Of all the buildings found within District 7, none could match the sheer scale and grandiose magnitude of the trade center standing at its core. A towering monolith of reflective glass and steel, it loomed over the surrounding structures like a silent colossus, its vast surface catching fragments of light that danced across its polished exterior. The structure cast an immense shadow, stretching in all directions as if swallowing the city beneath it.
The ground floor featured four grand entrances, each leading into a vast lobby bustling with movement. The air was filled with the hushed murmur of executives in tailored suits and the rhythmic clicking of polished shoes against marble. A reception area and café catered to visitors, while towering glass elevators lined the walls, designed to transport guests to any of the 101 upper floors.
Originally, the building had been a hub where industry representatives gathered to negotiate, trade, and establish lucrative agreements. But over time, as industries fell under the grip of the five mega-corporations, the trade center became less of a neutral ground and more of a battlefield of influence. Corporations now competed not with contracts and deals, but through dominance over the very structure itself. Floors 2 through 101 were no longer offices of independent trade but instead prime real estate constantly bought, sold, and fought over. The higher the floor, the greater the status. Only floor 102 stood apart—reserved exclusively for the most elite meetings, its access restricted to those who dictated the very foundations of power within the district.
Zeke, Nolan, Fredric, Antonio, Hanna, and Isaac stepped inside the trade center, their presence drawing subtle glances from passing executives. Isaac trailed anxiously behind, his eyes scanning the towering glass ceilings and immaculate décor. Zeke and Nolan led the way with unwavering confidence, cutting through the sea of workers and bureaucrats with the assured strides of men who belonged. Fredric walked just behind them in stark contrast, his hands lazily folded behind his head, a leisurely swagger in his step. Antonio and Hanna followed closely, their movements precise and deliberate, their expressions betraying a quiet tension over what was to come.
“Good afternoon,” a receptionist greeted them as they approached.
She was a tall, pale woman draped in a sleek, black ornamented suit. Her dark hair was pulled into a flawless bun, not a single strand out of place. Sharp features and piercing eyes lent her an air of quiet authority, as if she had long since learned to mask any reaction to the dealings of powerful men.
“Do you have an appointment with one of the five corporations?” she inquired.
“Yes,” Nolan replied, offering a wink.
A faint flush of color dusted her cheeks, though her expression remained composed. Clearing her throat, she continued, “Currently, of the 100 floors: 26 belong to Koribon, 23 to Novatech, 19 to Heartmend, 15 to Nimid’s, and 12 to Harvest. Which floor would you like to visit?”
Nolan leaned in, resting his elbow against the counter with practiced ease.
“We have an appointment on the 102nd floor,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
The receptionist stiffened slightly, her fingers gliding across her tablet with renewed focus. “I see,” she said, her blush deepening as she scrolled through the records. “Ah, here you are. Prowler, correct?”
“He’s the Prowler,” Nolan gestured toward Zeke. “And I, my darling,” he reached out theatrically, taking her hand in his own, “am Winston.”
The receptionist quickly withdrew her hand, clearing her throat once more. “You may proceed to the elevator.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Nolan threw her a wink before turning on his heel and following the others toward the waiting elevator.
The group stepped inside a circular glass elevator, its transparent walls affording them an unobstructed view of the floors they passed. Encased within a gold-rimmed frame, the elevator climbed at a steady pace, revealing the empty offices claimed as trophies by the mega-corporations. These floors were not used for practical business—most remained unoccupied, purchased solely as a display of dominance.
“Some things never change,” Fredric muttered, his smirk barely visible beneath his mask.
“What are you talking about?” Zeke asked.
“Big old smelly perv has a thing for Asian women,” Fredric quipped, idly tapping the elevator glass.
Hanna chuckled softly.
“Oh, you think this is funny? Just wait. He’s gonna try to hire her, and the worst part is—she’s gonna accept,” Fredric muttered.
“I doubt that,” Hanna said, arms crossed.
“Oh?” Fredric arched an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”
“She doesn’t seem like the type,” Hanna replied coolly.
“She seems like the type that likes money,” Fredric shrugged.
“I’ll bet you 100 credits she won’t,” Hanna challenged, her gaze fiery.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Alright, bet. But I’m telling you, stinky perv will have his way,” Fredric sighed, waving his hand in front of his nose.
“Do you have any idea how much my cologne actually costs?” Nolan scoffed, clearly annoyed.
“Who cares how much it costs if it smells like shit?” Fredric shot back.
“It does not smell like shit!” Nolan clenched his fists. “Does it?” He turned to Zeke.
“I can’t smell it with this mask on,” Zeke replied, avoiding confrontation.
“Then take that thing off your face and smell me!” Nolan barked.
Isaac watched the three Guardians bicker, feeling a strange sense of disbelief. These are some of the strongest contractors in the Undercity? He shook his head, barely suppressing a smirk.
The argument continued until the elevator was suddenly plunged into darkness.
The group fell silent as the elevator jerked to a halt. A moment later, the doors slid open, revealing a vast, circular chamber bathed in artificial daylight. The oval-shaped ceiling above them was lined with hundreds of LED screens, displaying a flawless simulation of a morning sky.
Zeke stepped forward, his breath catching slightly as he gazed upward. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe it was real. The longing within him, the aching desire to see the true sky, pressed against his chest like a weight. Lowering his gaze, he forced the emotion down as his eyes locked onto the five figures seated at a grand glass table. Each one was flanked by at least two bodyguards, their presence casting an unspoken warning.
“I greet the corporate representatives,” Nolan announced, raising his right hand.
Jason Del, the representative of Koribon, stood first. A towering man in his early sixties, he exuded authority in his dark gray suit and scarlet tie. His graying hair was cropped short, his square jaw lined with deep wrinkles and battle-worn scars.
“About time you arrived,” the Novatech representative sneered. He was a balding, overweight man wrapped in an oversized brown-striped suit, his fingers drumming impatiently against the table.
“I’m glad to finally meet the infamous Guardians,” the Heartmend representative added, his voice smooth and deliberate. A man in his late thirties, his tailored white suit fit him perfectly, his blonde hair and piercing blue eyes lending him an air of calculated confidence.
Nimid’s representative remained silent. A man with slicked-back black hair and square glasses, he barely moved, his presence measured, his gaze unreadable.
The Harvest representative leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. A man in his seventies, his thick white mustache curled slightly over his lips. He wore jeans, a yellow plaid shirt, and a white cowboy hat, his expression one of sharp skepticism.
“Why have you called us here?” he asked gruffly.
Zeke stepped forward.
“The Guardian of District 7 greets the representatives.”
The tension in the room thickened as the meeting began.
The Novatech representative scoffed, his pudgy fingers drumming impatiently against the glass table. “Why have you summoned us?”
Zeke took another step forward, his stance unwavering. “I am here to establish a change in leadership within the 7th District.”
The air in the chamber tensed, the subtle shift in posture from the guards behind each representative betraying their silent readiness.
“We are well aware that Ludwig died during the Cradle of Fools,” the Koribon representative stated, his expression unreadable.
“I hope you intend to uphold his arrangements,” the Novatech representative interjected, his tone sharp, as if daring Zeke to disagree.
“I’m afraid not,” Zeke replied, his voice steady. “New arrangements must be put forward.”
A hush fell over the table, eyes narrowing, the weight of his words sinking in.
“What do you mean by that?” the Koribon representative asked, his voice carrying a note of caution.
Zeke exhaled slowly, allowing the moment to stretch before answering. “From this day forward, all gangs within the Undercity will cease to exist. Your corporations will no longer fund them. Instead, you will pay us for protection.”
The reaction was instantaneous.
“What?!” The Novatech representative shot to his feet, his chair scraping against the polished floor as he slammed his palms onto the table.
“Where did this come from?” the Heartmend representative questioned, his blue eyes narrowing.
“The people of the Undercity are hostages to the gangs,” Zeke continued, his voice unfaltering. “They live under the constant threat of violence. We will put an end to that.”
“How touching,” the Novatech representative sneered, his upper lip curling with disdain. “But I can tell you right now—none of that is going to happen.”
The Heartmend representative leaned back in his chair, studying Zeke carefully. “Our corporations have invested far too much,” he mused. “Cutting ties with the gangs means surrendering all influence over the city. That would leave our fate entirely in the hands of the Contractor King.”
The Harvest representative tilted his head slightly. “Does the Contractor King even know about this reckless plan of yours?” he asked, his voice cool, testing.
“Winston Koribon cannot support this initiative,” the Koribon representative added, shaking his head.
At the far end of the table, Nolan remained motionless, his face unreadable, as if lost in deep contemplation.
And then, a shift.
Nimid’s representative, who had thus far remained silent, slowly pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.
“Nimid’s will support this initiative,” he declared, his voice smooth, unwavering.
The reaction was immediate.
One of the gang enforcers standing behind the table stiffened, his expression twisting in fury. “What did you just say?” he hissed, his hands curling into fists.
The Nimid’s representative remained composed, his eyes glancing toward the enforcer with a detached coldness. “I said exactly what I meant,” he replied. “Your services are no longer required.”
The enforcer took a step forward, his jaw tight. “You think you can walk out of here alive after saying that?”
The Nimid’s representative barely moved, only turning his gaze toward Zeke. “I assume I will, considering that from this moment forward, I am under the protection of the Guardians. Isn’t that right?”
Zeke stepped forward, his stance unwavering. “Exactly so.”
Silence gripped the room like a vice.
The enforcer glared at Zeke, nostrils flaring. “Don’t you think you’re overstepping?” he snarled.
Zeke did not blink. “No.”
The enforcer’s lips curled into a sneer, but before he could speak, the Novatech representative slammed his fists against the table.
“Who do you think you are?” he roared. “Without the five corporations, the Undercity wouldn’t even exist! Now call your foolish king here so he can answer for his reckless subordinates!”
A beat of silence followed his outburst.
Zeke merely tilted his head, watching the man carefully, unshaken.
“I am the one answering,” he finally said, his voice calm, firm, absolute.
Another silence fell over the chamber, but this one was different—charged, waiting, ready to explode.
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