The morning came with its usual, stealthy approach, and with it, Nikos voice - calmed, practiced, like he had been up for hours. "I see you survived the night."
Rhett blinked into the morning's gray light, the couch springs groaning their disapproval as he sat up.
"Barely," Rhett said, voice low and raw. "It's getting harder to wake up without wondering what the point is. You didn't have to let me stay. But I'm glad you did."
Niko replied in turn. "Yeah, well… you're not the only one who wonders sometimes. Difference is, I've got somewhere to crash when it hits me. Figured you deserved the same. Where are you working these days that lets you sleep in so late?"
Rhett took a sip of the coffee already laid out for him at the table, wincing slightly at the bitterness. "Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing."
Niko shrugged, stretching one shoulder. "Remote contract stuff. Systems Accounting and Oversight. Most of it runs itself unless someone screws something up. Which, to be fair, they do. A lot."
Rhett gave a tired smile. "The blue Dyns life must be nice."
"I mean, it's not gold Dyns or anything," Niko replied, "but it keeps the lights on."
Rhett let the silence hang a moment before setting the mug down. "I work the floor at a private lounge. Execs only - fancy uniforms, biometric check-ins, whole deal. I refill glasses, scan passes, pretend not to listen when they talk like no one else exists."
"Sounds glamorous." Niko chimed.
"It pays just enough to keep me breathing," Rhett said. "Most weeks." He tapped his ID band, where the faint glow of the debt lock flickered at the edges. "The rest, well… the house always wins."
Niko nodded toward the half-curtained window, where the city haze was already tinted gold. "So when are you supposed to start today?"
Rhett didn't look up. "An hour ago." There was a beat. Then,
"Rhett - " Niko started, the kind of tone older brothers reserved for conversations they didn't want to have but always ended up having anyway, but the sound cut out mid-word. A soft chime clicked from Rhett's jacket, still draped over the chair. A thin pulse of light shimmered along the collar.
Rhett stood, rubbing the back of his neck. "That'll be Tessa." He reached the chair and flicked two fingers along the collar seam. The holochip activated with a low hum, projecting a faintly glowing figure just above the fabric.
Tessa's voice came through before her image resolved. "Hey. You awake? I wanted to check in - see how you're holding up. Last night you looked like a the backside of one of those Descrants we read about. " she said, half amusement, half concern.
Rhett ran a hand over his face. "That's because I felt like it. Sill do. I guess I lost track of time."
"You always lose track of time," she said. Her tone softened. "You should still go in to work today."
He frowned. "After last night? I'm not exactly the face of luxury service right now."
"Maybe that's why you should," Tessa said. "Some days are for hitting rock bottom, just so you can bounce."
There was a pause - long enough to make it sound like something else sat beneath the words. "You think today's gonna be any better?" he asked quietly.
"I think it could surprise you," she replied. "But you wont know unless you go. If its a bad day, then its just another drop in an ocean full of bad days. If it's a good day, then it'll be like a little gift."
The line cut before he could answer. Rhett stared at the fading shimmer above his jacket collar for a long second, then exhaled through his teeth. Niko watched from the kitchen, mug in hand. "Girlfriend?"
Rhett smirked faintly. "Something like that." He shrugged on his jacket, the holochip still warm against his neck. "Thanks for letting me crash here Niko. The couch was almost too comfortable. Made me think about turning my life around."
"Then I'm definitely burning it," Niko said dryly.
Rhett grinned, the ghost of his old self flickering through. "Don't worry. I'll be back to test out your other furniture again soon." With that, he stepped out into the nook containing Niko's descent pod, floating down twenty-three floors before opening onto a transit deck washed in artificial dawn.
The city was already moving - commuters in gray coats and Dyn-bands drifting past one another like data packets, heads down, earpieces in. The morning fog had rolled through the street-level vents, catching the blue-lit underglow of delivery drones as they wove between the support pylons above.
Rhett stepped onto the walkway grid and let the current pull him along. He didn't mind the walk. It gave him time to let the noise settle. The ache in his chest, the guilt, the call from Tessa still echoing behind his ribs like a loaded question. He passed a woman pushing a cart of biotech limbs, a kid selling bootleg neural chips off a folding table, a city patrol drone hovering too long above someone already trying to be invisible.
Nothing unusual, just another morning in Sector Five.
By the time the lounge tower came into view - gleaming and precise like a scalpel stabbed into the smog - Rhett had straightened his collar, rolled back his shoulders, and buried everything else under his skin. At the door, the biometric scanner took a moment longer than usual to register Rhett's ID band.
He stood still, staring into the retinal lens while the machine hummed through its morning tantrum. A green light finally blinked alive, and the security door hissed open with all the warmth of a medical incinerator.
::Welcome, Attendant #2197::, the terminal chimed.
"Yeah, thrilled to be back," Rhett muttered.
The lounge was already half-lit in that calculated glow the execs preferred - somewhere between refined luxury and emotional detachment. Glass panels lined the walls, filtering in the city's filtered gold light. Every surface was polished. Every chair perfectly aligned. The whole place reeked of the kind of money that only knew how to be spent.
He stepped behind the service counter and slid his arm across the console. The shift officially started. ::Timer engaged.::
A voice rang out from the back hallway before he could even grab his work tablet.
"You're late, Korran!"
Rhett winced. His manager's heels clicked against the synthetic marble like a metronome of disappointment.
"You're late again," she said, rounding the corner with a pad in hand. "And you look like you slept in your clothes."
"That's because I did," Rhett said flatly, not bothering to lie.
She gave him a once-over. "You smell like you did too."
Rhett pulled the service tablet from its dock and forced a smile. "Great. Now I'm hitting all five senses."
"Don't test me," she snapped. "If one of the Gold-tier guests complains again, you'll be lucky to be scrubbing grout in the Redline stations by next week."
Rhett nodded. "Understood, ma'am."
She stared at him another beat, like she was daring him to flinch. Then she turned and vanished back down the hallway, already chewing someone else out through her headset.
Rhett let out a slow breath and ran a hand through his hair. Then he straightened his tie, tugged at the sleeves of his uniform jacket, and scanned the guest list. Five execs were scheduled to be on-site that morning. All regulars. Nothing unusual, to include the hum behind his temples as the day began.
The lounge matched the ache in frequency. Just prevalent enough to signal that the day had begun: glass stemware chiming faintly, systems breathing through the walls, the low purr of temperature-controlled airflow. Rhett had already delivered the first round of drinks - single-serve indulgences tailored to biometric profiles, before most of the execs even noticed he was there.
Five executives were scheduled for the morning shift, each staggered in their own large but secluded glass chamber lining the perimeter of the lounge. Privacy was a commodity here, but visibility? That was a power play - or rather, display. Rhett moved between them with the steady rhythm of practiced anonymity.
The first was a woman named Ellerin, tall and angular, always tapping through AR overlays even while sipping her neurotonics. She didn't speak unless something was wrong - which was rare, because Rhett made sure it wasn't. He slid the drink onto the table, nodded once, and moved on.
The second exec grunted a thanks without looking up. The third asked him to check the ambient lighting, then the seating firmness, then requested a different glass entirely for his second drink. Rhett complied with all of it, smile tight, movements seamless.
The fourth was already halfway through a tense conference call when Rhett entered. She waved him in without missing a beat, then immediately forgot he existed. Just the way they liked it.
Then there was Thorne. He was always the neediest. Rhett had been in and out of Thorne's chamber more times than he could count that morning - adjusting the chair incline, replacing the synth-linen towel twice, swapping out a half-sipped drink because "the temperature had drifted." Each time Rhett had re-entered the room, Thorne had made some dismissive gesture or muttered something under his breath. But he'd also grown steadily more restless. Jittery. Like something about the day wouldn't let him settle.
When Rhett stepped in again with another refill of some pungent, dark-red liqueur - Thorne didn't bark an order. He just waved vaguely toward the seating alcove.
"Just stay. I might need you," he muttered, pacing barefoot along the glass edge of the chamber, suit half-buttoned, collar askew, earpiece blinking red.
Rhett blinked. "In the room?"
Thorne didn't clarify. He only pointed at the tablet console. "Sit. Or stand. I don't care. Just don't touch anything."
Rhett moved to the corner, silent, blending into the high-gloss shadows like an afterthought.
The call resumed moments later, piped in through the holo system - an anonymous male voice, smooth and cruel, laying out numbers like scalpels.
"…if we reduce the workforce of his company by thirty-eight percent before the cycle's end, we can still report a three percent gain. The pension files have already been set to expire, so most won't even realize until the quarter's closed."
Thorne chuckled dryly. "Let them scream after the reports drop. By then the board will be drinking."
Rhett's stomach knotted. But he said nothing.
The call ended with a digital chime. Thorne leaned forward to pour himself another glass. His hand trembled. The bottle tilted awkwardly. The rim of the glass caught the lip of the console.
He didn't drink. His breath had hitched.
Then the coughing started, sharp and sudden. Wet.
Rhett's head snapped up. "Sir?"
Thorne hunched forward, choking violently, hand clawing at his throat. He stumbled sideways, knees folding beneath him, and slammed into the table with a sickening crack.
Rhett was already moving. He knelt beside the man, turning him over, fingers pressed to Thorne's throat.
No pulse.
He fumbled for the wrist instead, anything. But it was already too late.
Thorne's eyes were still open, fixed on the ceiling. His mouth hung slack. Rhett tried compressions. A breath. Then another. He checked again.
Still nothing.
And then: a chime.
A tone blinked from the room's console.
::INCOMING CALL - AUDIO ONLY::
::PEREGRINE ASSET GROUP::
Rhett froze. His hands were still braced on Thorne's chest. His brain hadn't yet caught up. The console auto-answered, someone's v0ice, stern and fast, started on the other side. "Thorne, we're green to proceed. Your confirmation's the last one. Have the funds been rerouted to sub-account Delta-9?"
Rhett looked down. Thorne's ID bracelet was blinking, its biometric lock still intact. The console showed the transfer field. It was live. He hesitated, before slowly reaching up and tapping the confirm field.
"Yes," he said. "Funds are rerouting now."
There was a pause from the man on the other line. Then: "Excellent. You've just guaranteed full control of Peregrine's eastern assets. Twenty-five million Gold Dyns, as agreed. Transfer complete."
The call ended.
Silence.
Rhett hovered over Thorne's body as his eyes locked onto the bracelet. It was still glowing - pulsing with confirmation. The man at his feet wasn't moving. He wasn't coming back.
But that money? It was real. Twenty-five million gold Dyns. An impossible amount. The system hadn't flagged his death yet. He still had time before the vitals desynced and the death log pushed to the central registry.
He knelt. His hands were steady, though his heart wasn't.
First, he unclasped his own bracelet. The band was cheap - gray Dyn issue, its surface scuffed and dull. He pressed it against Thorne's wrist until it synced. The console pinged softly. ::INITIALIZING::
Then he slid Thorne's bracelet off. The metal was heavier, warmer from the man's skin. Gold Dyn certification, executive tier. He slipped it onto his own wrist, and the system accepted the switch without question. No scan., no protest. Just a quiet chime of obedience.
The bracelets blinked once, then aligned - two perfect green rings.
On the console, Rhett Korran's vitals registered a fatal drop. ::Subject deceased::.
Thorne's bracelet - his bracelet now - remained stable.
He sat back on his heels, staring at the man who used to own everything in this room.
"Oh boy, I'm in for it now." he whispered, but it came out half‑laugh, half‑breath.
His pulse was so loud in his ears. Even the air tasted different, now thin and static, electric. He pulled himself upright, one trembling hand brushing dust from his uniform. The bracelet on his wrist gleamed in the filtered light, gold refracting across his knuckles like it was mocking him.
He stepped back. The lighting in the room hadn't changed, but Thorne somehow looked smaller now. The bulk of his ego had deflated, leaving behind only a well-dressed husk with forty-dollar fingernails and a glitched contact lens flickering in one eye. The ID bracelet on his wrist blinked again.
One slow pulse… then another.
Still warm. Still keyed to him.
Rhett's hand hovered over it. He knew better. He knew the scanners in this place tracked movement, time logs, door access, biometric trails. Knew the risks., and knew the fallout.
But none of it felt real anymore.
What felt real was the number still lingering on the transfer screen.
::25,000,000.000::
More than his entire bloodline had ever touched. More than he'd make in a dozen lifetimes filling glasses and swallowing his pride. Enough to wipe every trace of his debt, and then burn the debt system to the ground. His fingers curled around the edge of the console.
One scan, one identity switch, one lie.
Maybe it was the chime still ringing in his ears, or the copper taste of guilt and adrenaline fighting in his mouth. But something shifted. He looked back down at Thorne. For a second, Rhett just stood there, waiting for something - an alarm, a lockdown, a red light slicing through the silence. But nothing came. Only the ambient hum of a room designed to coddle the elite and ignore the rest.
He could hear his own breath now. Shallow. Stuttering.
He straightened the edges of Thorne's coat. Brushed a hand across the man's forehead. Smoothed down the collar like he was tucking a child into bed. And then, just loud enough for the room's passive monitoring to catch, he uttered:
"He just... collapsed! I called for help! But it was too late."
The emergency line blinked on cue. He didn't even need to press it. The system flagged the vitals again and sent the alert upstream.
::EMERGENCY RESPONSE DEPLOYED::
::LOUNGE 3 – PRIORITY ONE::
Rhett took one last look at the body. Then he turned, walked to the door, and exited like nothing had changed. As far as the system knew, Rhett Korran was dead on the floor of Lounge 3. No alert had gone up for Thorne. No sync had failed. Not yet. He had time.
He kept walking. Out past the concierge terminal, down the polished corridor that led toward the staff quarters. His immediate supervisor - Derrin - was hunched at the access terminal, muttering something about supply lag metrics.
Rhett didn't hesitate.
"Hey," he called.
Derrin turned, annoyed. "Shouldn't you be - ?"
"I quit," Rhett said flatly. "Right now."
Derrin blinked, like he'd misheard. "The hell are you talking about?"
"You heard me."
Before he could respond, Rhett was already turning, boots clicking against the floor with unfamiliar purpose. He didn't need to wait for a response. The hallway lights didn't flicker. No lockdown engaged. No one shouted after him.
There would be questions later. There always were. But by then? The name Rhett Korran would already be archived and flagged as medically deceased.
And Thorne, whoever he'd been, would walk out of that building free and clear.