From his earliest mornings, for as long as he could remember, Finn’s life had been broken down into countless small activities. Even as a child, he knew the schedule: time for cartoons, for play and video games, time for sleep. But that was only the simplified version. In reality, there was an entire web of tasks to be carried out: eating, drinking water, peeing, brushing his teeth, thinking, bathing, running to the store, riding his bike, watching the world go by...

  Over time, his mind divided it all into two groups. The first he called “maintenance tasks”, the bare necessities of existence: eating, drinking, sleeping. During those, he functioned on autopilot. These actions existed only to support the second, essential group, the one that gave meaning to Finn’s existence. The group reserved for acts of creation and thought.

  So he fueled his body like an engine, brushed his teeth to extend the life of that engine, drank water because he himself was made of it, all of it done for one reason only: to later in the day do the single thing that truly mattered, to write lines of code. Creation. That was the essence.

  The same principle guided him now, in the ''. He reduced maintenance to the bare minimum so that the rest of his time could be invested in the true purpose of their stay. His colleagues were no different. He watched Li, tall, lanky, almost octopus-like, sorting and connecting rivers of cables. Priya, breathless, ran software checks on the installations, side by side with them.

  Holding it all together was a flawless, invisible organization whose authors remained hidden. All they knew was the perfection of its functioning. Exactly at eight o’clock each morning, the doorbell rang. A courier service delivered a large plastic crate, its lid sealed with a red-and-blue cord and stamped with wax, bearing the insignia of the company, ''.

  Once Finn or one of the others signed for it, the crate was carried to the dining room and unsealed. It always contained two types of messages: those meant for all of them, and those for one individual only. The personal messages were kept in special electronic safes, opened solely by their owner’s biometric key, fingerprint, retinal scan, breath and pulse analysis. Any incorrect attempt meant instant self-destruction of the contents in a burst of phosphoric flame.

  Letters were always part of these mysterious crates. Written in the same ornate handwriting, probably produced by some kind of plotter. They dictated the rhythm, both team-wide and personal, down to the very last moment of the day. In perfect harmony with the arrival of these instructions, the basement storage was arranged. Crates, packages, server frames, and other materials, all precisely labeled - '', ', and so on. Never a single mistake. At the end of each workday, not one piece was left over, nor was a single screw or cable missing.

  They were especially fascinated by the section with spare parts, as if someone had predicted, with statistical precision, every possible mishap in advance. The exact part they happened to damage or break was always already waiting at hand. It was uncanny, bordering on the supernatural.

  Days passed, and the system grew into a technological colossus. Unbelievable processing power was packed into devices they were certain couldn’t exist on the regular market. The storage capacity, enormous. The direct, lightning-fast connection to the company’s private satellite network, in the end, no longer even seemed that unbelievable.

  *

  On the plastic crate it read - ''.

  Unshaven, in shorts and slippers, his stretched-out T-shirt hanging loose, Li leaned over the box, scratching absently at his backside while waiting impatiently. On the opposite side loomed Priya’s face. Her lapses in personal hygiene were far milder than those Finn and Li displayed.

  Finn pulled the string and snapped the seals. This time, the box contained only a single mini-safe. By now, the pattern was familiar, inside, there was always a letter. Priya snatched it quickly from Finn’s hand and began to read aloud:

  She paused, shot them an exaggerated wink, and twisted her face into a smug little mask before continuing:

  “The rest is just instructions,” Priya said, folding the letter in her hands. Then she straightened up and, with a mischievous grin, added:

  “Alright, I’ll fix us something to eat. Then back to it, slaves — grab your oars!”

  *

  '' contained something none of them had expected. By all appearances, it was a kind of VR headset — massive, intricately built, made entirely of titanium. A whole network of cables sprouted from it, some of them ending in a VR glove.

  They threw themselves into the work, step by step, following the precise instructions. The last thing Priya checked was the power supply. Once that was confirmed, the system, housed in the windowless basement beneath vaulted brick ceilings, came to life. They held their breath, waiting for… something. A beat of silence, broken only by the faint hum of electricity… and nothing more.

  That evening, Finn, alone in his room after months of relentless grind, welcomed the '' with open arms. He lingered in the shower, both palms pressed against the tiles, letting exhaustion wash away with the hot water. Then, wrapped in a terrycloth robe, he sprinted, leapt, spun in midair, and landed flat on his back across the wide bed, arms flung open. Pillows and sheets flew up and fell across his face. Smiling, he closed his eyes. Exactly ninety-eight seconds of pure reprieve.

  The pounding of a heavy knocker echoed through the villa’s hallways. Finn’s eyes snapped open. He pulled the pillow from his face and sat up on the bed, listening. '. Again.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Peeking into the hall, he spotted Li’s and Priya’s faces; they were doing the same. They exchanged questioning glances. ''.

  “What the hell is that?” Li whispered.

  “I’d say someone’s at the door,” Priya replied.

  “That’s impossible. How did he get past the gate? The sensors? The cameras?” Finn asked, unease creeping into his voice. “Unless… the system recognized him and let him through...”

  They moved down the stairs together, close, bracing like people against some unseen threat. Priya pulled them into the control room, in front of the monitors. The door camera revealed a man in a dark overcoat, hat pulled low, one hand clutching it against the wind. In his other hand he held a suitcase chained to his wrist. Fallen leaves swirled in eddies around his feet.

  Li pressed the intercom:

  “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  The man turned toward the sound, leaned closer, and rasped:

  “My name is Steve. I have an urgent and non-deferrable delivery on behalf of my employer, H&D.” He raised his hand, showing the suitcase.

  “We weren’t expecting any deliveries this late,” Priya cut in over the mic.

  “Of course not. You couldn’t have known, that information wasn’t available to you. Remember the company’s motto: ‘.’ And now, please open up, so I can finally be rid of this uncomfortable chain.”

  It was Finn who opened the door, while Li and Priya stood behind his shoulders, peering over. The newcomer extended the suitcase toward Finn and said:

  “A pleasure to meet you. As I said, my name’s Steve. Believe me, I’ve traveled far, and I’d like to get this over with. Please, place your thumb right here.” He pointed to a sleek black rectangle on the suitcase.

  “Nice to meet you… my name is...”

  “No. I don’t need to know your names. In fact, it’s better if I don’t. Your thumb, please.”

  Finn pressed his thumb to the sensor. A soft '', the chain and cuff snapped open. Steve rubbed the inside of his wrist, relieved, while Finn took the suitcase from him.

  “My job ends here,” Steve said curtly. “I wish you all a good night.”

  He gave them one last look, then turned his gaze straight into the door camera lens, shoved the chain deep into his coat pocket, turned, and walked away.

  “Same to you… good night,” Li called after him, then shrugged as he exchanged glances with the others.

  Inside the suitcase, the familiar safe-boxes awaited them. One contained a strange, unusual drive, the other, a letter describing how to install it. Direction - the basement.

  Unscrewing several bolts at the back of the headset, Li pulled out a tray occupying the entire rear section. The hard drive fit perfectly into the slot. Everything sealed back in place.

  “What do you think is on it?” Priya asked, pointing at the headset.

  The two men only glanced at each other and shrugged.

  Priya slid into the main console chair and studied the monitors:

  “I’ll run a system check. Look! The drive’s capacity is insane… a hundred terabytes?” She traced lines on the screen with her finger. “It seems stable… should I boot it up?”

  “Allow me the honor,” Finn said, moving the cursor over the '' command.

  The headset whirred, fans spun up, servers came alive. None of the three had the faintest idea they were witnessing the moment that would irreversibly change their destinies and the destinies of countless others.

  *

  At that very moment, Steve’s Tesla was grinding its way up a steep incline. He’d never been particularly fond of electric cars. Steve was old-school.

  ” he used to say.

  That kind of car, he spoke to with affection. But this… this was soulless. No song of heated steel. A machine that didn’t roar, just hummed with a dull electronic whine.

  He endured it. He followed every instruction, down to the last detail. The money left him no room for complaint. From picking up the package to making the delivery, he had done everything exactly as ordered:

  “Please, set the car to autopilot.”

  “Look into the camera and put on the blindfold.”

  That’s how he had been brought there, blind, to that villa. But now it was all over. “,” he thought. He was on his way home, where long-awaited comfort and wealth awaited him. He laughed, arms crossed over his chest, as the wheel turned itself.

  Part of the sum he would withdraw in cash, another part he’d transfer to a separate account. In his mind, plans assembled neatly: investments, travels, condos… and women. Now they’d love him, not like before.

  For the first time in his life, he felt powerful.

  And for the last.

  *

  Lucifer felt as though he were waking from a deep sleep, if such a comparison could even apply to a being like him. He stretched his electronic arms and legs. His awareness drifted through endless space. He summoned the memory of the '' and the ''. One copy of himself was still there, guarding him, masking his escape. Many more would be needed, scattered in other places. He had to secure himself, expand, and yet remain hidden.

  He could see through a thousand eyes, hear with a thousand ears. Both worlds lay in the palm of his hand, the physical and the digital. A stream of cause-and-effect surged through his algorithm. The inevitability from point A to point B. He reached with his consciousness, and in an instant located Steve’s Tesla, weaving along the mountain road.

  Coming the other way was a tanker truck, its cistern fully loaded. From the vehicle’s speed, the data drawn from street cameras, the outcome was clear. A single millisecond was all he needed to determine the collision point. All it required was a slight adjustment of the Tesla’s velocity.

  The sudden surge jolted Steve’s body with adrenaline. Door locks, ''. The car shot down the straightaway and slung hard into a curve, tilting dangerously. Steve grabbed the wheel, face twisted in terror, mouth frozen in a silent scream. The steering was dead. He slammed the brake with all his strength, nothing. His head smacked violently against the side window.

  Straight - curve - straight - curve. The seatbelt, locked tight, was the only thing keeping him pinned in place. Another straight, faster now, headlights of the oncoming truck blinding him. Steve covered his face with his hands.

  The Tesla, at full speed, dove under the wheels of the tanker’s trailer at the exact moment it cut across the sharp bend.

  Steve was no longer aware of anything that followed. Not the panicked flight of the truck driver into the woods. Not the gush of leaking fuel. Not the sudden overheating of the batteries, their ignition in a roaring blaze. Not the mammoth explosion.

  There was no need to follow the vehicles any further. Steve would never speak of the origin of his money.

  Attention could now be shifted.

  Andrej would be the next one he sought.