The inside of the giant auditorium was nothing but dramatically cinematic.

On the stage, there was a giant ten-inch thick bulletproof glass. When Michael got closer, he realized it wasn't just glass. He read about this material somewhere. It was a special nanometer sized polymer made of a mixture of glass, acrylic, and carbon molecules. The compressed carbon molecules gave the material extreme hardness while the nanometer-sized acrylic and glass provided a resilient formation that mitigated the material's brittle nature. Michael was pretty sure that one square centimeter of this military-grade material costed more than the price of ten days of his meals added together.

Next to the walls of the auditorium stood security guards. Human security guards stood together with droids. The guards were standing so still that they looked like statues. From what Michael had read, this was how the soldiers stood when nations still have their own militaries. Their uniforms and paint formed a black fence of tall and short around the whole auditorium.

Sitting on the most left side of the auditorium were a group of unionists. They were all wearing the unionist armband. Michael couldn't help but sneer a little bit. These unionists were always making their political stances so clear: going as far as using seatings to present their political spectrum. Michael supposedly should be on the left wing as well because of his extreme poverty, but he personally didn't care about politics at all. He wouldn't care about who was in charge or what policies were put in pace — as long as he could stay on his job and get the bread for the day. Oh well, maybe some exceptions could be made if any political party would appreciate his talent, but that never happened.

The unionists were all dressed very cheaply with second handed suits and unaesthetic accessories, but their clothes were all ironed neatly and washed cleanly. The gentlemen and ladies were all behaving with formal etiquette, which gave a mien that highly contrasted the huge blue banners they were holding that were filled with aggressive messages about universal welfare and equality of opportunities. Michael appreciated how they didn't create too much commotion like those extreme unionists out there. 

Then on the right side of the auditorium, it was a completely different sight. The right-wing technologists were sitting firmly, eager to hear the release of a new product that could further elevate their political strength. A lot of them were ArtTech employees, and they were proudly flashing their neatly polished employee badges pinned on their collars and cuffs. Many of them were wearing fancy technological gadgets like enhanced Bracelets or eyepieces. They were not only a demonstration of the technologists' deeply rooted political belief that technology would bring benefit to human beings, but these gadgets also powerfully signaled their prestigious positions in the social hierarchy and their huge aggregates of wealth.

However, the split of seating wasn't just simply based on political spectrum. Hypersphere broke all their past traditions and made a loud presence this time; meanwhile, ArtTech surprisingly allowed them in. Seated at the back rows were the Hypersphere top employees, including their CEO. Some of them wore the unionist armband while some wore those gadgets of the technologists, but they were all huddled together in a group as if their survival and power depended on their unity.

If one had to question Hypersphere's political stance, Michael would say that it was an outlier. Hypersphere was trying to use the technologists' methods to achieve the unionists' goals. Through developing their own artificial intelligence products, they could be a force to counter ArtTech's hegemony and eventually bring about more equality among all the people.

Since private security droids were not allowed in the conference center, Hypersphere brought a few security guards, but judging by the equipments and posture, the Hypersphere guards seemed to be no match against the ArtTech personnels.

Then at the center sat a mix of middle-high class people. Most of them were in the artistic field — entertainers, celebrities, artists, and other people of similar positions that were not yet replaced by artificial intelligence. There were also a group of prominent students. They brought their notetakers and were frantically typing who-knew-what into the holographic screen projected in front of them. They had a few teachers accompanying them, providing useful guidance and explanations. The study of AI is a field with intense academic competition, and the opportunity to come to a conference like this would certainly be a major b uff to the students' grades and experiences.

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Nicholas suddenly interrupted Michael's train of thoughts, "I found our potential threat."

"What? Why? How?" Michael was caught off guard by that sudden statement.

Nicholas pointed with his hand so that the rest of the team could see, "That unionist sitting at the most left column, fifth row from the last. Look at how nervous he is. It is written all across his face. He's feet are tapping the floor extremely quickly. Too quick to be a sign of impatience. It's more like a sign of anxiety. His left hand is keep entering and exiting his pocket without taking anything out. That was probably where his weapon is located over there..."

"And he is sweating. This means two possibilities. One is as you suggested, he is nervous." Michael was the one to interrupt this time. He was so immersed in Nicholas' words that he was saying his deductions out loud. "But that guy is keep wiping his face. You don't sweat from your face when nervous. So the other possibility that he is actually sweating due to the heat."

"Thus the most possible reason is that he has worn a lot more clothing. There are two reasons to that as well. Firstly because more clothing naturally provides more insulation to all kinds of metal scanners and biometric scanners, therefore making it easier to conceal a firearm." Nicholas is lost in thought as well, just directly picking off where Michael has left it.

"And secondly it makes escaping a lot easier. If he is dressed drastically differently underneath, all he needs to do is to take off the outer layer of clothing and put on a wig, a pair of sunglasses, and some fake mustache, and he will look like a completely different person." Michael completed the last part of the deduction.

Nicholas was brought back to reality after Michael's words. "Damn Michael!" he said with a tone showing great surprise, "Never knew you could read people as well."

This might just sound like a normal statement from an outsider's view, but from the few days that Michael had spent with Nicholas, he knew that Nicholas never expressed surprise to anything before. Therefore Michael saw this as a compliment from Nicholas, which was something more than rare.

Michael thus replied a lot more humbly modesty than he usually held. 

"Just something I picked up from street survival. It's nothing compared to your talent." Michael was surprised himself that he would say such nice things, especially to Nicholas. 

The corners of Nicholas' mouth tipped up a little bit. This was the expression that resembled somewhat to a smile. Maybe this was the best that Nicholas could express, but Michael got the message already.

The sounds of piano suddenly came through from the speakers within the walls. Everyone silenced gradually as the lights dimmed gradually. Michael and the team took the seats that were a few columns away from the potential assassin, or terrorist.

People silenced as the sound of piano grew louder. First it was just a thin trickling stream of keys, barely linking with each other. The sounds could be perceived with skeletal clarity, and a dimension of simplicity was presented — not displayed with pretentious extravagancy but with a matter-of-fact modesty that stated the thematic message was there, and its presence was powerful enough to make a statement of its own.

Then the sound began inflecting and amplifying as the assembly of notes grew denser, transforming from the original airy and intangible quality to a more solid and material feeling. The music was no longer vibrations of particles in the air, but it was a union of melody commanded by the emotion of the artist, and it was like matter — real, substantial matter — that were knocking on the immersed audience's eardrums.

The cadence began shifting with the tempo. Sometimes it was loud staccatos of cleanly severed beats that resonated toughly against the walls with a persevering personality, as if a trapped soul was finally given the right and voice to make its declaration to the world. Then a series of keys soothed the ferocity of the pianist and transitioned the timbre to a softer and more cohesive melody. It was a loud storm calming into a drizzle, a prism that refracted burning sunlight into vibrant hues, a collection of ethereal iridescence within a gemstone that transcended the bounds of physical laws and unraveled its own story.

Then the sound began to fade. The audience was mesmerized in the song, in the artist's emotional life that was passionately enunciated on the keyboard. The crowd was completely silent, all afraid that one tiny bit of noise would block out the sound of the piano. The rhythm slowly dispersed. The solid beats began to evaporate, particle by particle, into the vacuum of silence. The song went quieter and quieter, slower and slower, and finally, everything became silent.

The audience was completely silent. They were completely hypnotized. Then a small clapping broke the silence and brought everyone out of the reverie. With sudden realization, the crowd exploded into a thunderous applause that continued on and on. The audience was so ardent, so emotional, and so touched by this song that many of them had sparkles of tears in their eyes as they clapped with a heartfelt zeal — unionists and technologists alike, employees of ArtTech and Hypersphere alike, the poor and wealthy alike. All boundaries of social hierarchy, economic conditions, and political beliefs are dissolved under the unity of the universal language of music.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I hoped you enjoyed our show." Marcus Johnson, the CEO of ArtTech, stepped into the spotlight.