Daniel Clayton grimaced, the acrid bite of scalding coffee searing his taste buds with cruel delight. Cursing softly, he set the ceramic cup onto his mahogany desk with a rueful sigh. It had been years since he'd burned his tongue so carelessly on coffee—a small failure, yet one that weighed heavy on a day already burdened with sorrow.

His gaze meandered around his spartan office, lingering momentarily on a framed photo of himself and his late brother, Tim. A pall of melancholy descended upon him. A year had elapsed since the calamitous events that claimed Tim's life and altered the course of human history. Though some argued the world had improved in the aftermath, the irrefutable reality was that millions had perished.

"Sir, it's time to prepare for your interview," Michael, Daniel's diligent assistant, announced. He stood at the threshold of the room, balancing an open folder in his hands. "Megan Reinhardt and her crew are on-site, and she'll be ready to begin shortly. Have you reviewed your talking points?"

"I don't see why I wouldn't," Daniel snapped, a veneer of indignation hardening his features. "Why wouldn't I recall the talking points about the worst day of my life? The narrative is absurd—animal rights activists broke into our labs and released the subjects. Tim and I were innocent bystanders in the whole ordeal."

Michael sighed, reordering a stack of papers in his folder. "No need for the edge, sir. You helm what's set to become the wealthiest corporation globally."

"All on the back of Tim's genius," Daniel interjected, his voice quivering as he fought back tears. "His intentions were noble; the consequences were anything but."

Over the next several minutes, Michael rigorously grilled Daniel, staging a practice interview to prepare him for curveball questions. Megan Reinhardt had swiftly risen through the journalistic ranks at GGNO, earning a reputation for her audacious, no-holds-barred interviewing style.

A month prior, she'd stunned an executive by brazenly interrogating him about his extramarital affairs. On today, the anniversary of Tim's death, Daniel was wrought with apprehension at the thought of facing her potentially invasive questions.

"We're set, Mr. Clayton," announced a young brunette with a halo of untamed curls, gesturing toward an array of cameras and microphones meticulously arranged in the adjacent room. Daniel nodded and sank into an opulent chair opposite Megan Reinhardt, who greeted him with a disarming smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Clayton. I trust you've perused the talking points my team dispatched last week? Wonderful! We'll commence in about five minutes. May I offer you some coffee?"

A twinge of unease rippled through Daniel at the offer of coffee within the walls of his own fortress. His tongue still smarted from the earlier mishap.

"I think I've had my fill of coffee for the day," he responded, raising a dismissive hand. "Let's proceed when you're ready."

As he settled into the plush chair, the weight of the day's significance gripped him anew. Yet, as the cameras rolled to life, Daniel found a newfound sense of resolve. Today was not just a memorial for his lost brother, but a gauntlet he had to endure and overcome.

"Excellent," Megan affirmed, locking eyes with Daniel as a sense of gravity settled over the room. "Once my director counts us in, I'll make the introduction, and we'll dive right in. Are you comfortable with that?"

A hesitant nod was Daniel's only response; his mouth felt parched, as if every drop of moisture had evaporated in the rising heat of the moment. His burnt tongue felt like a wad of sandpaper in his mouth. A whirlpool of hypothetical scenarios—each one more disastrous than the last—spiraled through his mind.

The director's hands rose in the air, signaling the final countdown. Five seconds that felt like an eternity. Daniel clenched his jaw, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, and fortified himself with a silent mantra: You've got this.

"Good afternoon, viewers!" Megan's voice radiated a composed confidence as her eyes darted from the lens to Daniel. "Today, we have the distinct privilege of speaking with Daniel Clayton, the enigmatic president, co-founder, and CEO of GeneSynth—a company that has incited no small amount of controversy over the last year. How are you feeling today, Mr. Clayton?"

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Summoning a practiced smile—a façade he'd refined through hours of rehearsal in front of a mirror—Daniel responded, "I appreciate the invite, Megan. Today is… significant, for more reasons than one."

"Understandable, considering it marks the anniversary of your brother Tim's passing," Megan cut to the chase. "But we're all eager to hear about GeneSynth's rumored new device that's purported to help alleviate the global calamity. Care to enlighten us?"

Daniel cast a furtive glance at Michael, who returned a subtle nod of affirmation. Reaching into the depths of his tailored jacket, Daniel retrieved an enigmatic gadget. The cameras whirred, capturing this watershed moment in countless pixels.

"This device is my late brother's final masterpiece," Daniel revealed, his voice tinged with emotion he forcibly repressed. "The pathogenic virus afflicting wildlife has given the animals an Achilles' heel—they can now be converted into code and stored in this invention. We're calling it the AniLink."

"Intriguing. Is that name a nod to the term 'AniCode,' which has become the public's colloquial term for these mutated animals?" Megan inquired, her eyes narrowing in curiosity.

"Regrettably, the name AniCode was not create by us, but we find AniLink fitting, given the public's branding," Daniel confirmed, an enigmatic smile pulling at his lips. "Would a live demonstration interest you?"

"Is it secure to perform one here?" Megan's voice wavered, her eyes widening in a blend of anticipation and dread.

"Absolutely," Daniel assured, his voice laced with a semblance of mockery. "Why would I unleash a monstrous entity in such a setting—particularly with cameras rolling?"

Reinhardt hesitated, glancing off-camera for approval from her team. "Our producers green-lighted it. Proceed."

Rising from his seat, Daniel activated the AniLink, pointing it toward an open expanse on the floor. With the tap of a button, an ethereal cerulean light unfurled, crescendoing into a glowing orb that rapidly expanded and solidified into a towering figure: a gorilla, its head ringed in ephemeral flames.

Speechless, Megan sat petrified, her eyes locked onto the imposing creature. Millions had perished in the wake of these mutated animals' rampages, and now one stood mere feet away from her.

"Meet the very creature responsible for the explosion that claimed my brother's life," Daniel declared, reassuming his seat with a sense of perverse satisfaction.

Megan's eyes narrowed, her body visibly tensing as she distanced herself from the intimidating beast. "What safeguards are in place to control this... monstrosity?"

"I offer no guarantees," Daniel admitted, locking eyes with Megan. "Whoever wields the AniLink does share a connection with the AniCode, but these are still wild animals. Volatile. Unpredictable."

The tension in the room was palpable—a taut wire of uncertainty, potential, and unspoken questions. And in that silence, Daniel realized he'd achieved the seemingly impossible: the audacious interviewer, so often the one catching others off-guard, now found herself on unfamiliar terrain.

"Let's revisit that fateful day when this very creature caused your brother's demise," Megan shifted her gaze back to Daniel, seemingly doing her best to ignore the hulking presence of the gorilla. "Your company's narrative is that animal rights activists broke into your lab, releasing the mutated animals. Is that an accurate account?"

"That's what happened," Daniel confirmed, his voice betraying no emotional wavering.

"Intriguing, considering your brother's was the only death reported. There were no other injuries or fatalities. Can you explain?"

Tension coiled through Daniel's body. His eyes darted to Michael, who subtly signaled for him to take a calming breath. Composing himself, Daniel chose his words carefully.

"The enclosures housing the animals were designed to withstand extreme conditions—both physical and environmental. The activists were shielded by these structures. We apprehended them but chose not to press charges."

"Is it because there were no activists to begin with?" Megan pushed, locking eyes with Daniel. She gestured to a monitor beside her. "Would you kindly observe this footage we've recovered from that day?"

Daniel's visage faltered. His astonished expression spoke volumes—more than any words could. Megan activated the video.

As the footage unspooled, a chilling tableau of memories swept over Daniel. The heated disagreement with Tim, the cataclysmic explosion, and the shattering moment when he cradled his dying brother in his arms—all laid bare.

"Tim," he whispered, his voice faltering as tears cascaded down his cheeks.

"Are you aware that the virus afflicting these creatures is airborne? Do you have any idea how many lives your brother's actions have cost? As of last night, the toll stood at fourteen million, five hundred thousand, eight hundred and six. That's a tremendous burden to bear, isn't it?"

"This interview is over! You need to leave, now!" Michael interjected, physically inserting himself between Daniel and Megan.

All Daniel could muster was a choked, "I'm sorry," his words tinged with a sorrow that penetrated the charged atmosphere of the room.

In that fraught silence, Megan realized she'd pierced the impenetrable veneer of a man haunted not only by public catastrophe but also by personal tragedy. Whether this revelation would serve as a reckoning or further deepen the enigma surrounding Daniel Clayton remained to be seen. But for now, the room was thick with the weight of questions unanswered, accountability dodged, and a legacy inextricably entwined with loss and remorse.