The sun had barely risen above the skyline of Macao, yet inside the Syndicate Headquarters, the rhythm of life had already taken its mechanical course. Every hallway echoed with movement — the shuffle of papers, the clacking of shoes on marble floors, the muted murmur of employees speaking in low, efficient tones. The building itself stood like a fortress of order and opulence, its reflective glass windows hiding the truth within.
To the public, this was nothing more than an office complex — the headquarters of an influential conglomerate specializing in logistics, trade, and recycling. Taxes were paid, contracts signed, and deliveries sent on time. Everything appeared impeccably legal.
But beneath that pristine veneer lay the true pulse of the Syndicate, a network that operated quietly in the shadows — all of it under the command of Novaeus Kairon.
On the top floor, the scent of aged wood and imported cigars filled an office that radiated power. The interior gleamed under soft morning light; polished marble floors met handcrafted furniture, and a panoramic window displayed the city below like a conquered domain.
Seated in a leather chair behind a massive blackwood desk, Novaeus rested his chin on one hand, his other tapping idly against the armrest — a steady rhythm that echoed through the silent room. His eyes were closed, but his mind was anything but calm.
It had been exactly a day since the Grand Fortuna Poker Invitational, where he'd turned the world's attention on himself — and secured a hundred million USD in clean, legitimate funds. A night of performance, strategy, and quiet domination. And now, as dawn filtered through the blinds, that same calm winner sat alone, thinking of what came next.
Today, a different kind of game would begin — one without cards or cheering crowds.
He opened his eyes slowly, their deep gray hue reflecting both focus and fatigue. "It's time," he murmured to no one in particular.
Moments later, a soft knock sounded from the other side of the heavy double doors.
"Enter," he said, voice steady.
The door opened, revealing Marco, one of his most trusted lieutenants — a burly man with the look of a soldier but the manner of a disciplined aide. Marco's eyes flicked toward the immaculate office before focusing squarely on Novaeus.
"Sir," Marco began, "how many men should we keep hiring? We already have three hundred forty-five on standby. At this rate, our supply of firearms won't hold. Should we stop recruiting for now?"
Novaeus leaned back, the faintest trace of amusement curving his lips. "Stop? No, Marco. Keep hiring. Numbers are the one advantage we can always multiply. I don't have a specific limit in mind — hire as many as possible. We'll handle armaments later. The black market will do for now."
Marco hesitated, shifting slightly. "Understood, sir. But it's not the guns that worry me — it's the bullets. With the men training in the lower floors every day, the amount of ammunition we're spending is starting to pile up. At this rate, we'll run dry before the next shipment even arrives."
Novaeus said nothing, his finger tapping the chair's arm again — soft, controlled.
Marco continued, "If I may suggest, sir — we can rotate the men's live training sessions, limit the rounds per person. We can even buy nearly expired rounds from the police depot. They're cheap, and since they're just for drills, it won't matter if they misfire now and then."
"Hm," Novaeus muttered, his eyes half-lidded in thought. "A sensible approach. Do it. Get the funds from the accountant, and make sure training doesn't stop. Efficiency is useless without precision."
"Yes, sir," Marco said, bowing slightly.
He turned to leave — but before he could reach the door, it opened once again. Adrian, the Syndicate's sharp-eyed strategist, stepped inside, carrying a thick stack of neatly bound documents. His presence, as always, brought a faint current of authority into the room.
"Marco," Adrian greeted curtly with a nod.
"Adrian," Marco replied before stepping out, letting the door close behind him.
Adrian crossed the room with steady steps, the sound of paper against his arm filling the silence. He stopped in front of Novaeus's desk and placed the documents carefully on the polished surface.
"Sir," he began, "the acquisition of the recycling plant is complete. All legal documents are signed and verified — the ownership has officially transferred under your name."
"Good," Novaeus said softly.
Adrian continued, "We've also secured the contracts with the local government regarding waste collection and disposal. The permits are active. We're cleared to operate as a full recycling facility starting today."
Novaeus nodded, expression unreadable. "Excellent. Then it's time to see what I've bought with my money. Ready the car — we're visiting the plant."
Adrian gave a crisp salute-like nod. "Understood."
The black sedan glided smoothly through the outskirts of Macao, leaving the glitter of the casino district behind. The scenery shifted from neon lights and polished towers to warehouses and factories, each one showing the industrial bones of the city that funded its glimmering facade.
Inside the car, the air was silent save for the low hum of the engine. Novaeus watched the world outside — the streets, the people, the flicker of mundane life passing by — all while his mind moved several steps ahead.
A recycling plant might seem insignificant to most. To him, it was a foundation — a legal front, a profit channel, and a testing ground for something far larger.
By the time the car turned into the plant's property, the sun was already high.
The facility sprawled across several acres, enclosed by rusted steel fences and topped with security wire. Its gates stood open, though what greeted them was far from orderly.
A small crowd had gathered outside — employees, most of them in worn uniforms, their faces uneasy. Some held cigarettes, others talked in hushed tones. The sound of murmuring and occasional laughter filled the air.
Adrian frowned. "It seems the workers heard about the ownership change."
Novaeus's voice remained calm. "Curiosity is natural. Don't be too harsh with them. They're workers, not enemies. We might need their loyalty later."
"Yes, sir," Adrian replied, stepping out of the car.
The moment he exited, the crowd's noise quieted slightly. He approached a small group, exchanged a few quick words, and after a brief negotiation, the gates were cleared.
When Novaeus stepped out, the employees instinctively straightened, eyes drawn to the sharpness of his presence — his tailored suit, his calm composure, and the silent authority that seemed to weigh on the air around him.
They entered the main yard. The smell of metal, oil, and decaying trash hit immediately — strong and raw. Piles of scrap, plastic bottles, and old machinery parts filled the back of the property. Despite the clutter, there was potential in the organized chaos.
Inside the main facility, conveyor belts lined the floor, half of them motionless from disuse. Machines stood still, waiting for power. Large sorting bins, melted plastic containers, and steel crushers occupied the center hall. A furnace hissed softly from the far corner, its once blazing heat now dimmed.
They climbed a flight of stairs leading to a glass-walled office overlooking the entire operation floor.
Inside, a man in his late forties stood nervously by the desk. Lin Wei, the plant manager — Chinese-born, Macao-raised — offered a respectful bow the moment Novaeus entered.
"Good afternoon, sir," Lin said, his voice trembling slightly. "Welcome to the plant. I—I'm Lin Wei, the current manager. It's an honor to meet the new owner."
Novaeus gave a brief nod. "Show me the facility."
"Yes, of course!" Lin said quickly, gesturing with both hands. "If you'll look below, sir, we process several types of recyclables here — plastics, metals, textiles, even old electronics. We collect, clean, melt, or reshape them depending on the material. The products are then resold to retailers or exported."
He pointed to the rows of bins and processing lines. "We even make small items — like plastic baskets, containers, and simple tools — from melted bottles. Everything is repurposed."
Novaeus listened quietly, eyes tracing the belts and machinery. Lin continued, voice shaking slightly with nervous energy.
"Unfortunately, sir, business has been… slow. Demand dropped, and our inventory has been piling up. We haven't been able to move goods for weeks. The previous owner was already planning to shut us down, which is why—well—you were able to purchase it so quickly."
Adrian stood near the window, taking mental notes as Lin spoke.
Novaeus, however, said nothing. He walked to the glass, gazing down at the silent factory floor. The stillness reminded him of a chessboard before the first move — all the pieces in place, waiting for command.
He turned back slowly, expression unreadable.
Lin swallowed hard. Sweat gathered on his forehead. He didn't dare move. Even the bodyguards stationed near the walls were silent, watching the exchange like statues.
Finally, Novaeus sat down in the manager's chair — his new throne. He closed his eyes again, leaning slightly back, the sunlight from the window casting a faint glow over his face.
The room grew quiet. Seconds stretched like minutes.
Lin Wei's heartbeat thundered in his chest. Will he fire me? he thought, dread creeping into his mind. He'd seen men like this before — men who smiled while signing termination papers.
But when Novaeus spoke again, his tone was calm, decisive, and sharp.
"Not bad," he said. "This place will do."
Lin blinked, unsure if he heard correctly.
Novaeus continued, "The first order of business — the furnace. Replace it. I want a universal printer with a disintegrator system installed here. Whatever trash goes in, it will be converted into something useful. Legally… and otherwise."
Adrian raised an eyebrow slightly but said nothing. He understood that "otherwise" had a deeper implication.
Lin, though, looked lost. "A—universal printer, sir?"
"You'll know when it arrives," Novaeus said simply, standing up from the chair. "Just make sure this place can accommodate it."
Lin nodded rapidly, relief washing over him. "Y-yes, sir. Of course."
Novaeus turned toward the window once more. Outside, the workers had gone back to their stations, unaware that the entire course of their lives — and the plant's future — had just shifted.
"Adrian," Novaeus said quietly, his voice steady. "Prepare the logistics. This facility will be the foundation for our next phase."
"Yes, sir," Adrian replied, already pulling out his tablet.
As they exited the office, Lin Wei followed a few steps behind, still trembling but visibly hopeful.
For Novaeus, this wasn't just a business acquisition — it was a seed. And like every seed he planted, it would soon grow into something vast, profitable, and utterly untouchable.
He stepped out into the sunlight, the faintest smile crossing his lips.
Another piece was in place. Another step forward in the grand design.
And once again, the world continued to move — unaware that beneath its surface, a new empire was quietly being built.