LOGINElliot (1st Person) By the time the meeting ended, my head was pounding. Arguing with Timothy Blackwood should come with a warning label. Not because he raises his voice—he doesn’t. Not because he loses control—he never does. But because every word feels deliberate, like he’s already ten steps ahead and just waiting for you to catch up. I stepped out of the conference room, loosening my collar as I exhaled slowly. “Remind me not to do that again,” I muttered. “Do what?” Lena asked, walking beside me. “Challenge him in front of half the company.” She let out a quiet laugh. “Too late for that.” “Yeah,” I sighed. “Pretty sure I signed my own death certificate.” “You’re still employed,” she pointed out. “Barely.” “That’s more than most people get.” We walked back onto the main floor, and the moment we did, I felt it again. That shift. Conversations dipping just slightly. Eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. News traveled fast here. Apparently faster than I th
The conference room felt colder than usual. Elliot wasn’t sure if it was the air conditioning or the tension still lingering from the argument earlier. Probably both. He sat near the middle of the long glass table, his tablet resting in front of him while several executives quietly reviewed documents and financial reports. No one spoke much. Most of them avoided looking directly at him. Word had spread quickly through the office. The new hacker had challenged Timothy Blackwood. In front of everyone. Elliot leaned back slightly in his chair. “Relax,” he muttered under his breath. “Not like I punched the guy.” Across the table, Lena shot him a look. “You might as well have.” Elliot sighed. “Too late now.” The door opened. The entire room went silent. Timothy walked in. Every executive straightened immediately. The billionaire moved to the head of the table and activated the large display screen without a word. Charts appeared. News feeds. Stock reports. Then, on
By the end of the week, Elliot had come to a very clear conclusion. Working for Timothy Blackwood wasn’t difficult. It was suffocating. Not because of the work itself—if anything, Elliot enjoyed the complexity of the systems, the constant challenge of improving them, the thrill of staying one step ahead of potential threats. No. The problem was Timothy. The man didn’t just run a company. He controlled it. Every movement. Every decision. Every person. Including Elliot. And Elliot was starting to feel it. He sat in front of his workstation, staring at the glowing network map stretched across the massive wall display. Lines of data moved like veins through a living organism, pulsing with activity. His fingers moved quickly across the keyboard, rewriting sections of the monitoring algorithm. Cleaner. Faster. More efficient. But even as he worked, his focus wasn’t fully there. His eyes kept drifting. Toward the elevator. Toward the glass walls. Toward anything that r
The next few days passed in a strange rhythm. Wake up. Work. Argue with Timothy. Repeat. Elliot had stopped trying to use the elevator after the “coffee incident.” The memory still irritated him every time he thought about it. Golden cage. The words kept circling in his head. He hated how accurate they felt. Blackwood Technologies’ cybersecurity floor had become his entire world. The enormous room buzzed constantly with quiet activity—keyboards clicking, data scrolling across monitors, security alerts blinking and disappearing in rapid succession. Elliot sat in front of his workstation, half-listening to the hum of the servers while he ran another system diagnostic. Everything was stable. Too stable. He leaned back in his chair and stretched. “God, this place is boring when nobody is attacking us.” Lena looked up from her desk. “You say that like you want something bad to happen.” “I want something interesting to happen.” “You helped collapse a
By the third day, Elliot had learned two important things about living in Timothy Blackwood’s world. First The man barely slept. Second Everything in his life was controlled with terrifying precision. Schedules. Security. Employees. Information. Even the elevators moved only when the system approved it. It was impressive. But it was also starting to feel suffocating. Elliot stretched his arms above his head as he sat in front of the workstation on the cybersecurity floor. The large digital network map glowed across the wall as usual, showing global traffic flowing through Blackwood Technologies’ systems. The office hummed quietly with activity. Engineers worked at their desks. Analysts monitored incoming reports. Several people whispered occasionally about the Helios collapse that had shaken the tech industry only a day earlier. Elliot leaned back in his chair. “Corporate warfare,” he muttered. A lady seated two desks away, Lena glanced at him. “You sound impresse
The next morning felt strange. Not because Elliot had barely slept. Not because his brain still buzzed from the cyberattack the night before. But because when he woke up, the first thing he noticed was the coat still draped over the chair beside his bed. Timothy’s coat. Dark. Expensive. And faintly carrying the scent of expensive cologne and cold night air. Elliot stared at it for a moment while sitting on the edge of the bed. “…Weird,” he muttered. He didn’t remember bringing it back to the penthouse. Maybe Timothy had left it there. Or maybe Elliot had walked back half-asleep and didn’t notice. Either way, it sat there like a quiet reminder of the night before. Elliot grabbed it and tossed it over the chair. “Not thinking about that,” he decided. He dragged himself into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and ran a hand through his messy hair. His reflection looked exhausted. “Great,” he sighed. “Day two in billionaire prison.” By the time he walked i







