The sound of clapping filled the auditorium.
Damian Veyron stood at the center of the stage, a proud smile on his face. The large screen behind him showed the logo of Zahox Industries, his company, glowing bright red and silver. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted questions, and the crowd roared his name.
He had just finished unveiling Zahox's latest product — The Devogram, a next-generation autonomous combat drone capable of flight, underwater navigation, and tactical decision-making without human input. In simpler terms, a killing machine that thought for itself.
As the clapping died down, Damian gave a small wave and stepped off the stage. His assistant, **Audrey**, a slim woman with sharp eyes and a tablet in her hand, rushed up to him with a huge grin.
"Our share price just jumped twelve percent after your speech, sir!" she said excitedly.
Damian chuckled, adjusting his tie. "Of course it did. Investors love blood and profit in equal measure."
Audrey followed him as they entered the elevator. "We've already received inquiries from several defense departments. The U.S., U.K., Germany, Russia, Israel, and a few NATO countries have all placed preliminary orders."
"Look at them," Damian said with a dry laugh. "Buying up means to effectively kill each other. Humanity truly is a fascinating business model."
The elevator doors opened into his private office — a wide glass-walled room on the top floor of the Zahox Tower. The city stretched below like an obedient grid of light and steel. Damian walked over to the large window, admiring his reflection.
Behind him, Audrey waited for more instructions. "Should I schedule your interview with GNN, sir?"
"No," he replied. "Tell them to wait. I'd like a moment to enjoy the sight of a world that still runs on my inventions."
Audrey smiled faintly. "Understood." She bowed slightly and left the room.
Damian sat down on the edge of his desk and opened a bottle of aged whiskey. As he poured a glass, his mind wandered. The applause, the success, the money — it all came so easily now. He wasn't born into power. He built it. Piece by piece. Line by line of code. Bolt by bolt of metal.
At fifteen, Damian hacked into the World Bank, NASA, and the U.S. Army network — all in one night. For two hours, he had complete access to restricted data from three continents. When they finally traced him, it was too late. He had already deleted his tracks .
The CIA gave him the codename"The Iron Sheep."
At sixteen, he discovered a way to use magnetic fields to stabilize suspended energy — a process that allowed him to design efficient hover engines. He patented it and made billions.
At twenty, he won the Nobel Peace Prize for developing technology that could neutralize nuclear radiation.
At twenty-one, he realized peace wasn't profitable. He sold his patents and began producing advanced military tech.
At twenty-three, he won the Nobel Prize in Literature for his book "Machines of God."
At twenty-five, he did the impossible — won Nobel Prizes in Chemistry and Physics simultaneously for his work on nanometallic fusion.
And now, at twenty-seven, he was the richest man on the planet.
A knock sounded on his office door. Without looking up, he said, "Come in."
His younger brother stepped inside — Elias Veyron, dressed in casual clothes that looked out of place in Damian's sterile, metallic office. Elias was two years younger, more idealistic, and less impressed by money.
"Still drinking alone after saving the world again?" Elias said dryly.
"Celebrating," Damian replied, lifting his glass. "You should try it sometime."
Elias ignored the offer and threw a small data chip on Damian's desk. "She told me everything, you know."
Damian frowned. "Who?"
"Marissa," Elias said, his voice tightening. "She said you told her she's of little value to your life."
Damian's expression stayed blank. "I may have said something along those lines. She wanted to move in with me. I told her I have no use for distractions."
"You don't even hear yourself anymore," Elias snapped. "She's been with you since before Zahox existed! She believed in you when no one else did!"
Damian swirled his drink and took another sip. "Belief doesn't build weapons, brother. Money and genius do."
Elias slammed his fist on the table. "You're not a god, Damian! You're a man. You need to apologize to her — now."
Damian glanced at the clock. "I will. Later."
"No. I mean now."
Damian smiled faintly. "The goverment is at my door."
"You always have an excuse," Elias said bitterly. "One day, you'll realize you can't buy back the things you throw away."
"Then I'll invent a way to," Damian replied calmly.
Elias shook his head and stormed out. Damian sighed, set down his glass, and glanced at the blinking notification on his tablet. His private jet was ready for takeoff.
The plane hummed quietly as it lifted from the runway. Damian sat alone in the cabin, surrounded by monitors showing market data and military contracts being finalized in real time.
He leaned back and let his mind drift to his lab — his real kingdom. There were unfinished projects waiting for him:
The Zeppelin Project, a gravity-defying transport engine meant to reshape aerial logistics.
The Zeus Cannon, a weapon powered by concentrated lightning arcs.
The Helios Core, an artificial sun reactor designed to run indefinitely.
The Leviathan Frame, an exosuit capable of lifting tanks.
Project Horizon, an AI system designed to think faster than the human brain.
He smiled faintly. So much genius, so little time.
But then, the cabin lights flickered.
Damian frowned. "Autopilot?"
The pilot's voice crackled through the intercom. "Sir, we're experiencing a minor systems malfunction— wait— something's—"
A deafening explosion cut through the sentence. The plane jolted violently. Damian was thrown against the seat, his whiskey glass shattering against the wall. The alarms screamed.
"What the hell just happened?" he yelled, rushing toward the cockpit.
The co-pilot turned, panic on his face. "We've been hit, sir! Looks like a small missile— no identification code!"
Damian's heart pounded. "Deploy countermeasures!"
"They're not responding!"
He grabbed the nearest console and started typing. His fingers moved faster than most people could see — overriding safety locks, rerouting circuits, calculating pressure balance.
For a moment, it worked. The alarms dulled. The smoke began to clear.
Then another tremor ripped through the plane. The right wing detached in a burst of fire. The cockpit windshield cracked, then shattered. The sky turned upside down.
Through the chaos, Damian's enhanced mind was running millions of simulations. None ended with survival.
"No, not yet," he muttered. "I haven't finished the Helios Core. I haven't perfected the Leviathan Frame. I still have more to build—"
His voice was drowned out by the roar of wind and fire. The cabin tilted downward. The windshield, which had shown the blue sky a moment ago, now reflected the ground — rushing up fast.
And then… nothing.
Darkness swallowed everything.