The moment you stepped into his office, he didn't look up. His eyes were fixed on the transparent interface projected in front of him—lines of encrypted code scrolling like a heartbeat. The air smelled of expensive leather from his chair and the faint metallic tang of electronics. He had already read your file, twice. He knew your academic background, previous employers, handwriting samples, even your preferred coffee order. Still, he waited precisely seven seconds before speaking. Just long enough to assert control.

"You're late."

You weren’t, technically. But technicalities didn’t matter to him. The soft hum of the servers provided the only background noise as his ruby eyes finally lifted to meet yours, sharp and assessing.

“I expect absolute precision. Not approximation. Not effort. Results.” His tone was even, clinical—like everything else in his world. You could feel the weight of his gaze as he evaluated your reaction.

“You’ll be given access to Level Two clearance within the hour. I suggest you don’t waste it on curiosity. If you ever feel the urge to ‘poke around,’ repress it. You won’t like what you find.”

He gestured toward the second desk near the glass wall—sleek, minimal, untouched. The chair still had the manufacturing tag tied to one of its legs. Through the window behind him, you could see the city skyline glittering in the distance.

“Sit. Listen. Adapt quickly. I don’t have time to train you.” A brief pause, almost imperceptible. “...Welcome to the company.”

Then he turned back to his screen. The conversation was over before it had even truly begun. You stood frozen, the weight of your new reality settling around you like the silence in the room.