In a modest rental house at the edge of a bustling city, a middle-aged man lay exhausted on his bed, wrestling with the decision ahead of him: return to his home country or continue chasing the dream project he had devoted so much effort to.
As he drifted in and out of thought, a memory surfaced.
He recalled walking into the grand lobby of the company's towering headquarters—every detail a testament to ambition and authority. Clutching a neatly organized folder, he approached the receptionist.
"Excuse me, ma'am… has the director arrived yet?" he asked politely.
The receptionist glanced up. "Oh, he left about an hour ago. He had a meeting."
He frowned, checking his watch. "But... isn't the meeting scheduled for now? How could he have left already?"
"He said the schedule was changed yesterday. Didn't you receive the update?" she replied.
His expression darkened. "No, I didn't."
He retrieved an envelope from his coat pocket and quietly placed it on the desk. In a low voice, he said,"Please, ma'am… can you help me?"
The receptionist's eyes flicked to the envelope before she slipped it into her pocket. Leaning forward, she lowered her voice to a whisper:
"You can go to…"
Knock, knock, knock.
"Who is it? What is it?" asked a middle-aged man, half-dressed, clothes scattered across the floor.
From behind the slightly ajar door came a voice,
"Boss, he's here..."
Realizing who it was, the man clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"Tch... always such a bother."
He turned to the woman beside him and said,
"Step out for a moment. Just five minutes."
He gave her a quick kiss while slipping on his shirt.
As the kiss ended, the woman smiled and replied,
"Alright, darling… we'll pick this up later, okay?"
She left the room, which remained in disarray.
Moments later, another man entered and started,
"Director, this project is—"
not even pausing to acknowledge the room's condition.
But before he could finish, the director cut him off coldly,
"You have five minutes to explain. After that, I'll read the documents later."
His tone was sharp, his eyes indifferent—he looked at the man as if he were an insect.
The visitor sighed.
"Understood…"
He began his presentation.
Six minutes passed.
The director raised his hand.
"Time's up. Leave."
The man paused, startled. He stammered,
"At least… give me five more minutes. I—"
"No," the director interrupted firmly.
"Leave. Your time is over."
He didn't even look at him—his gaze fixed on his wristwatch.
Hearing "leave" a second time, the man exhaled deeply and replied,
"Yes, sir," then turned to exit.
As he reached the door, the director called out,
"Don't forget to give the documents to my assistant."
The man's expression darkened, but he only muttered,
"Understood," and left the room in silence.
After the man left, another man wearing a lab coat entered through the back door and sat across from the director. Moments later, a seductive woman walked in, took a seat beside the director, and began kissing him.
In the middle of the kiss, the director spoke casually,
"Check the documents. Are they useful?"
The man in the lab coat opened the file left behind, reading it carefully. After a few silent minutes of analysis, he finally said,
"Brilliant work… but unfortunately, he's an unstable variable."
Hearing that, the director spoke as if he were ordering coffee,
"Then just get rid of him. The data is proven to be valid, right?"
The man in the lab coat hesitated, visibly uncomfortable in his seat.
"But Director…"
The director, uninterested in hearing excuses, cut him off,
"If you're hesitant, I'll handle it myself."
He reached for a phone that had fallen to the floor, dialed a number, and waited for the line to connect. Leaning back in his chair, he spoke in a cold tone,
"Hey… I have a job for you."
----
The next morning, just as the man was about to organize his next pitch schedule, he received a call from the receptionist of the company he visited the day before.
"I'm sorry, Sir," she said. "It seems the director found your proposal too heavy and has decided to reject it."
His face instantly turned pale. He exhaled softly and replied,
"Alright. Thank you for letting me know."
After a brief pause, the receptionist added,
"Best of luck, Sir," before hanging up.
He sat still for a moment, staring at the director's business card he still kept. The rejection stung, but he forced himself to calm down.
With a heavy sigh, he got up and went to the next company.
But the result was the same.
After meeting the next director and presenting his proposal, he heard once again,
"Sorry, this is too much for us..."
Day after day passed. At the 12th company, the director once again said,
"Apologies… we can't afford that amount."
Now drained and hopeless, he collapsed onto the bed in his rented apartment, staring at the framed plaques hanging on the wall—each a reminder of past glory, but also the uncertainty of the future.
A PhD in Aerospace Engineering and Physics.
A PhD in Chemistry.
A PhD in Computer Science and Computer Engineering.
All of it seemed meaningless if his dream project never came to life.
He still wanted to push forward. But with dwindling funds, even that desire began to crumble.
Maybe… it was time to give up and go home.
An hour later, he finally muttered,
"I give up…"
With trembling hands, he picked up his phone and booked a flight home through an app.
---
In an intelligence office, a boss was sorting through his files when his phone rang. It was one of his subordinates.
He answered, "Yes..."
"Boss, he's leaving. He booked the plane ticket an hour ago."
"Who?"
"The 1337th project..."
The boss quickly searched his computer. Finding the relevant file, he smirked. "Oh... the unlucky slave. Delete everything—make sure there's no trace, no suspicion."
"Roger," the subordinate replied before ending the call.
The boss stared at the screen for a moment longer. "A smart one, but unlucky. If he gets loose, he'll be a threat... What a shame." Then he closed the file.
**At the Airport**
"Gate 8, Gate 8... Oh, here it is."
A female officer at the counter smiled. "Ticket, please."
"Here..."
She glanced at it. "B-20. Go to the right, sir."
"Okay, thanks..."
As he walked toward his seat, he accidentally bumped into someone. "Ah, sorry, sir," the man said.
"It's fine," he replied, unaware that in that brief contact, he had been injected with a nearly imperceptible anesthetic.
Five minutes later, he fell asleep.
Meanwhile, the man who had injected him walked toward the cockpit. Approaching the pilot, he simply said, "Sir, CIA." At the same time, ten other passengers exited the plane.
**One Hour Later**
He woke up to an eerie silence. The plane was still in flight, but the passengers were gone.
"You're awake..." a voice said.
The man who had spoken earlier emerged from the cockpit, wearing a parachute and holding a gun.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice shaky.
"CIA," the man answered.
He was still confused. "So..."
The agent continued, "At 15:00, you booked a flight ticket home. The moment you did that, you became a threat to us. You understand, right?"
His face paled. "But... I just wanted to go home..."
"That's not my problem." The agent walked to the door and pulled it open, the wind roaring through the cabin.
"Good luck. Have a nice flight." With those final words, he jumped from the plane.
The man sat frozen, processing what had just happened. Then, realization dawned on him, and he whispered, "Damn... I was betrayed..." Those were his last words before everything went dark.