[Point Nemo - The Pacific Ocean]
Point Nemo is the "Oceanic Pole of Inaccessibility." It is the furthest point from land on Earth. The closest humans are usually the astronauts on the International Space Station.
The storm was raging. Waves, forty feet high, crashed against the hull of a massive, black shape that had risen from the depths.
It wasn't a ship. It was the Leviathan—a nuclear-powered mobile fortress, three times the size of an aircraft carrier, invisible to radar.
Alex's Gulfstream G700 circled above the storm.
"No runway," Alex muttered, looking out the window. "I guess I have to knock."
He opened the emergency hatch. The wind roared, instantly sucking the air out of the cabin. Alex adjusted his tie, stepped out, and fell.
WHOOSH.
He plummeted 10,000 feet. The rain felt like bullets. At 500 feet, he didn't pull a parachute. He activated Titan Body.
BOOM.
Alex landed on the steel deck of the Leviathan like a meteor. The impact dented the reinforced titanium plating. Steam hissed as the ocean water evaporated around his heat.
He stood up, unharmed. His suit was dry instantly due to his body heat.
A single door opened in the center of the deck. No guards. No welcome mat. Just a dark corridor leading down.
[The Boardroom of the World]
Alex walked for ten minutes. The walls were lined with artwork—original Da Vincis, Van Goghs, and statues that looked like they were stolen from Atlantis.
He reached a set of double doors made of solid obsidian. They swung open.
The room was circular. The floor was a screen showing the ocean depths swimming beneath them. In the center sat a round table made of white marble.
Five people sat there. They didn't look like villains. They looked like... history.
The Elder (Seat 1): An old man in a wheelchair. He looked 100 years old. He was hooked up to a machine that pumped glowing blue fluid into his veins.
The General (Seat 2): A man in a plain grey uniform with no medals. His eyes were artificial red lenses.
The Banker (Seat 3): A woman who looked like a kindly grandmother, knitting a scarf.
The Bishop (Seat 4): A man in religious robes that didn't belong to any known religion.
Isabella V (Seat 5): The woman from the party. She was swirling a glass of wine, smiling at Alex.
There was one empty chair. Seat 6.
"You're late," The Banker said, not looking up from her knitting. "We started the war without you."
Alex walked to the empty chair. He didn't sit. He stood, placing his hands on the table.
"Nice boat," Alex said. "I assume you didn't invite me here to talk about maritime engineering."
"Sit down, boy," The General grunted. His voice sounded like grinding gears. "You are making the floor dirty."
Alex sat. The chair was uncomfortable. It felt like it was made of bones.
"Who are you?" Alex asked.
"We are the Council of Five," Isabella answered smoothly. "We are the Architects. We decide when the stock market crashes. We decide which country wins a war. We decide who gets to be famous."
"And you," The Elder wheezed, his voice weak but terrifying. "You are a glitch."
The Elder pressed a button on the table.
A hologram appeared. It showed a timeline of the world. Then, it showed a red spike. "The Alex Anomaly."
"For 500 years, we have controlled the global economy," The Elder said. "Money is a finite resource. We print it, we distribute it, we take it back. But you..."
The hologram zoomed in on Alex's face.
"...You are injecting Infinite Liquidity into a closed system. You spent $5 Billion on a laser. You spent $10 Billion on a media company. You are inflating the global currency to the point of collapse."
"So?" Alex leaned back. "Print more."
The Bishop laughed. It was a cold, dry sound.
"You arrogant child," The Bishop said. "Do you think money is power? Money is a leash. We hold the leash. You are just a dog who learned how to chew through it."
"We invited you here to give you a choice," The Banker finally looked up. Her eyes were pitch black. "Join us. Take Seat 6. Become a Controller."
"And if I refuse?" Alex asked.
"Then we will turn off your world," The General said. "We don't need to fight you. We control the satellites that carry your internet. We control the power grids that light your city. We control the farmers who grow your food. We can make you the King of a graveyard."
Alex looked at them. He activated God's Eye.
[Target: The Council of Five] [Status: Protected.] [Warning: Targets possess 'World-Class' Artifacts.] [Power Level: ???]
They weren't bluffing. These people had Systems too. Or something stronger.
"You want me to join you," Alex smiled. "But I have a question."
"Ask," Isabella said.
"If you are so powerful," Alex pulled out a coin—a simple quarter—and spun it on the table. "Why did you invite me? Why not just kill me?"
The coin spun. Whirrrr.
"Because," Alex stopped the coin with his finger. "You are afraid."
The room went silent. The General's mechanical eyes narrowed.
"You can control the economy," Alex stood up. "But I am the economy now. If you turn off the lights, I'll buy the sun. If you starve the people, I'll buy the farms. You are scared because for the first time in history, someone has a bigger wallet than you."
Alex looked at the empty Seat 6.
"I don't want your chair," Alex kicked the chair over. It clattered onto the marble floor. "I have my own throne."
The Elder's machine beeped faster. The blue fluid pumped harder.
"You have chosen... poorly," The Elder whispered.
"No," Alex turned to the door. "I chose to be free. Next time we meet, it won't be at a table. It will be on a battlefield."
Alex walked out. As the doors closed, he heard Isabella laughing.
"Let the game begin."