RED LABEL

The megacity of New Avalon never truly slept. It simply changed shifts.

By 7:30 AM, the streets surrounding Redstone Tower had transformed into a raging river of ambition.

Luxury sedans glided past yellow cabs, coffee vendors shouted over the roar of engines, and thousands of sharply dressed elites poured into the 78-story glass monolith dominating the sky.

Redstone Global Holdings wasn't just a corporation. It was an empire. Banking, AI, aerospace, pharmaceuticals, energy... If an industry shaped the modern world,

Redstone owned a piece of it. Its towering glass facade reflected the morning sun in blinding fragments, as if the building itself refused to be questioned.

Inside those polished walls, promotions were wars. Friendships were temporary. Power was permanent.

Outside? Power meant absolutely nothing.

Across the street, a bearded man pushed a battered shopping cart, its wheels squeaking in protest against the uneven pavement.

His clothes were faded beyond recognition. His boots were patched so many times the original leather was long gone. Dark, unkempt hair shadowed eyes that possessed an eerie, motionless calm: an economy of motion that didn't belong to a beggar.

Passersby recoiled. Some wrinkled their noses. Others clutched their wallets, as if his poverty were contagious.

A little girl walking with her mother caught his eye and offered a bright, innocent wave.

The man’s lips curved into a faint, warm smile. For a split second, a sharp, terrifying light flickered deep within his tired eyes.

Her mother yanked the child away violently. "Don't stare!" she hissed, her voice laced with disgust. "He’s a nobody! You’ll catch a disease just looking at him!"

"But Mom," the girl protested, looking back. "He smiled. He doesn't look like a bad guy..."

"We don't have time for this, honey." The mother dragged her faster into the crowd.

The homeless man didn't react. His expression remained utterly unreadable. Inside his cart sat neatly folded blankets, a precision toolbox, water containers, and aluminum cans sorted into flawless, categorized rows.

Everything was arranged with military exactness: a stark, mysterious contrast to the trash he pushed.

Nothing about him suggested danger. Nothing suggested prestige. He looked like a man the world had thrown away.

They had no idea who was standing at their front door.

SKRRR!

A convoy of sleek, black SUVs pulled up to the VIP entrance of Redstone Tower. The ambient noise of the street died down instantly.

Employees straightened their jackets and held their breath.

"She’s here," someone whispered, sweat beading on his forehead. "The General Manager."

"I heard she purged an entire department last week just for missing Q3 targets by two percent. She's a monster."

"It wasn't the whole department. It was six senior directors!"

"Same difference..."

The lead SUV's door was pulled open by a crisp, trembling chauffeur. A sharp, black designer heel touched the pavement.

Evelyn Carter.

At just twenty-seven, she was the youngest General Manager in Redstone’s blood-soaked history. Her charcoal suit was tailored to perfection: striking, ice-cold, and dominant.

Chestnut hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing a face that belonged on the cover of Forbes, though faint, exhausted shadows lingered beneath her makeup.

She didn't glance at the gossiping crowd. Every wasted second was a cardinal sin.

Inside her head, a lethal clock was ticking:

Coffee. Board briefing. Merger review. Legal war. Investor presentation.

Beside her, a young assistant scurried to keep up, clutching three heavy leather folders and an iPad to his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He was her fourth personal assistant in two months. The last three had suffered complete mental breakdowns under her god-tier work ethic. He could feel the same invisible vice tightening around his throat.

"G-good morning, Ms. Carter," he stammered, matching her aggressive stride.

Evelyn didn't slow down. Her heels struck the marble floor like lethal gunfire. "Meeting attendance?"

"Ninety-three percent confirmed!" he reported fast.

"The remaining seven?"

"Two delayed flights. One hospitalized."

"Replace them," Evelyn cut in, her voice cold enough to freeze the room. "No excuses."

"Already done, ma'am. The board seats are filled."

"Legal amendments?"

"Finalized."

"The billion-dollar acquisition documents?"

"Queued for your signature."

Evelyn allowed herself a single, microscopic nod. A fleeting spark of cold satisfaction settled in her chest.

Perfect, she thought. Exactly how Monday mornings should look.

As she stepped through the front desk lobby, Evelyn Carter was completely unaware that on the frozen pavement, the man in rags had finally stopped his cart.

He watched her as she moved, his eyes narrowing into two razor-sharp slits.