WebNovels

Chapter 5 - 4

Maverick was renting a room in an old apartment complex. Inside, a group of men in black quickly gathered, the air thick with tension.

"It looks like Plan A is a total bust," the leader said in a low voice, his sharp gaze sweeping over everyone.

"Our target's even trickier than we thought. Didn't fall for the trap at all," another man muttered, fingers tapping nervously on the gear at his waist.

"No time to waste." The leader's tone was cold and decisive. "We're moving to Plan B. Now."

He pulled a photo from his jacket and handed it around. "We still have the target's friend, Lincoln. According to our intel, Lincoln's habits are predictable, and he's easier to control than our main target."

"Grab Lincoln first. Make him cooperate. Through him, we can track down where the target's hiding."

Everyone nodded in silent agreement, understanding this manhunt was about to enter its next phase.

"Remember—move fast and stay invisible. Don't tip off the target. We need a clean sweep, quiet and smooth."

The group murmured as they started planning out the details, secretly assigning routes and positions for Lincoln's capture.

Outside, night pressed in. But the men in black were already suited up, ready to begin the next round of hunting under cover of darkness.

 

The last rays of sunset cast a golden glow over a high-rise in District 19, making the glass shimmer. It was past office hours, but the thirteenth floor was still packed with people. Harsh fluorescent lights mingled with the strong smell of coffee, while the chatter of keyboards and the steady hum of printers filled the air.

Everyone was absorbed in overtime mode when Manager Wen strode in. He was decked out in a sharp, expensive suit, hair slicked back, beard trimmed to international standards. As he walked through the office, he nodded and smiled at every desk, like a strict homeroom teacher on patrol.

"Good job, everyone." His voice was friendly, like he was praising a group of kids for doing their homework.

"Back in my day, our offices didn't have big windows, fancy coffee machines, or private restrooms. You really can't compare it to now," he added, as if those tough times were a badge of honor.

"So don't complain about working late. At least you get to use smart toilets!" He tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but nobody laughed.

Sitting near the restroom was Lincoln Chase. He looked pale and tired, still wearing the same old white shirt, hands a little too thin for a man his age. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, pretending to work but really lost in thought.

Manager Wen kept rambling, "These days, the workplace is a battlefield. If you're not giving it your all, someone else will fight their way in and take your place. But if you stick with it—five years, you might be sitting in my chair. Ten years, you could be the next regional manager."

He lightly patted an employee's shoulder. That person jumped up and started clapping, and a half-hearted wave of applause followed from the others.

Wen paused, picked up his coffee, and continued, "Don't worry so much about your salary. With 'Power Company' on your resume, who's going to look down on you? Of course, you have to survive first."

Someone quietly rolled their eyes, but Wen didn't notice. "Back then, some managers wouldn't even get married or date, all for their careers. That's real dedication."

A middle-aged worker grumbled under his breath, "So what about the ones who are already married with kids?"

Wen grinned, "Already married? That's even better for working overtime! You get to skip housework and avoid your wife's nagging—what's not to love?"

This got a burst of almost bitter laughter from the office. Wen seemed very pleased with himself.

Lincoln figured the boss was in a good mood. When Wen walked over, Lincoln stood up and bowed politely, trying to sound hopeful: "Manager Wen, today's my birthday… Could I go home early?"

Wen's eyes flashed with disdain, though his smile stayed professional. "A single guy with a birthday? I'll have our pretty secretary bring you a cake, how about that?"

Lincoln felt a chill run through him. He knew that was a no. He sat down, shoulders sagging.

As his eyes drifted to the office slogan—"Employees are the backbone of the company"—he couldn't help but kick over the wastebasket beside his desk. But when he noticed Wen looking back at him, he quickly picked it up, pretending it was an accident.

He clenched his fists and stared up at the spinning clock on the wall. The hands seemed to mock all those chasing their dreams—just tiny, replaceable cogs in a massive machine. He thought about the news story of an overworked employee who collapsed at his desk after a month of non-stop overtime—no compensation, just a posthumous "model worker" award.

Lincoln's mood hit rock bottom when the secretary, Miss Stump, sauntered over. Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes were full of scorn. She plopped a paper cupcake on his desk without a word and walked off.

He recognized it instantly—a leftover from some office event, not even re-wrapped.

The frosting was cracked, like all the sweetness had already drained away.

He tossed the cupcake straight into the trash, but in his mind, another cake appeared—a delicate little thing, soft and fragrant, the best he'd ever tasted.

He closed his eyes and drifted back to a year ago. That day, he'd been working overtime too, and nobody remembered his birthday—except for Maverick.

"Lincoln, cut back on the smoking, will you? You keep living on takeout and you're not afraid of dying?"

Maverick had shoved a box of fast food at him, his tone half-serious, half-annoyed.

Lincoln shot him a look. "Don't nag me. You're eating the boss's food and still talking smack."

Maverick just laughed it off, like nothing in the world could faze him. "You look off today. Someone step on your tail?"

Lincoln hadn't planned on talking about it, but the words slipped out anyway, "Manager said he was going to promote me. Instead, he gave the job to some big shot's kid. Feels like I'm the bird squatting on the lowest branch of the tree—all I see when I look up are a bunch of butts."

Maverick burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. He slapped Lincoln's shoulder, grinning, "If you can still crack jokes like that, you're not totally broken yet."

Then, as if performing a magic trick, Maverick pulled a beautiful little birthday cake from behind his back.

"Happy birthday!"

Lincoln stared at the cake—it definitely wasn't cheap. He was used to measuring everything by price, and for a second, his eyes stung.

"Idiot. Buying this pointless cake, you just wasted your whole day's pay!" He said it with a scowl, but the sweet, warm taste had already filled up his heart.

The harsh creak of the bathroom door beside his desk snapped him out of his memory.

Where was Maverick, anyway? That reckless, greedy guy had gone to volunteer in the dangerous quarantine zone. He should have been back by now—why hadn't he even called?

Today was Lincoln's birthday. No one knew, not even his family ever remembered, but he was sure that noisy Maverick wouldn't forget.

He stared at the monitor, watching endless data scroll by like crawling insects. The cold white glow of the screen turned his face into a pale, frozen mask.

There was a crack in the wall by his desk. Every time he had to stay for unpaid overtime, Lincoln found himself staring at it, lost in thought. He imagined he was a tiny bug, crawling into the crack, escaping through the other side of the building—never looking back.

He stared at that crack. It seemed deeper than before. He could almost feel a breeze whispering out from it, calling to him with secret temptation.

He'd lost track of how many times he'd "talked" to that crack lately—maybe more and more as of late. It whispered, over and over: Agree to the deal, and you'll get everything you ever wanted.

His eyes were sore. He couldn't remember if he'd ever said yes to the crack.

Suddenly, he blinked—were those thin black threads snaking out from inside the crack? They drifted in the air, swaying gently, growing longer and longer. Then, from the black filaments, a dark flower bud poked out, slowly blossoming. It opened into a strange, mesmerizing black flower. The petals were as dark as ink, but the center shimmered clear as crystal, glowing with an irresistible, unearthly allure.

 

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