The elevator doors hissed open, revealing a floor that shouldn't exist in a world of steam and stone. The 99th floor of the Aethelgard Tower was a "Masterclass in Corporate Minimalist Horror." The floor was a single, seamless slab of obsidian-polished glass, reflecting the "Data-Sphere" pulsing outside the window. In the center sat a conference table so long it seemed to have its own "Zip Code."
Marcus Thorne sat at the head of that table, his "Bespoke Suit" perfectly pressed despite the "Industrial Chaos" we had unleashed downstairs. He wasn't looking at us. He was staring at a holographic "Projector" that was displaying a "Life-Feed" of the "Server Merge."
"You're late for the 'Orientation', Elara," Thorne said, his voice echoing through the "Acoustically Perfect" room. "But then again, you always had a problem with 'Punctuality' and 'Corporate Hierarchy'."
