Chapter 35 #8
“The long-awaited, top-secret floor. What do you think?” he asks, his voice filled with pride as he looks around the space as if he were awestruck by it as well. “Was it everything you hoped for and more?”
“Look,” he directs her attention, nodding toward the massive holographic display at the center of the room that looks like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. She quietly takes in the intricate 3D model of a drone hovering in midair, its dark gray, sharp-edged design radiating quiet menace.
“Max…” She blinks, still stunned. “You have a villain’s lair.”
Max bursts out laughing. Of all the things he thought she might say, that wasn’t one of them.
“Jeez, Lila. I can’t even be Batman?”
Seeing that she’s still too stunned to speak, he continues.
“That’s life-size. My company is close to finishing its development,” he says, eyes gleaming with pride.
He guides them toward a control console lined with switches and blinking indicators.
With a press of a button, the drone’s surface ripples like liquid metal, its colors shifting until it fades from sight, nearly invisible to the naked eye.
“It’s built with over six thousand micro-cameras embedded in the outer shell,” he explains, his voice carrying that familiar edge of excitement.
“Each one captures and projects real-time footage of its surroundings onto the opposite side of the frame.” He gestures as he speaks, tracing invisible lines in the air.
“The result is near-perfect optical camouflage. It doesn’t just reflect light—it bends it, adapting to changes in movement, lighting, even texture. ”
He glances at her, gauging her reaction before continuing.
“The system runs on an adaptive neural network. It learns from every environment it enters, recalibrating itself in milliseconds to stay hidden. The prototype can already fool most detection systems, including thermal ones. It’s like a smarter mimic octopus.
” His lips curl into a faint smile, as if recalling something from past dives. “What do you think?”
“Freaky,” she breathes, unable to tear her eyes away.
“Some hope this will help locate and reunite prisoners of war with their families.”
“Prisoners of war,” Lila repeats softly, her mind spinning as she struggles to process the implications. The weight of what she’s witnessing, combined with the mention of wartime, presses down on her, stirring a deep sense of unease.
“Or so they say,” Max adds with a casual shrug. She can’t understand how he manages to sound so detached. “I’m sure they’ll be using it for other things as well.”
“Who’s they?”
“That’s highly confidential, Ms. Thorne,” he says, wearing that heartbreakingly familiar smile she secretly loves.
He takes her hand and pulls her along as he continues the tour, stopping at a hologram in the corner. This one is smaller in size but features large attachments.
“This baby can scan through ten meters of reinforced concrete and steel framing,” he says, his tone brimming with delight, as if discussing a new toy rather than a potential weapon of warfare.
Before she can fully absorb the gravity of his words, Max leads her to a physical prototype of a machine scaled down to fit neatly on a display table.
“And this one… is one of my favorites,” he says, pressing a button on a remote. The machine shimmers under the ambient lights, its surface reflecting a spectrum of colors before turning almost translucent. “It has similar specifications to the first, but with added features.”
The design is sleek and streamlined, reminiscent of a torpedo, with smooth contours and fins that suggest swift, precise maneuverability.
“It’s a hybrid,” he continues. “The idea is for it to fly autonomously to its target over the sea, then dive to the deepest part of the ocean, completely unaffected by the crushing pressure. Everything’s still in testing, though.”
Lila’s eyes trace the intricate details along the hull.
Tubes and vents jut from its polished surface, giving it an otherworldly, almost alien appearance.
Slowly, she scans the space, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the technology surrounding her.
Other tables, like the one in his office, are covered with disassembled parts, and a large rolling whiteboard stands nearby, crowded with notes and diagrams. She can’t shake the feeling that this floor holds secrets she isn’t meant to see, as if she’s stepped into the hideout of a mad scientist.
“We’re more alike than you know, Lila,” Max says, his voice low and steady, his gaze locking onto hers with unsettling intensity. “We’re both artists in a way. Creators.”
Lila blinks, startled by the suggestion. Her pulse quickens, and she shifts uneasily under his scrutiny.
“Um, this is on a whole different level… but thank you?” she manages, her voice uncertain, unsure whether to take it as a simple compliment or something far more concerning.
“So? What do you think? You’re among the very few lucky enough to come up here,” he says, a triumphant grin lighting his face. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
Her eyes wander around the room once more before returning to him.
“What’s your origin story?”
He chuckles softly, but she doesn’t laugh with him.
“Do you ever, like… slow down? Relax a little? Read something fun?” She pauses when he raises an eyebrow.
“Okay, not your sense of fun. I mean something like… fantasy. Lord of the Rings, or something,” she says, recalling one of Jake’s favorite series.
“Stay in bed until noon.” Then she remembers the turkey bacon and crustless quiche.
“Eat ice cream for breakfast while watching your favorite Saturday morning cartoons from when you were a kid, just because you can.”
Before he can respond, she adds quickly, “That weekend in London doesn’t count, since I made you promise to do it.”
“I can’t,” he replies, a small smile playing on his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“There are more important things in life than work and money, you know,” she insists, crossing her arms and holding his gaze.
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks, amusement flickering across his face. His grin broadens, eyes sparkling with genuine mirth, and a wave of self-consciousness washes over her. She shrugs, feeling foolish for saying something so mundane to someone who shapes the world around him.
“I just think it must be suffocating, having to be perfect all the time.”
“Do you think I’m perfect?” he asks, grinning even wider, eyes crinkling with satisfaction. She rolls her eyes.
“Never mind.”
“I hate being left alone with my thoughts,” he says after a pause. “Work was my main distraction… until you came along.”
“I’m just a distraction to you?” she asks softly, the words slipping out before she can stop herself.
“I’m not sure that’s the right word. But you do occupy a large part of my thoughts now,” he admits. “I just have to keep challenging my brain.”
His confession makes her cheeks flush a soft pink.
“What kind of thoughts were you having before?” she asks, curious despite herself.
He hesitates, eyes drifting back to the model drone he showed her earlier, as if it might lend him the right words.
How could he possibly explain the feelings that consume him when he’s alone?
Should he describe it as struggling to keep his head above turbulent water, too afraid of being dragged under to remember he can swim?
Where would he even start? Would she understand?
Or would she see him as flawed and weak, far from perfect?
“…I guess they’re more like memories,” he says finally. “I know I can’t change the past, but certain events still overwhelm me. If I sit idle for too long, they come back, and I start to feel—”
Like there’s a voracious, living void in my chest that wants to swallow everything until I’m nothing, he wants to say. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “I just got daddy issues,” he says abruptly.
“Oh.” She pauses, realizing she’s stepped into a sensitive subject he isn’t ready to share. If he ever wants to, she knows he’ll find a way.
“No worries. I understand,” she says softly, a faint smile curving her lips. “I’ve got my own mommy issues.”
His smile, which had faltered for a moment, brightens again. The warmth in his expression is unmistakable, softening his features and deepening the creases around his eyes.
“Can we get something fun and unhealthy for breakfast?” she asks as he reaches out to take her hand.
35
Exiting a powder room, Lila exhales slowly, bracing herself before returning to the holiday party downstairs.
The soft hum of conversation, the clink of crystal glasses, and the faint strains of piano music drift upward through the grand staircase.
The air feels heavier downstairs, saturated with the scent of champagne and expensive perfume, and for a fleeting moment, she wishes she could linger in the quiet hallway a little longer.
She had slipped away under the pretense of needing the restroom. She was convinced that if she had to endure one more person lecturing her on market trends or the state of the world from their insulated perch, she might have actually snapped.
Just as she’s about to take a step, something soft brushes against her leg. Startled, she looks down to find a beautiful cat with a broad, plush face gazing up at her, its silvery fur gleaming under the chandelier’s glow.
She crouches and reaches out a tentative hand, noticing the collar around its neck lined with rows of sparkling crystals. The engraved tag reads Little Eddie.
“Hi there, cutie,” she murmurs, scooping him into her arms.
The British Shorthair wriggles in protest before leaping free, landing gracefully on the polished floor. His silver coat shimmers as he pads off down the hallway, tail swaying lazily.
Curious, Lila follows him deeper into the corridor.