The crisis hit at 3:17 AM on Floor 48 – the floor housing Thorne Enterprises' cutting-edge, albeit rarely used, virtual reality development lab. Alex was polishing the chrome trim on the main lab doors when a frantic technician in rumpled clothes burst out of the elevator, nearly colliding with his cart.
"Thank God! Are you Facilities?!" the man panted, eyes wide with panic. "It's Jenkins! He's locked in the VR chamber! The secondary safety lock engaged during a test sequence and the primary override is malfunctioning! We can't get the door open! He's been in there for twenty minutes! The simulation… it's intense! He could be panicking, hurting himself!"
Alex stared. Locked doors were usually handled by Security or specialized engineers. "I… I just clean," he stammered. "You need to call Security, or Engineering—"
"They're on their way, but it'll take time!" the technician insisted. "The manual release is inside the control panel casing!" He pointed to a sleek, brushed metal panel beside the imposing lab doors. "But it's screwed shut with these tiny, specialized security hex bolts! We don't have the tool here! Maintenance might, but they're not on-site!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Jenkins is claustrophobic…"
Alex looked at the panel. Small, recessed hex bolts. Exactly the kind he'd encountered countless times on custom cabinetry during his construction gigs with Marco. He always carried a multi-tool in his coverall pocket – a habit born of fixing leaky faucets and loose hinges in his own apartment building.
He pulled out the worn leather pouch. "I… I might have something." He flipped through the bits – Phillips, flathead, and yes, a set of hex heads. He found one that looked the right size.
The technician's eyes lit up. "Yes! That looks like it! Please, try!"
Alex knelt, inserting the bit into his small driver. The bolts were tight, security-grade. He applied steady pressure, his construction-honed muscles straining. One bolt squeaked, then turned. Then another. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The third bolt fought him, but finally yielded. He carefully removed the panel, revealing a complex array of wires and circuit boards, and a bright red lever marked *MANUAL DOOR RELEASE – EMERGENCY ONLY*.
"Pull it!" the technician urged.
Alex grabbed the lever. It was stiff. He pulled harder, bracing his foot against the wall. With a metallic *clunk* and a hiss of hydraulics, the heavy VR chamber door slid open a few inches.
Inside, a pale, trembling man (Jenkins) stumbled out, ripping off a VR headset. He gulped lungfuls of air, sweat pouring down his face. "Oh god… oh god… the walls… they were closing in…"
Security and an engineer arrived moments later, finding the technician helping Jenkins to a chair and Alex carefully replacing the panel cover, his multi-tool back in his pocket.
"What happened?" the head of Security demanded, looking from Jenkins to the technician to Alex.
"Janitor saved the day," the technician said, clapping Alex on the shoulder. "Had the right tool, knew how to use it. Got the manual release open before Jenkins had a full meltdown in there."
Security looked skeptical, eyeing Alex's coveralls. "You accessed the control panel?"
"Technician requested assistance due to imminent risk," Alex said, keeping his voice level, echoing the wording he'd heard Amelia Vance use. "Manual release was clearly labeled emergency use. Protocol seemed to prioritize occupant safety over panel security in this instance." He hoped he sounded convincing. The last thing he needed was trouble for "tampering."
The Security chief grunted, turning to the engineer. "Check the override system. Full diagnostic." He glanced back at Alex. "You. Moretti, right? File an incident report with your night manager. Detail your actions." It wasn't thanks, but it wasn't an accusation either.
As Security and the engineer focused on Jenkins and the malfunctioning system, Alex slipped away, pushing his cart towards the service elevator. His heart was still pounding. He'd acted on instinct, drawing on skills from a world Ethan Thorne despised. And it had worked.
He didn't see Ethan Thorne standing in the shadows near the executive elevator bank. Ethan had been alerted to the "security incident" on the VR floor. He'd arrived in time to see the end – the grateful technician, the shaken Jenkins, Security's interrogation, and Alex quietly replacing the panel cover with competent, unhurried movements.
Ethan watched Alex push the cart away, disappearing into the service elevator. No defiance this time. No anger. Just quiet competence under pressure. Solving a problem Thorne's own specialized staff hadn't been able to handle immediately. Using skills utterly unexpected in a… janitor.
The anonymous art supplies had been a passive gesture. This was active. Decisive. Efficient. Ethan had witnessed Alex's fierceness protecting his sister, his resilience under debt, and now, his practical resourcefulness solving a technical crisis. The picture was becoming frustratingly complex, defying easy categorization as "clumsy" or "insignificant."
He recalled Alex's words: *"Crushing that… crushing them… just to prove a point? That's not efficiency, Mr. Thorne. That's just cruel."* Tonight, Alex had embodied a different kind of efficiency. One born of necessity, adaptability, and an unexpected skillset.
Ethan turned and walked back towards his office, the image of Alex calmly wielding the multi-tool lingering. The pebble of anonymous paint had been followed by a demonstration of tangible capability. The fissure in the glacier wasn't just visible; it was echoing with the sound of something solid striking ice. And Ethan Thorne, master of control, found himself unsettled not by the chaos, but by the emerging, undeniable competence of the man he'd tried to reduce to a debtor and a janitor.
**(End of Chapter 22)**