded the intersections.
Reed and Kranch ducked through the chaos, weaving between stalled vehicles. Operatives scrambled, shouting into radios, but the mess Carter had orchestrated bought Reed and Kranch the precious seconds they needed.
They slipped into an alley, out of sight. Kranch leaned against the wall, catching his breath. “Carter, remind me to buy you dinner.”
Carter’s voice came through, smug. “You’ll owe me more than dinner when this is done.”
Reed stood at the alley’s edge, watching operatives struggle through gridlocked streets. His shoulders relaxed, but only slightly.
“The Architect doesn’t just build plans,” he muttered, his voice low. “He builds traps.”
Kranch looked over. “What was that?”
Reed shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the chaos. Barry’s hand was everywhere, every move planned to the letter.
“Come on,” Reed said finally, adjusting the strap of his bag. “We’re not out yet.”
Kranch pushed off the wall. “Where to?”
Reed’s gaze hardened. “First, somewhere safe. Then we dismantle Barry, one piece at a time.”
They slipped into the labyrinth of city streets, leaving the chaos behind.
While Reed and Kranch were escaping PPI headquarters, back in Tulsa Barry stood in the center of a cavernous studio, conference table tucked into a corner, arms crossed, as a fancy Hollywood director paced in front of him. Massive screens lined the walls, test footage and animations flickering across them. The air buzzed with energy—technicians adjusting lights, sound engineers testing levels, and the barely audible hum of orchestral music playing from a speaker overhead.
“Mr. Cox,” the director said, his hands gesturing theatrically as he spoke. “This isn’t just a keynote. It’s a production. The audience needs to feel like they’re witnessing history.”
Barry’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “That’s exactly what they’ll be witnessing.”
The director nodded eagerly, flipping through his notes. “I’m thinking dramatic lighting to set the tone—sharp beams, controlled shadows. We’ll use cinematic visuals—slow pans, sweeping shots—to showcase your achievements. And the music? Something grand, orchestral. Subtle at first, then building to a crescendo when you take the stage. It’ll be unforgettable.”
Barry raised an eyebrow. “And the transitions?”
“Seamless,” the director assured him. “Each segment will flow perfectly into the next—milestones, triumphs, the future. It will be a story that cements your leadership—when you speak, everyone will listen. The narrative is designed to make you undeniable. You’ll command the room.”
Barry turned toward the massive screen, where an early mockup of the presentation played—a sequence of glowing words spelling out Leadership. Vision. Influence. before fading into shots of sleek, state-of-the-art photography gear and globe-spanning maps. Barry’s voice, pre-recorded, boomed across the room, delivering carefully curated soundbites:
“PPI doesn’t just set the standard. We are the standard.”
Barry’s smile widened as the director paused the playback, turning expectantly toward him.
“It’s good,” Barry said, his tone sharp. “But not good enough. The lighting needs to hit harder. I want shadows that make me the center of focus. Make it dramatic, cinematic. Every single frame needs to remind them who I am. When they walk out of SYNC, I want my name on everyone’s lips.”
The director scribbled notes, nodding furiously. “Understood. Perfection—no exceptions.”
Barry’s gaze hardened. “There’s no room for anything less. SYNC will be the moment that solidifies everything we’ve built—PPI’s public dominance and my control behind the scenes. This isn’t just about me; it’s about influence that spans industries, nations, decades.”
His voice grew quieter, but the intensity lingered. “They need to believe in me, and more importantly, they need to fear what happens without me.”
The director swallowed, sensing the weight of Barry’s words. “We’ll get it right. Trust me.”
Barry gave a curt nod, but his attention was already drifting back to the massive screens. Trust. It was a word he seldom used, and rarely meant.
For Barry, SYNC wasn't just another event—it was his empire's crowning jewel. Every pixel, note, and pause had to be flawless.
But as the technicians adjusted spotlights and the director barked orders to his team, Barry’s overconfidence began to show. He waved off an assistant wanting to talk about operational updates. When a security report came through his phone—routine surveillance alerts—he barely glanced at it before silencing the notification.
“These details can wait,” Barry muttered, eyes fixed on the dazzling test visuals of his entrance. “Nothing matters more than this presentation.”
Around him, the studio buzzed with activity, but cracks were beginning to form in Barry’s armor of control. His focus had narrowed, his vision consumed by the grandeur of SYNC. Barry wasn’t watching the shadows.
He sat back in his seat at the studio, the hissing of studio lights in the background as he scrolled through presentation notes on his tablet. The grand SYNC production was coming together perfectly—no detail overlooked, no frame out of place. He allowed himself a small smile, the satisfaction of a man in complete control.
Just then, his phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a new message. No sender, no subject—just a single line:
“Even stars burn out and become dark.”
Barry’s brow furrowed as he read it. He turned the phone in his hand, as if a different angle might reveal more. The words were again cryptic, vaguely threatening, but more than that—unnecessary. Barry had no patience for games.
“Another troll,” he muttered, swiping the screen to lock the phone. “Or someone trying too hard to be clever.”
He tossed the phone onto the table in front of him and returned his attention to the tablet, his mind already moving past the message. His fingers swiped through slide transitions and lighting notes, every detail of the SYNC presentation a carefully calibrated step toward his domination of the room—and beyond.
But for a split second, the words lingered. Even stars burn out.
Barry’s lips pressed. It wasn’t that he feared the message; he simply found it annoying. Distractions like this had no place in his world. If his opponents thought they could rattle him with ominous one-liners, they were more desperate than he’d realized.
“They’re grasping,” he muttered, brushing the thought aside. If anything, the message only solidified his belief—he’d already won. His opponents were scrambling in the dark. Let them send riddles and warnings; he had the spotlight.
Barry stood at the head of the conference table surrounded by the SYNC planning team. Mockups of his keynote presentation flickered on the oversized screen. His gaze lingered on the visuals—tweaked cinematic transitions, adjusted bold graphics, and carefully scripted soundbites showcasing his achievements. Every frame dripped with even more authority, his authority.
“Seamless,” Barry said finally, his tone louder than normal. “But it needs to hit harder. Stronger visuals on PPI’s global reach. Show dominance, not complacency.”
The Hollywood director cleared his throat, flipping through his notes. “We’ve added a proposed emotional segment—a series of testimonials from key PPI leaders. Personal stories, gratitude for your leadership. It’ll humanize the moment, it will add weight to—”
Barry held up a hand, silencing him. “No.” His voice was calm, but the room stiffened. “I control the message. Every word, every image. I don’t need others speaking for me.” He tapped the table for emphasis. “This isn’t a charity dinner. It’s a statement.”
The director nodded quickly, scribbling notes. “Of course. Your voice will carry the moment.”
Barry sat back down, his focus shifting to the presentation slides once more. It was flawless, exactly as he’d envisioned. Any deviation from his narrative would only muddy the impact. And Barry wasn’t one for compromise.
A junior operative stepped inside hesitantly, clutching a tablet to his chest. His shoes barely made a sound as he approached, his gaze flicking nervously to Barry.
“Sir,” the operative began, his voice careful. “I have the latest encrypted security update for SYNC.”
Barry didn’t look up from his tablet. “Go on.”
The operative cleared his throat. “There are… a few flagged anomalies. Small ones, but worth a closer look.”
Barry’s gaze finally lifted, sharp and impatient. “So, what’s the problem?”
The operative hesitated, glancing down at his screen. “One of the anomalies is a flagged entry earlier today at PPI headquarters. Two men posing as maintenance workers entered the building. Credentials checked out, and nothing appears to be out of place…” He paused, his voice lowering. “But security hasn’t verified their purpose. It’s unusual—”
Barry’s brow twitched, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Unusual?”
“Yes, sir,” the operative pressed. “Given the scale of SYNC, it might be prudent to heighten precautions—review entry logs, double-check clearance levels, ensure—”
Barry cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Heighten precautions? For what?” He leaned back in his chair, exhaling in faint amusement. “Two men with toolkits? Maintenance workers? And what—now you think they’re spies? Saboteurs?”
The operative shifted awkwardly. “I’m not suggesting that, sir, but—”
Barry let out a humorless chuckle, his voice laced with condescension. “Listen carefully. I’ve accounted for everything. Every variable. Every possibility. We’re operating a fortress here—not a neighborhood coffee shop. This isn’t amateur hour.”
The operative looked as if he wanted to press the issue, but Barry’s gaze froze him in place. After a long silence, Barry extended a hand. “The report.”
The operative handed over the tablet and, with a stiff nod, retreated quickly from the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Barry with just his thoughts.
He scrolled through the report lazily, the flagged anomalies barely warranting a glance. The maintenance worker entry was a blip—noise against the backdrop of a flawless operation. He locked the tablet and tossed it onto the table with a dull thud.
"Routine noise," Barry muttered. "Nothing more."
The director looked up from his notes, his expression uncertain. "Sir, after this last set of tweaks, what do you think of the presentation, lighting, transitions…?"
Barry held up his hand and halted the director in mid-sentence. He buttoned his jacket and said: "It’s perfect!"
He crossed the room to where a lectern had been set up for rehearsal. Sliding his notes onto the podium, Barry surveyed the space as if it were already filled with SYNC’s elite attendees. This was his moment, his triumph, and nothing—not whispers of anomalies, not panicked junior operatives—would tarnish it.
The lights dimmed. Music swelled softly in the background—an orchestral rise that matched Barry’s practiced timing. He gripped the edges of the lectern, his posture exuding authority as he began.
“Leadership is not given; it is earned.”
His voice carried through the large studio room, steady and commanding. Each line of his keynote landed perfectly, rehearsed to the point of perfection.
But beyond the brilliance of the production, faint cracks lurked. A monitor flickered briefly in the far corner, and a slight distortion ran through the sound system—imperceptible to anyone not looking for it. Barry didn’t notice. He was focused on his performance, his vision, his rise.
As he delivered the final line, Barry’s smile returned, smooth and self-assured. “SYNC isn’t the future. It’s myfuture.”
The music peaked, then faded to silence.
For a long moment, Barry stood at the lectern, soaking in the imagined applause, the triumphant energy of his own making. To him, everything was perfect.
But behind the polished veneer of control, unseen chaos stirred. The cracks in his empire were spreading—quiet and deliberate—and the storm gathering just beyond his reach was ready to consume everything he’d built.