Pierre Marchais scrutinized one of the three computer screens in front of him with the utmost attention. Tables, graphs, and numbers constantly changing were spread out before him. Some were green while others were red. With an impassive face, he held in his hand a state-of-the-art mobile phone from a famous brand, while the other hand was ready to press the mouse button at any moment. His index finger was extended, ready to click the left button of his mouse in an instant. He was currently on the line with one of his loyal clients, awaiting her approval.

BEEP!

A new data point appeared on Pierre's main screen. His gaze was so intense that one might think the fate of the world was at stake. It was a small green column indicating that in the past minute, the share of L'Oréal had increased by 0.20 euro cents.

"Sell," ordered the female voice in his ear.

"I'm selling!" Pierre clicked on the red button, and immediately the shares of that company were sold. A tense silence followed. He had just wagered several thousand euros for his wealthy client on that single transaction. On his advice, she had sold her shares, convinced that the increase in the share value would not continue after such a rise. The curve was too steep and too consistent not to collapse. However, if it continued to rise, he would lose a lot of money.

BEEP!

A red candle. As expected, it's losing value.

"YES! I KNEW IT," exclaimed the client who was following the stock market action live.

"Stay calm, Mrs. Calvez," replied Pierre calmly. "It's too early to celebrate. Let's see if the decline continues in the next few minutes."

"Yes, yes, you're right."

Tss, she thinks she's at the casino, he thought, rolling his eyes.

BEEP!

Another red candle. Excellent. Just a bit more, and it'll be perfect.

Pierre settled more comfortably into his black leather armchair, as he had nothing left to do but wait and admire his gains.

BEEP!

"A green candle?! A green candle?!"

Pierre moved the mobile phone away from his ear as the client started to become noisy. He remained calm. Without taking his eyes off the screens, he leaned back slightly in his chair, ready to analyze the situation to reassure his client.

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Calvez," sighed the young trader, glancing briefly at the time on his superb watch. "It's nothing. The stock hasn't gone up much. I think it will continue to decline. Often, there are these little rebounds, but the trend is downward. Have you ever been to the beach? Think of the waves. Sometimes there are big ones that go further than the others, but because it's low tide, the water keeps going down, no matter the big waves."

Pierre's voice was calm, almost hypnotic.

"I understand. Yes, I trust you, Mr. Marchais. How long do we wait?"

"If my information is correct, you won't have to do anything for at least a week. Look."

BEEP!

"A big red candle! As expected!"

"You see? The faster the rise, the more violent the fall. There are thirty minutes left until the market closes. Until then, my opinion is that it will only continue to decline."

"But why are you talking about a week then? Won't it go back up tomorrow morning?" asked the client uncertainly.

"Yes, probably, but think about the waves, Mrs. Calvez. The trend for the next week will be downward. Maybe even more. I have an insider source that gave me some juicy information. Their latest product is causing particularly problematic side effects. They had a meeting about it. They must be running around like headless chickens to cover up the problem and bring out a new product to restore their image."

Mrs. Calvez gasped in surprise, as she used many products from that brand.

BEEP!

"Another big red candle!"

Pierre Marchais savored the success of his decisions. In just a few minutes, he had managed to make his client, and himself, earn several thousand euros. A slight predatory smile formed on his face, which could have been friendly. He loved the moment when money poured into his pocket in real time. For the next half hour, he would continue to make money without moving from his chair.

His neighbors didn't seem as serene as he was, which heightened his pleasure. It certainly wasn't his best performance, but every profit was worth taking.

BEEP!

As expected, a red candle.

BEEP!

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Hm?

BEEP!

What?

BEEP!

What?!

"Uh, Mr. Marchais," the client said on the phone with fear.

BEEP!

"What's happening? Why is it going up like this?"

BEEP!

"Mr. Marchais, the panicked client insisted.

"Shit."

BEEP!

Bzzzzzz… CLACK!

Pierre Marchais's main screen, like all the others, suddenly went out after becoming very bright. Some even exploded in the workspace of other traders, sending sparks flying onto the desks. The artificial light of the very large trading floor also went out, plunging the room into semi-darkness. As for his mobile phone, it suddenly became very hot in his hand. He had the reflex to move it away from his face and hastily place it on his large desk.

A faint smell of burnt hung in the air, mingling with that of sweat and coffee. Finally, the silence was broken.

"Shit! What's happening ?!"

"Electricity outage!"

"My screens went out!"

"Mine too!"

Exclamations of surprise, anger, and frustration multiplied all around Pierre.

"Fuck! I was on a good deal! Call a repairman, quickly!"

"Does anyone have a working phone?!"

"Damn it! Mine are dead!"

"An ambulance! Jeremy's phone exploded in his pocket! He's bleeding!"

"Tristan is injured in the face! His computer screen blew up in his face!"

"Is it an attack?! Are we under attack ?!"

"The Russians?! The Chinese ?!"

"The Anonymous?!"

Pierre didn't join the chaotic scene. Instead, he tried to restart his computers by pressing all possible buttons and playing with the wires, but to no avail. At the back of the room, behind a large glass window separating him from the rest of the group, he saw Vincent Cabot suddenly rise from his chair like a furious demon and smash his keyboard against his brand-new computer. Although his new office was soundproofed, he seemed to hear from his workspace some particularly colorful curses. The man, dressed in a custom gray suit, opened the glass door to his office without controlling his strength and shouted at the top of his lungs:

"WHY IS THERE NO ELECTRICITY?! I NEED A COMPUTER, NOW!"

His face, usually so friendly, was distorted with rage. He looked like a mad bulldog. Yet, just moments before, he had been radiating satisfaction.

"Where's the geek?!"

"We... We'll go get him!"

"The geek," that's what they called the employee primarily responsible for updates and computer repairs. He was very competent, albeit a bit eccentric. Pierre had no particular opinion about him, although he had often eaten with him. Because he had never pushed him away, the geek saw in him a silent but attentive friend. It was an exaggeration to say that Star Wars, Star Trek, or The Lord of the Rings were common interests, but Pierre had been young and knew a bit about these universes.

He had never admitted it to anyone since he had moved to Paris, but before becoming a trader, Pierre had been a bit of a geek. However, he had set aside his hobbies to focus on his career and goals, unlike this man whose real name was David Marinot.

Everyone surrounded the geek as if he were the Messiah when he arrived, as all hopes rested on him. He wasn't the caricature of a technology enthusiast. In fact, he wasn't a caricature of anything. He was a discreet man, unremarkable, the kind of man you tended to forget. He was of average height, average build, in his early thirties, dressed normally without appearing sloppy, and had slightly slanted eyes, a sign that someone in his family was of Asian origin.

As soon as he arrived, he got to work. Unfortunately, after two minutes, his conclusion fell, and it wasn't good.

"Your computer is completely fried. It's dead. Unrepairable. Well, I could, but almost everything needs to be replaced. And from what I see, it's the same for all the computers on this floor, like those above. They sent someone for the same problem as yours."

"What is it? A virus?" asked a stout man with very curly blond hair who had loosened his tie knot.

"I'm not sure. If all the computers in the building are affected, I would tend to say yes. But the lighting and the laptops as well... Everything electrical seems dead. It's strange, very strange..."

"FUCK! I DON'T CARE IF IT'S STRANGE! FIX THIS MESS!"

Vince grabbed the geek by the collar and pulled him up as if he were trying to lift him with one hand, which of course he couldn't do. The geek replied to him in an oddly calm tone, which momentarily silenced Vince's anger:

"Oh? And how? I'm alone, my spare parts are limited, my tools are too, and those that run on electricity have probably burned out too. Well, there are over three hundred computers in this tower. I don't see what I can do immediately. You should try to find an electronics store that's open."

"WHAT A PAIN! DAMN IT!"

"Oh, and the elevators aren't working. I took the stairs to come up here."

"SHIT!"

While some traders stayed put, Pierre didn't. Although he didn't understand everything, he knew that for today, business was over. It wasn't too bad since he was currently experiencing losses. He didn't know why, but L'Oréal had regained its color after a short drop, when it should have ended up in the red for at least a week.

The staircase was crowded, which was very unusual since everyone usually used the elevators. Despite the situation, everyone was silent and strangely calm. Pierre suddenly felt like he was participating in a religious procession.

The tall glass and steel tower where Pierre was located was located in the heart of the La Défense district, in Paris. Although it wasn't the most elegant and tallest in the area, it certainly stood out for its neat decoration. Considerable efforts had been made to make it welcoming, especially in the workspaces and at the reception. There was a superb basin where a few colorful carp and exotic plants from all over the world swam peacefully.

Although he had reached ground level, Pierre didn't stop and continued down. He wanted to go to the first basement, as that's where he had parked his pretty car, a blue Mercedes with a sunroof and voice-controlled starting. He had paid a small fortune for it, but it had to be considered an investment. For him, those who came to work in minivans couldn't be taken seriously.

Vincent, or Vince as he preferred to be called to sound more American, owned an even nicer one, paid for with what he had earned on the stock market by betting on the fall of a French company and the promotion he had recently obtained. His new office was proof of his rise in the hierarchy. He now had a say in top-level meetings. Pierre was green with envy, because from his point of view, he deserved this promotion much more than Vince. He had been waiting for it for years, but when the opportunity arose due to the retirement of an old grumpy man who seemed to have always been in this tower, the boss had preferred to give the position to Vincent.

"FUCKING HELL! WHAT NOW?" bellowed furiously Vincent. WE CAN'T SEE A THING IN THIS SHITTY PARKING! WHERE'S MY CAR?!"

His deep voice, filled with anger, echoed against the sturdy reinforced concrete walls.

Without artificial lighting, it was completely dark at this level. It was impossible to locate the parked cars there. Pierre did as everyone else and frantically pressed the small button on his car, but nothing happened. The cars didn't react, so it was impossible to find them, let alone unlock them.

"Shit."

Pierre felt anger rising in him at the thought of having to take public transportation home, but he didn't show it and kept a sober face. He decided to turn back and head for ground level, where the main entrance of the building was located.

"At least I'm not the only one in trouble. It feels good to see that asshole Vince in a bind!"