In a sleek, high-tech laboratory brimming with advanced equipment and screens, Hart, a genius scientist, hunches over a futuristic gadget. The lab, bathed in the cool glow of bright LED lights and adorned with holographic displays of complex equations and schematics, hums with quiet efficiency. Outside the large windows, the city sprawls—a mix of gleaming skyscrapers and weathered, older buildings.
Hart’s concentration is abruptly shattered by a cacophony of voices from the hallway. The boss's raised tones cut through the lab’s serene atmosphere. Hart tries to block out the commotion, but his focus wavers. Frustration mounting, he stands up and strides into the hallway. There, the boss is nearly shouting at one of the other scientists.
Hart leaned against the cool metal frame of the door, eyes narrowing as he scanned the commotion in the hallway. His impatience was evident in the tight set of his jaw and the twitch of his fingers, still holding the metal tools from his workbench. The argument between the boss and the scientist, a young woman in a lab coat, was a cacophony of frustration and disappointment.
“You can’t just keep pushing deadlines like this!” the scientist protested, her voice tinged with desperation.
“The project demands it,” the boss retorted, his voice dropping to a tense murmur upon spotting Hart. “Hart, glad you could join us. Any progress on the prototype?”
Hart’s gaze shifted sharply to the boss; his expression momentarily softened before turning back to a mask of professional detachment. “Progress is relative,” he said, his voice clipped but measured. “The prototype is functional, but the enhancements require further refinement.”
The young scientist shot Hart a look of exasperation. “We’re all under pressure here, Hart. Some of us are trying to meet your impossible standards.”
Hart’s eyes flickered with a hint of disdain before he smoothed his expression. “Standards are not impossible if one understands the cost of excellence.”
The boss, catching the subtle tension, cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss this in private. Hart, could you come with me?”
Hart followed the boss down a sleek corridor, his footsteps echoing in the silent expanse. As they entered the secluded office, the boss shut the door firmly behind them. Hart’s gaze drifted back to the cityscape visible through the tall windows, where neon lights reflected off the glass, creating a spectacle of modernity clashing with the remnants of the past.
The boss leaned against his desk; his tone more relaxed but still laced with a note of caution. “You’re pushing everyone hard, Hart. I know your work is groundbreaking, but remember, a strained team won’t produce its best.”
Hart’s lips curled into a slight smirk. “Sometimes, the most valuable breakthroughs come from the pressure of adversity. Humanity’s progress isn’t born from comfort.”
The boss’s gaze lingered on Hart, a mixture of admiration and unease in his eyes. “Just don’t forget that balance is key. We need both progress and the people who make it possible.”
Hart’s gaze remained fixed on the city; his expression unreadable. “Progress requires sacrifice. I believe it’s a necessary trade-off.”
As he turned to leave, the boss’s eyes followed him with a thoughtful frown. The corridor outside was quiet again, the earlier argument now a distant murmur. Hart’s presence was marked by an undeniable air of command and detachment, a man driven by an unyielding belief in the cost of advancement.
Hart’s stride was purposeful, his mind already dismissing the petty concerns of his colleagues. The lab’s sterile ambiance was a stark contrast to the chaotic debate that had just ensued. As he approached his office, the faint hum of machinery and the rhythmic beeping of the lab’s systems created a monotonous soundtrack to his thoughts.
The large windows in his lab overlooked the cityscape, a sprawling metropolis where futuristic skyscrapers intertwined with the remnants of an older era. The view was a daily reminder of progress, of how far humanity had come—and how much further it needed to go.
Hart paused for a moment, surveying his domain. His gaze landed on the prototype—a sleek device encased in a protective glass box at the center of his workstation. It was the culmination of months of relentless work, a piece of technology he believed would push the boundaries of human achievement. His pride in the creation was palpable; it was more than just a gadget—it was a symbol of his relentless pursuit of advancement. Hart’s gaze lingered on the prototype, its sleek form gleaming under the lab’s bright lights. A sudden shadow fell across the device, causing him to look up sharply.
The window he had just gazed out of was now being breached. A group of masked thieves, their movements swift and precise, began to force it open. Panic surged through Hart as he fumbled for the emergency button hidden beneath his desk. His fingers met cold, unresponsive metal—an intentional sabotage. The realization struck him with a jolt: his defenses had been compromised.
The thieves moved with practiced efficiency, shattering the glass and climbing into the lab. They were silent but for the faint sounds of their gear clinking and the muted thud of their boots. Hart’s heart pounded as he watched helplessly. His mind raced, trying to anticipate their next move, but his movements were sluggish, constrained by the paralysis of shock.
One thief headed straight for the prototype, quickly detaching it from its secured station. Another began rifling through Hart’s desk drawers, gathering documents and small gadgets. The final member of the group kept watch, eyes darting toward the hallway as if expecting reinforcements.
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Hart’s attempts to use his phone were fruitless—its signal had been cut. His futile calls for help were met with silence. The thieves worked with precision, their movements coordinated and silent, each action indicating that this was a meticulously planned operation.
The theft was over as quickly as it had begun. The thieves disappeared through the broken window, leaving the lab in disarray. Hart stood amidst the chaos, his face pale and eyes wide with a mixture of anger and helplessness. His chest tightened as he scanned the mess—broken glass, overturned equipment, and, most painfully, the gaping absence of his prototype. His mind raced, filled with disbelief and bitter realization that his creation, the culmination of months of work, was gone in an instant.
Hart’s hands trembled, not out of fear, but out of pure, unfiltered rage. He clenched his fists, breathing heavily, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions threatening to burst forth. His eyes fixed on the window, half-expecting the thieves to return, his body locked in a desperate stillness. His pride, so deeply intertwined with his work, had taken a brutal hit.
Before he could even begin to collect himself, the door to the lab swung open. The boss stormed in, his face a mixture of anger and concern, though something softer flickered in his expression as he saw Hart standing there, defeated. The noise of his heavy footsteps filled the room, but the words he had prepared seemed to die on his lips as he surveyed the wreckage.
“Hart… what happened here?” the boss finally asked, though the tone of the question was not as accusatory as it might have been.
Hart turned toward him, his expression hardening as the cold mask of control returned to his features. “It was stolen,” he said flatly, his voice rough. “They got in through the window. Disabled the alarms, jammed the emergency systems… everything.” His gaze flickered to the boss for a moment, then away, as if embarrassed by the admission.
The boss stepped forward, his polished shoes crunching on broken glass. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around. “Hart, this is… this is bad. Real bad. You know what this project means.”
Hart’s jaw tightened, anger simmering just below the surface. “I know exactly what it means,” he muttered. “No one cares more about it than I do.”
The boss hesitated, his usually stern demeanor faltering. He shifted on his feet, lowering his voice. “Listen… you’re the best we’ve got, Hart. No one’s questioning that. But…” He paused, glancing over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to walk in. His tone softened, laced with an uneasiness that hadn’t been there before. “There are people upstairs who want to make an example of this. They’re already asking questions, and I’m… I’m in a tough spot here.”
Hart’s eyes narrowed, cutting through the thin veil of empathy. “You mean they want to make an example of me.”
The boss winced, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not that simple. They’ve got their eyes on all of us. You’ve got to understand, it’s not just your reputation on the line here, Hart. This could fall on me too. If I don’t take action, they’ll see it as weakness, and I can’t—” He stopped, exhaling deeply. “I can’t afford that right now.”
Hart’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So, you’re going to throw me under the bus.”
The boss’s expression darkened, but the sadness remained in his eyes. “I don’t want to do this. But they’re not going to leave me much choice. I have to recommend suspension, at the very least.”
Silence hung between them, thick and heavy. Hart’s fists clenched tighter, but he remained still, his mind already calculating his next move. Being pushed out now would mean losing everything—not just the prototype, but his standing, his future. He wouldn’t allow it.
“I’ll fix this,” Hart said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, cold. “I’ll get it back. You don’t need to involve them.”
The boss raised an eyebrow. “Hart—”
“I’m not asking,” Hart interrupted, stepping forward, his eyes flashing with the intensity of his conviction. “I’ll take care of it. You can tell them you’ve handled the situation internally.”
The boss hesitated again, clearly torn. He knew Hart’s brilliance—everyone did. But this… this was beyond a simple mistake. “You’ve got two days,” he said after a long pause, his voice soft but firm. “Two days to show some progress. After that, I won’t have a choice.”
Hart didn’t respond. He simply turned his gaze back to the broken window, his mind already racing with possibilities. As the boss slowly backed out of the room, leaving Hart to the wreckage, the cold determination settled deeper in his chest.
In a dimly lit warehouse far from the city’s gleaming skyline, a clandestine meeting was taking place. The flickering light from a single hanging bulb illuminated three figures gathered around a table cluttered with stolen gadgets and documents.
One of the thieves, a masked figure with a confident posture, moved with a practiced efficiency, arranging the stolen items with meticulous care. As he removes the mask, it is revealed: It is De. His face, marked by determination and a hint of frustration, is set in a grim expression.
Another thief, a man with an aura of casual indifference, leans against the wall, his cigarette burning with a slow ember. The same drifter who saved the fallen man when De and Cav were fighting with words, Rif, takes a long drag before exhaling slowly. His gaze remains detached, his demeanor reflecting a blend of disinterest and pragmatic focus.
The third figure, a stranger to both De and Rif, works quietly in the background. His movements are precise and silent, his intentions hidden behind a veil of anonymity.
De finally looks up, his gaze meeting Rif’s. “We have everything we need,” De says, his voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction. “But we must act quickly. The prototype is crucial for our plans.”
Rif’s eyes narrow as he assesses the stolen items. “And what’s next?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of detachment.
De’s face hardens with resolve. “With this technology, we can gain the power we need. Power that I’ve always been denied.”
De stands in the dimly lit workshop, his eyes fixed on the prototype. The sleek device hums softly, casting a faint glow in the otherwise dark room. As he adjusts the settings, he activates a series of controls, causing the device to emit a soft, melodic sound.
The melody, faint but distinct, fills the room. It’s the same one found on the paper, its notes resonating with a strange sense of foreboding. De watches with a mix of satisfaction and contemplation as the device’s scanning function begins to work.
He moves to a console displaying a map of the area. Small blips appear, each representing a person within the device’s range. The radius is modest—a few hundred meters—but the blips are sufficient to illustrate the device’s primary function.
De’s fingers hover over the keyboard as he inputs commands. The device’s range is limited for now, but he’s aware of its potential. The melody is more than just a signal; it’s a tool for pinpointing those who might need his intervention. Those suffering, those in despair—this device will help him find them.
Rif smirks slightly, his expression revealing a hint of intrigue. “And what about Hart? He’s not going to take this lightly.”
De’s eyes flash with a mix of anger and determination. “Let him come. He’s just another obstacle. We’ll deal with him as needed.”
As the three thieves finalize their plans, the scene shifts back to Hart, who, in his dimly lit lab, pours over the details of the theft. The broken window and the scattered remnants of his work are now a catalyst for his revenge.
As the sirens wail faintly in the distance, Hart's gaze drifts to the scattered documents and tools around him. Each item represents a piece of the puzzle he must now piece together. He takes a deep breath, his mind already shifting gears from anger to strategy.