After entering, she stared at her father and grinned warmly. He turned his head away, focusing instead on the dashboard.
His hands moved with practiced efficiency—igniting the engine, revving it once, twice.
The rumble vibrated through the car seats. He shifted into reverse, the vehicle creeping backward as the gate slid open with a metallic whisper. Then they were gone, disappearing into the night.
The next day was a super Sunday.
'My goodness, it's Sunday morning.'
Delvin's skull throbbed. Each pulse behind his eyes felt like a hammer striking an anvil.
He pressed his palms against his temples, the cool pressure offering little relief. This strange, nauseating ache—he'd never experienced anything like it before.
'Is this a hangover?'
The thought drifted through his foggy mind as sunlight knifed through the curtains, making him wince.
'Tomorrow's my big day.'
His heart picked up speed, adrenaline cutting through the fog.
'Zoom Multi Corporation Base One. My new ideas. I have to succeed—no matter what.'
The stakes crystallized in his mind like ice forming on glass. Success meant everything: becoming unstoppable, secure, protected.
Finding his way back home. He could almost taste it—the sweet possibility of passive income, of never having to glance over his shoulder again, chest tight with paranoia.
Delvin remained still on his bed, staring at the ceiling while these thoughts spiraled.
'You are right, brother. I would like to meet your relatives.'
Zauzo's presence bloomed in his consciousness—warm, curious, unmistakably *there*.
'Oh, you'd love them.'
A smile tugged at Delvin's lips despite the headache.
'They're the coolest people I've ever known. My younger brother Gehrig—he's amazing. Though we fought over stupid things constantly when we were kids.'
The memories flickered through his mind: scraped knees, shouted insults, fierce hugs after.
'I wish I could remember my memories—from before I merged with your consciousness.'
The melancholy in Zauzo's mental voice made Delvin's chest tighten.
'Sometimes all we need is time,' Delvin thought gently.
'When the timing's right, things unfold on their own.'
'I am grateful I merged with you. You have a good personality.'
Warmth spread through Delvin's chest—gratitude reflected back at him.
'Me too. Feels like fate, as we'd say on my original planet.'
His mind wandered to the previous evening, and his smile widened.
'Last night was one of the coolest nights ever. I wish I had more of that. Grandma Beatrice, she's…'
Words failed him. She simply *was*—a force of nature in human form.
---
At Grandma Beatrice's house, she lay awake in bed, one hand pressed against her forehead.
The headache pulsed in waves—too much wine the night before. She'd known better, but the evening had demanded it.
With a soft groan, she pushed herself up and leaned against the pillows piled at the far end of her bed.
Her right hand stretched toward the shelf, fingers searching blindly until they found the water bottle. Even that small movement made her wince.
"Ahhh! This awful headache is killing me!"
Her voice cracked in the empty room. She unscrewed the cap and took two long sips, the cool water soothing her parched throat. As she swallowed, images from yesterday flooded back—laughter, conversation, and then George's words, sharp and clear.
'Delvin likes another girl. At Plagatoscal Blueview Hotel.'
Her jaw clenched. She'd made so many efforts yesterday, orchestrating everything just to win him over for this family, for *Brenda*. Her heart hammered with renewed purpose, the headache forgotten.
'Delvin has to marry Brenda. No matter what.'
Her fingers tightened around the water bottle until the plastic crinkled. This was their only hope—the singular path to securing this family's future.
'I'll take this as my mission. Until my wish is fulfilled.'
She wasn't one to back down. Never had been. A challenge only made her more determined.
---
Monday morning arrived with crystalline clarity.
At seven-fifty, Delvin stood before gate one, his reflection staring back from the polished silver surface. His pulse thrummed in his throat as he pressed the green button on the left, then swiped his Granetor across the scanner.
*Click.*
The sound echoed in the quiet morning, and the glass door slid open with a soft hiss.
Cool, recycled air washed over his face as he stepped into the elevator. The metallic scent of technology and cleaning solution filled his nostrils. His finger hovered over the buttons before pressing the number for his floor.
The doors began to close—
A figure darted in at the last second, and Delvin's heart jumped. An old man materialized beside him, seemingly from nowhere, and offered a gentle smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
The door sealed them in together. The elevator lurched upward.
"Is it your first time?"
The old man's voice was gravelly but kind.
Delvin's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Yes. Is it that obvious?"
The old man chuckled, a sound like rustling paper.
"I've worked here for many years. You learn to recognize the look."
The unspoken meaning hung between them: 'new faces carry hope and nervousness in equal measure'.
Zoom Multi Corporation Base One stretched across ten levels, each one a world unto itself. The first level housed general workers—the foundation.
The second contained office workers: accountants poring over numbers, analysts dissecting data, database collectors organizing humanity's digital fingerprints.
The third level belonged to IT specialists. The fourth to craft engineers—Delvin's assigned destination—where metal and circuitry took shape under skilled hands. The fifth level hummed with military precision: the Army and super soldiers. Scientists claimed the sixth, their white coats like flags of curiosity.
Architecture engineers commanded the seventh level. The eighth belonged to spacecraft pilots, practicing in simulators while technicians and scientists buzzed around them like worker bees.
The ninth level—Delvin's *dream*—housed inventors and innovators.
And finally, the tenth level: Directors, Generals, board members. The ones who decided everything.
"I wish you all the best, Mr..."
The old man paused, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Dred."
"Right, Mr. Dred."
The old man's smile deepened.
The elevator chimed. Fourth floor. Delvin's chest tightened, a mix of anticipation and something harder to name.
'Thank you, Mr. Williams.'
Delvin had caught the name tag in his peripheral vision. He smiled, then turned and walked toward his department, the sound of his footsteps sharp against the polished floor.
---
The craft engineers section sprawled before him—a cathedral of creation. More than twenty people hunched over various mechanical engines, sparks flying, the air thick with the smell of oil, heated metal, and ozone. The industrial symphony of drills, wrenches, and murmured calculations filled his ears.
"Good morning, Mr. Dred?"
A stocky man with graying temples approached, his enthusiasm palpable.
"Welcome to the craft engineers department, where we value ideas and are more than ready to help you climb the ladder to your desired position."
Mr. Frank Edwin's eyes shone with genuine warmth.
"If you're unclear about anything, feel free to ask while I run you through our current projects."
Delvin's face remained still—a mask of calm that revealed nothing.
The light dimmed in Mr. Edwin's eyes. His smile faltered. Had he said something wrong? Misjudged the situation? He opened his mouth to clarify—
"I'm sorry, Mr. Edwin."
Delvin's voice cut through, quiet but firm.
"I don't mean to disrespect you or your work. Thank you for the warm welcome, truly. But my interests lie somewhere else."
He paused, letting his words settle.
"I'd like to join the inventors and innovators. Can you help me get there now, or should I speak with someone else?"
Mr. Edwin's expression shifted—a frown creasing his forehead, then morphing into something between amusement and bewilderment. A mischievous smile played on his lips.
In all his years at Zoom Multi Corporation Base One, he'd never encountered such audacity.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dred. You need to qualify for that position by demonstrating your skills right here first."
His tone was patient, explanatory—the voice of experience talking to youth.
Delvin smiled, a calm settling over him like armor.
"I have an idea. It needs immediate attention."
His pulse quickened, but his voice remained steady.
"With the way things are going, it might help serve our future better. It's necessary we work on it as soon as possible. I just want the inventors and innovators' perspective on it—then we can look for a way to implement it."
He could feel his conviction radiating outward, filling the space between them.
Mr. Edwin relaxed slightly, his shoulders dropping. This young man had said something—*something*—that made him reconsider. Still, responsibility weighed on him. Today's youth could be so impetuous.
"You know there are consequences."
Mr. Edwin's voice softened, almost fatherly.
"If your idea isn't sound, you might risk losing your entire career before you earn a single coin."
He searched Delvin's face for doubt, for hesitation.
Delvin chuckled—a serene sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep and unshakeable.
"I'm a hundred percent aware of that, sir. And time is precious for both of us."
Mr. Edwin studied him for a long moment. The workshop noise continued around them—oblivious, uncaring. Finally, he sighed.
"Okay. I get you. But remember—I warned you."
He pressed a button on his Granetor, and a hologram display shimmered into existence, casting blue light across his weathered features. He tapped the communication option and placed a call.
Twenty seconds passed. Each one stretched like taffy.
Then General Martins appeared in the hologram, his hands folded across his broad chest.
"Mr. Edwin. What do I owe the pleasure of your call?"
A dim grin played at the edges of his mouth.
Mr. Edwin released a heavy sigh, his expression turning serious.
"General, Mr. Dred says he'd like to join the inventors and innovators department. He claims he has an urgent idea that needs to be tackled immediately."
General Martins' brow furrowed, concern etching lines across his forehead. His eyes shifted, locking onto Delvin through the hologram.
"Are you sure that's what you want?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge.
"Yes, sir."
Delvin's voice was assertive, clear. No tremor. No doubt.
General Martins' smile turned impish—the expression of someone anticipating a good show.
"Alright. Send him up to the ninth level."
His grin widened.
"Caution, though: our time is precious. Don't waste it, or you'll be fired on the spot."
The hologram winked out.
Delvin's heart hammered against his ribs—not from fear, but from the electric thrill of possibility. This was it. His chance.
He was going up.