By the time I hit my floor, I figured something was definitely up. Normally, the office floor was filled with the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of keyboards, punctuated only by the occasional muted cough or sigh of resignation.
Today, though?
People were actually talking. Whispering in tight clusters, heads bent toward each other like accomplices in some conspiracy.
I bumped into Klein, a wiry guy with a perpetual five o’clock shadow and a face that looked like it belonged in a chain-smoking noir flick. He was leaned back in his chair, feet propped on the edge of his desk, chewing on the end of a stylus like it owed him money.
“Guessing you noticed the extra guards?” he asked, motioning with his head toward the hallway.
“Yeah. Little hard to miss.”
“Big meeting upstairs,” Klein said, lowering his voice and leaning in. “Execs are on edge. Word is someone from Echelon One came in last night. Rumor mill says he brought tech with him. Something big.”
I frowned. Echelon One. Even saying the name felt heavy. Even though the Spire was considered the official Hyperion HQ, Echelon One wasn’t just a tower like the Spire—it was the true nerve center of Hyperion’s entire operation. Nobody knew where it actually was. Some said it floated in the middle of the Black Ocean, a fortress surrounded by waves of automated drones that could shred anything within a hundred-mile radius. Others swore it was orbital, a station so far above us that even thinking about it felt pointless.
The most plausible—and most terrifying—story was that it extended underground. A tower buried deeper than the Spire was tall, with entire subterranean levels where classified research and experiments never saw daylight. Whatever the truth, Echelon One wasn’t talked about lightly.
“Big, like what?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.
Klein shrugged, though his smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dunno. Prototype? Artifact? Maybe that neural-sync bullshit R&D’s been whispering about for months. Whatever it is, CorpoSec’s crawling all over the place. Saw one of the suits downstairs earlier—chrome as hell. Looked like they’d rip your arm off just for fun.”
“Great,” I muttered. “So, what? We’re just supposed to pretend nothing’s happening while they parade mystery tech around?”
Klein leaned in slightly, his voice dropping even further. “Not just tech. Heard they’re meeting with someone. An external contractor.” He let the word hang, heavy with implication.
“You mean that guy?” a voice cut in from behind me.
I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Martina from compliance.
She strolled toward us, mug in hand, with that sharp, self-satisfied grin plastered across her face—the one that made her the self-appointed expert on everyone else’s downfall. Her bright red nails tapped the edge of her mug in a steady rhythm, a sound I’d learned to associate with one thing: someone was about to get thrown under the bus, and Martina was usually the one driving.
“What about him?” I asked, already wanting to take back the question the moment it left my lips.
Her grin widened like a predator spotting wounded prey. “Oh, just the contractor CorpoSec escorted through the lobby this morning. You know, tall, scary as hell, half his body looked like it came off a factory line? Ringing any bells?”
Klein groaned softly beside me, but he didn’t bother telling her to leave. Martina wasn’t someone you could brush off. Not unless you wanted to find your name at the top of a compliance violation by the end of the day.
Yeah, just like Klein described five seconds ago… I thought, biting my tongue to keep the sarcasm from slipping out. Instead, I said, “And you think he’s here for…?”
Her nails tapped faster, a metronome of impending gossip. “Oh, I don’t think, sweetie. I know. CorpoSec doesn’t escort just anyone, do they? Heard from a little birdie he’s been off-world. Special projects, maybe. Something dangerous. Bet he’s here to clean up some poor bastard’s mess.”
“Fantastic.”
“Oh, it’s not fantastic for Jacobs,” she added, eyes gleaming. “You know he’s been skating on thin ice for weeks. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s the one they’re looking at. Poor guy. Shame, really.”
The way she said “shame” made it clear she’d be first in line to hand him a shovel for his own grave.
Her nails tapped against her mug again, this time with deliberate slowness, and she leaned just a fraction closer. “Of course, it might not stop with Jacobs.” Her gaze flicked to me for half a second, then back to Klein. “If it were connected to your department, well… let’s just say I hope you’ve been keeping those metrics squeaky clean, sweetheart.”
This was peak Martina. Her little game. Spread enough rumors, throw enough dirt, and wait for someone else to sink. But I will never sink.
“Anything else?” I asked, more out of reflex than curiosity.
“Nope,” she said brightly, her tone snapping back to cheerful. “That’s all—for now.”
She took a long, slow sip of her coffee, letting the moment stretch like she was savoring it, then turned on her heel and strolled off.
“She’s the worst,” Klein muttered once she was out of earshot.
I sighed, already dreading what came next. “Guess I better go talk to Jacobs.”
Klein barked a short laugh, shaking his head. “Good luck with that, kid.”
I followed his gaze to the glass-walled office at the far end of the floor. There was Jacobs—my supervisor—pacing like a caged animal, one hand clutching his AR tablet while the other dragged through his thinning hair. His face was a storm of frustration, and judging by the number of windows popping up on his tablet’s display, he wasn’t having a great time.
“Looks like he’s having a meltdown,” Klein said, smirking. “Might have something to do with this. Might not. Either way, I’m surprised he’s got any hair left to pull out.”
I didn’t bother replying. He wasn’t wrong. Jacobs had the kind of job that chewed people up and spit them out, but somehow, he’d lasted longer than most. Long enough that his stress was practically a feature of the office at this point.
Still, whatever was going on today? It was big. Big enough to make Jacobs unravel faster than usual. And if that was the case, it probably meant my day was about to get a whole lot worse.
***
By the time I got to my desk, I was already in a foul mood. The AR terminal blinked to life, its hollow, cheery voice grating on my nerves like it did every morning.
[INITIATE_SYS: EMPLOYEE-478249]
**Good morning, Employee #478249! Quota status: OVERDUE. Productivity is purpose.**
“Of course it is,” I muttered, waving the message away. The text splintered into shards of light before reforming into my task queue.
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The holographic display shifted, lighting up my workstation with an overwhelming grid of tasks.
[TASK_QUEUE: LOAD_COMPLETE]
01 | Data Transfers (PENDING)
02 | Optimization Reviews (PENDING)
03 | Meeting Logs [ACCESS_DENIED: CLEARANCE LEVEL E-4 REQUIRED]
04 | Personal Review Metrics (FLAGGED)
I stared at the screen, the weight of another soul-draining day settling on my shoulders. The queue pulsed faintly, the timer on the corner of the display ticking down to End of Day Zero Hour. Each second felt like a knife carving away at my lifespan.
[QUEUE LOADED: TASK PRIORITY HIGH]
> REMINDER: **Efficiency above all, Employee #478249. Hyperion thrives because YOU strive.**
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “You’re welcome, you parasitic bastard.”
Before I could start chipping away at the mountain of pointless reports, I pulled up the internal messaging app. What I really needed to see was whether Dr. Vayne in R&D had replied yet.
[AUTHENTICATION CONFIRMED: ENCRYPTED INBOX ACTIVE]
Loading message…
The message from Dr. Elysia Vayne popped up in blocky white text on a dark background:
FROM: DR_VAYNE[HQ.RND.HYP-LEVEL6]
TO: EMP_478249
SUBJECT: NEURAL INSIGHT PROGRESS
// BEGIN TRANSMISSION:
TESTING CONTINUES.
RESULTS: INCONCLUSIVE BUT PROMISING.
WARNING: MAINTAIN DISCRETION.
PROJECT VIOLATION WILL TRIGGER RESPONSE.
UPDATES TO FOLLOW POST-REVIEW.
// END TRANSMISSION.
No explanation. No elaboration. Just the usual Hyperion code-speak for “don’t ask too many questions.”
The Neural Insight Integration project wasn’t just ambitious—it was invasive on a level that made my skin crawl. Dream-watching? Sure, that’s what they called it. But when you dug into the specs—and I had—it was less about watching dreams and more about pulling them apart. Extracting thoughts. Secrets. Fears.
All of it.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to shake off the growing unease. This place was a black hole, and I was spiraling closer to the event horizon with every passing minute.
[PRIORITY MESSAGE: SUPERVISOR COMMUNICATION]
[MSG_PRIORITY: SUPERVISOR_DIRECT]
FROM: JACOBS[HYP-MGMT.TIER2]
TO: EMP_478249
“Come to my office. NOW!”
The words flashed in bold, urgent lettering.
I groaned, grabbing my Neo-Brew as if the synthetic sludge could somehow prepare me for whatever Jacobs was about to unload. Bearable wasn’t in my job’s dictionary, but caffeine was the closest thing I had to armor.
On my way to Jacobs’ office, something caught my attention: two suits standing near a maintenance hallway, locked in what looked like a heated argument.
One of them was short and stocky, with nervous eyes and a face like a wrung-out sponge. The other was tall, sharp, and terrifying in that way only corpo Execs could manage. Too clean, too precise, and far too augmented.
It’s like we began to use machines to build ourselves up, make ourselves efficient, more productive. But the higher up we climbed, the more machine we were bound to become. Humanity was just another layer of fat to be trimmed off the top. And the top was beautiful shiny metal.
They were whispering, but their body language seemed like bad news. Sponge-face obviously wanted to melt into the floor, his hands fidgeting as if he could wring the tension out of the air. Sharp Suit, meanwhile, stood tall and proud, his gestures aggressive and animated. He leaned in closer to Sponge-face, his tone low but, his fingers curling into a fist that stopped just shy of making contact. Typical Corpo bullying.
I slowed down, pretending to adjust the lid on my coffee, just to catch a snippet of their conversation. Sharp Suit’s words were too low to make out, but the rhythm of his speech felt like a warning, a threat thinly veiled beneath professionalism.
It must’ve worked, because Sponge-face flinched, muttering something I couldn’t hear before glancing up and noticing me.
Sharp Suit’s gaze followed, his glowing red eye locking onto me for just a moment too long. It wasn’t a casual glance; it was a scan.
My skin crawled as a faint vibration rippled through my temple—SpectraShield, the anti-intrusion implant tucked behind my left ear, flared to life. But mine wasn’t standard-issue. Dr. Vayne had tweaked it months ago, boosting its firewall protocols to something far beyond what Hyperion handed out to grunts like me.
The tweak came with risks, of course—using unauthorized mods on Hyperion hardware was a quick way to earn a compliance violation—but I hadn’t regretted it. Not yet, anyway.
The implant’s soft, familiar chime buzzed in my neural feed:
[SPECTRASHIELD: CUSTOM PROTOCOL ENGAGED]
> “External probe detected. Threat Level: Moderate. Intrusion blocked. Backtrace initiated...”
I clenched my jaw as the scan faltered. Sharp Suit’s visor flickered, and his head tilted just slightly, the telltale sign of someone running into an unexpected wall. For a fraction of a second, his expression hardened—cold, mechanical, calculating. He knew the scan had failed, and worse, he knew I wasn’t just another faceless drone.
The implant sent one last report into my neural feed:
[BACKTRACE COMPLETE]
> “Data probe origin confirmed: Subject ID HYP-EXC7413. Further details encrypted.”
Great. Now I had a tag to go with the face. HYP-EXC7413. Hyperion’s exec IDs were as cold as the people they belonged to.
Sharp Suit’s lips curled in the faintest ghost of a smile—so subtle I almost missed it—before he turned away, gripping Sponge-face by the shoulder and dragging him further down the hall.
I tightened my grip on my coffee cup, the faint warmth of the implant still radiating behind my ear. Vayne’s modifications had saved my ass again, shielding me from whatever data-mining monstrosity Sharp Suit had under the hood.
But in a place like this, even custom tech couldn’t keep you safe for long. You could only push your luck so far before the house came to collect.
And speaking of luck, I thought, glancing at the time flashing in my neural feed. I’ve already wasted enough of it. Jacobs is going to blow a gasket.
I walked into Jacobs’ office five minutes after his message, but judging by his expression, you’d think I’d missed the meeting by hours.
He was pacing behind his glass desk, the AR displays floating above it cluttered with reports, messages, and graphs that all screamed “bad day.” His face was flushed red, and his thinning hair stuck out in uneven tufts, thanks to his favorite stress-relief technique: yanking on it.
“Took you long enough,” he snapped, gesturing wildly at the AR interface like it was my fault his life was falling apart. “You think I have time to wait for your ass to stroll in whenever you feel like it?”
I raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of my NeoBrew like I had all the time in the world. “Well, good morning to you too, boss. Great to see your glowing optimism as always.”
“Cut the shit,” he barked, slamming a hand down on his desk, the AR displays flickering. “Do you have any idea what kind of day I’m having?”
“Oh, I can guess,” I said, slouching into the chair across from him. “Let me guess: corpo politics, impossible deadlines, and the vague, soul-crushing realization that we’re all just cogs in Hyperion’s big shiny machine. Did I miss anything?”
“Yeah, how about my job being on the line?” Jacobs snarled, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. “They’re here, rookie. Echelon One. Execs and CorpoSec crawling all over the place, asking questions I don’t have answers to.”
I felt a flicker of unease, but I kept my tone casual. “And you’re telling me this… why? What, you need a shoulder to cry on?”
Jacobs let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through what little hair he had left. “No, dumbass. I’m telling you this because we’re both screwed.”
That got my attention. “Care to elaborate?”
He glanced toward the glass walls of his office like he expected someone to be listening, then leaned in closer. His voice dropped to a near-whisper. “That project we worked on—Neural Insight Integration. You remember.”
“Of course I remember. Hard to forget something that invasive.”
“Well, guess what? That wasn’t on the official roadmap. Hyperion didn’t greenlight it. They didn’t even know about it. I pulled resources, buried it in the noise, and kept it quiet. And now…” He gestured vaguely at the AR displays, where red notifications blinked like warning lights. “Now they know.”
I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “So, what, they figured out you were trying to screw them over? Congrats, I guess?”
He leaned back in his chair, the defeat in his posture almost palpable. “They think we were trying to screw them over. You were involved. You ran analysis. Signed off on documentation.”
“Hold on,” I said, my voice sharpening. “You dragged me into that project. You said it was approved.”
Jacobs smirked, but there was no humor in it. “You think they care? All they’re gonna see is a couple of mid-level grunts who went off-script. And when Echelon One decides to make an example out of someone, they don’t bother sorting out who’s more guilty.”
What an asshole… “So what do we do?”
Jacobs shrugged, his laugh bitter and hollow. “We don’t do anything. I don’t know who they’re here for yet, but I’ve got enough dirt to pin it on you and Vayne if it comes to that.”
I froze, the reality of the situation crashing down. Typical. I was careless.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Jacobs added, leaning back with a smug smile. “That’s how it works here. Survival of the fittest. And right now? That ain’t you.”
“You’re just the perfect example of everything wrong with this fucking place.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, his voice laced with mockery, “you’d be too if you lasted as long as I have.”
I didn’t respond. I just turned and walked out, letting the door hiss shut behind me.
My mind raced as I strode down the hallway, boots tapping against the polished floor. Jacobs was panicking, sure, but if he thought he could throw me under the bus without a fight, he was dead wrong.
We’ll see who buries who first, Jacobs.
Dr. Vayne was already on my schedule—well, not officially, but when did that ever matter? I was heading to R&D anyway. She rarely liked surprises, and she liked me even less, but if anyone could help me dig through this mess before it buried me, it was her.
I just had to make it to her lab before CorpoSec caught wind of my next move.