Variables and the Singularity
Tom was the head of Recetio Company's External Intelligence Department. He had risen to the position when his predecessor retired. But Tom wasn't pleased about it. The previous head's retirement hadn't happened in a normal way.
Not just Tom—no one in the company took the retirement at face value. The reason was simple: the head had opposed Owen's ascension to chairman. And it wasn't just him. Firings, honorable discharges, demotions. The methods varied, but everyone knew it was a purge.
People who'd clashed with Owen back when he was a division head, those who'd sworn loyalty to the former chairman. Sometimes, folks got purged for no reason at all. Even surviving one purge didn't mean safety. Some got targeted out of nowhere later, others discarded like stones from a plum pit even after proving their worth.
Of course, this was common in megacorp life. But the previous chairman rarely fired anyone he'd hired, and once promoted, people seldom got demoted or axed. Staff handpicked by the chairman didn't cause trouble, and even if they did, he usually forgave them—and they repaid it with even bigger results.
Owen's company was anything but forgiving. No second chances like a typical megacorp. Employees died like flies on the chairman's whim. Common sense in this world, sure, but alien to long-timers here.
Tom, head of External Intelligence, hated the razor-thin ice atmosphere. But he had no choice. Newlywed, with a wife and kids to feed at home.
Tom soldiered on silently. Until he got an order that turned his stomach.
> Track the location of Kashi Iliya Recetio and her companions.
Anyone could see it wasn't for anything good. In megacorps—like kingdoms—succession bloodbaths were routine. Purging rival factions post-coronation was basic etiquette.
When the order came, Tom slumped reluctantly at his computer. Part of him pitied her; another gave it his all for self-preservation. He never doubted it'd end in a one-sided purge.
So when Kashi stormed the company, Tom panicked. 'Why this suicide charge?'
Most staff cheered "Results incoming!" and grabbed gear. Not Tom. The Kashi he knew was bold, not insane. Even at the company's weakest post-reorg, it wouldn't fold to a merc band. Internal gripes against Owen might peak, but odds of siding with her were zilch.
Tom half-thought she meant to turn the building into her tomb. But seeing advance teams and neighbors wiped out, he reconsidered.
By the time Kashi annihilated them, Tom had to respect her. 'Something's up.' Grounds to barge in openly. No way his coworkers slacked.
Before facing Kashi and her crew, Tom glanced back. External Intel staff morale scraped bottom—spooked by the wipeouts.
The head eyed his subordinates, thought of his kids at home. Decision made. 'Fuck it. Fail, it's treason; win, revolution.'
He surrendered the instant he met Kashi's party. Even volunteered to escort them to the chairman.
Her companions blinked in confusion at Tom's sudden join; Kashi accepted like it was natural.
"Wise choice, Tom."
"I'm just the head..."
"No. You're a division head now."
Her words—arrogant at first glance—triggered deletions in Tom's mind. Confirming it, he knew: his bet paid off big.
*
Starting with Division Head Tom, surrenders snowballed to Kashi's party. Quick wits, Owen-haters, tradition sticklers. From seven starters, followers swelled to hundreds.
But Kashi didn't drag them all. "Hold the floors we've taken."
This was war. Civil strife in a colossal building. King's head mattered, but so did securing turf.
She left defectors to guard, keeping her six companions close. With them, she conquered the company.
Non-defectors? Fine by her. She respected neutrals between her and Owen—left them be unless attacked.
"Neutrals get no equal treatment to converts."
Safety-seekers stuck neutral. Thus, three factions: Owen's, neutrals, Kashi's.
Owen's dominated first. As Kashi's momentum built, neutrals surged. By half-conquest, Kashi's led.
This trajectory spelled doom for Owen. Security Chief Caden hated it.
"Tch. Stupid traitors."
Caden knew he'd betrayed the ex-chairman too. But he scorned their loyalty, not their defection—their idiocy.
'Follow her of all people...'
To Caden, Kashi proved zilch. Owen? Solo successes galore, sans ex-chair help. Genius rivaling the old man, ousted him even.
Kashi? Tomboy missy wasting ex-chair's freedom on outsiders and lame mercs. Zero achievements, zero future.
"Greenhorns drunk on delusion."
Caden stood. Hoped underlings handled it, but Kashi's crew shone too bright. Time to move—save face.
"Not total bluff after all."
He'd chalked initial raid to hot blood. But half breakthrough? Had to concede something.
Still— "Whatever it is, I'll smash it head-on."
Merc tricks be damned; he was Security Chief. Arsenal for armies, not mercs. Horde platoon? Easy. Confident crushing any ploy upfront.
Greatsword and grenade launcher in hand, he blocked the path.
Soon, Amon's party appeared. No intros—Caden attacked.
"Whatever cheap trick—"
End of line!! Greatsword swings, grenades, stomps cracking earth—he hounded them.
Fighting Amon's crew curved Caden's lips. 'Legit!'
Had to admit: solid fighters. Security-grade? Each head-level. Amon especially—gear him up, near-chief potential.
Potential only. Far from peak.
"Playtime over."
Neural accelerator kicked in. Dodging bullets, ignoring rear spells—baseline for him. Amped, he blurred, shredding the party.
Tank shield-sliced sans reaction. Sniper pulped on shoulder-check. Ogre's grenade pin yanked, lobbed at mage.
Only Amon and Sonia tracked him—but swords bisected necks first.
Kashi stared at afterimages, comrades' deaths unregistered.
"Bye, dumb missy."
Sword arced. Head claimed, Caden turned, foot on stair to report—instinct screamed.
Pinned the chill: Kashi's severed head in his grip.
"?"
Staring, her face shifted. He knew it.
"Hams?"
No reply from his secretary. Glanced at "party" corpses—gear and uniforms now Security's.
"What the..."
Display noised. Headache hit. 'Wait... why fight them?'
Amon's crew stalled mid-building. No need for him down here. Chairman's order? His call? Thoughts fragmented.
Noise again—snapped to: ex-Exec Director above, gazing down.
Caden tensed at the sudden ghost—resigned sans hesitation with ex-chair.
"Why're you here?"
Full alert—Director spoke.
"Poor bastard."
"...?"
"Betray ex-chair, still no Owen trust. Or makes sense—not trusting turncoats."
"What're you on about?"
"No Recetio tales from him?"
Caden blanked. Director sighed, monologuing.
"Not for you, but it'll take time—chat. Chairman never trusted you. From start. Why keep you chief?"
No answer needed.
"You had use."
Vision corner: download bar. at 30%.
'When?' Missed it how? Ignored, activated neural antivirus.
Vax detected, red alert—but Director's gesture wiped it, download resumed.
Unknown payload, bad news. Shot Director—bullets phased through, wall-holed.
"Pointless. Hitting my illusion hurts me none. Can't risk your blind shots nicking the missy's crew..."
Snap! Finger flick—body locked.
Gestures followed: cyberware shutdowns.
Caden baffled. "Impossible... no net connect."
Security offline in fights. Intranet only. Top hackers couldn't crack.
Yet Director did casually. Shrugged explanation:
"Twenty years. Chairman started tweaking suspect neural nets like yours."
Upgrades, intranet checks, virus scans—excuses to slip cyberware, subtly rewire nets. Slow over decades—undetectable.
Project lead: Chairman's sole confidant, the Director.
Caden's pupils quaked. "Owen's revolt... plotted then?"
"Nah."
Predated Owen's coup. Not all potentials targeted—just high-skill risks too valuable to ditch, too scary close. Some timelines, project dormant. Not this one.
Ex-chair said Owen trusted him, shared futuresight? No—Owen never trusted him, any line.
"Chairman stressed: singularity key. Owen misread—always optimal, fixes timelines. True singularity? Reliable ally, any world."
Words done—neural upload: Trojan.
Vision warped. Corpses flipped back to party. But now body rebelled—recognized staff as foes, moved to kill. Will irrelevant.
Plodded downstairs. Director's voice trailed:
"Impressive. Download lag alone... no wonder Chairman valued you."
Silence after.
Grabbed weapons below. Partial reactivations. Owen loyalists died by his hand.
Not alone. Director's touch spread—various staff turned attackers.
More: turrets, drones flipped hostile. Mercilessly shredded non-defectors.
'This... useless...'
Owen's foresight beef-up backfired.
Can't blame incompetence. Foe ran decades, proper handover. Owen? Two months in, no handover, stabilizing rule.
Thus, Caden and elites self-destructed clearing company. Battered, reached Amon's party.
Kashi Iliya Recetio
Short line on interfaces—they knelt like condemned.
Kashi swung spear unhesitating. Slice.
Last Owen loyalists gone.
Amon, watching, grimaced. "Hackers. Hate 'em."
Raw combat aside, hackers with time and access? Beyond imagination.
Why Amon skipped cyberware: even top mods—bad matchup, toyed to death.
"That's why I stuck to magic tattoos and genes."
Kashi agreed. Sonia and andro-mage nodded.
Gazes shifted to cyber-heavy party members—especially metal-more-than-meat sniper.
Mute sniper, shit-eating-grin faced: [Kashi, I swear I won't betray you. Trust me.]
"We'll see."
[Mercy, Chairman.]
They burst laughing, pressed on. Owen alone remained.