***

  Michael Berndt was a man of absolute arithmetic and cold logic. He possessed a rare, cold ability to calculate almost any variable or event to ensure the outcome benefited both his own vision and the Cluster's mandate. For over a century, he had reigned as the Technarch of Special Operations within the German Cluster -- a title that served as a sterile shroud for a darker reality.

  Under his hand, special operations were the hidden gears, pipes and wires of the machine: the brutal maintenance of Cluster security, industrial counter-espionage, and the protection of Directorate members that often felt more like a mix of imprisonment and child care. He held enormous responsibility and wielded staggering corporate power, yet Michael lived with the sharp, humbling realisation that he was, ultimately, an employee. He was a high-functioning component in a system that spanned the planet, habitats, outposts, but a component nonetheless.

  Over the decades, he had mastered the art of balancing his personal agenda with that of the Cluster. He had no taste for the hollow noise of corporate politics, nor for the accumulation of credits and stocks. To Michael, the System was the only thing that mattered, and energy was the only true currency -- a resource far more valuable in the long term than the digital representation of manufacturing and trading volume -- money. He served the structure because, without it, there was only the cold and the dark of echoes of the past.

  However, in recent decades, the friction between his own long-term plans and the Cluster's immediate interests had begun to generate a dangerous heat, warping the surface of his work. This growing misalignment forced him to become a very cunning predator in his own house. He moved with a new level of caution: planning surveillance for the top tiers of the elite, inventing virtual realities on paper to hide the truth, and quietly looking for the right minds to join his shadow agenda.

  Michael had learnt Adrian's dossier long ago, almost a decade before the Lizzie's incident had ever predicted in any records. In an age of rapid extension and gene therapy spreading, true relics like them were a vanishing breed; barely a few thousands remained who could claim such a long live. They were living witnesses of a long forgotten revolution.

  Like Michael, Adrian was a child of the Old Epoch. He had been born into the long sunset of nation-states, witnessing the era when the last standing governments clawed desperately at the shadows of their fading sovereignty, trying -- and failing -- to stave off the rise of the new corporate entities. They were both witnesses to the before and the after, and neither had been born as a beneficiary of the transition.

  Adrian's origins were rooted in the so-called middle class -- a precarious caste that survived on the brittle crutches of job security and paper savings funds. When the Shift stepped in, the transition was seamless for the high-stakeholders; they simply traded one form of supremacy for another. But for men like Adrian and Michael, the Shift was a pivot point. They weren't invited into the new world; they had to infiltrate it. They were forced to adapt, to integrate, and to retool their very identities just to survive the cold machinery of the new order. And pushed to learn things again to thrive in the new society.

  Michael possessed a psychological talent for getting under a man's skin, a skill he preferred to practice offline. He favoured the raw intimacy of a face-to-face confrontation; digital interfaces were far too forgiving, offering an opponent the luxury of a delayed response -- precious seconds to polish a lie or steady a racing heart.

  He wanted no such buffers for Adrian. Michael stripped away the sanctuary of the screen and the physical comfort of a chosen environment. He dictated the terms, ensuring the psychological terrain was as uneven as the logistics.

  Rotterdam was the designated inter-Cluster ground, though the inter-Cluster nature was a calculation in itself. For Michael, it was a crisp, standard hour flight by copter. For Adrian, it would be a gruelling five standard hours of the transit. Before the first word was even exchanged, Michael had already ensured Adrian would arrive tired, displaced, and operating on a deficit.

  Berndt recognised the Adrian's kin. Men like him were never truly loyal, nor could they be rendered dependent; they were too singular for such pedestrian bonds. Instead, like Michael himself, they were driven by long-horizon agendas and private obsessions -- psychological fissures that could be wedged open, manipulated, or, at the very least, harnessed for a time.

  The problem lay in the limitations of the data. A profile, no matter how deep, was merely a hosted echo of a man. It lacked the marrow. Michael knew that the most vital variables -- the ones that truly governed a man's breaking point -- were never found in a digital profile.

  The final strategy calibration would have to be done in the flesh. He would have to read the micro-flickers in Adrian's eyes and the tension in his posture, performing a cold, improvised dissection of his character in the moments between breaths. To succeed, he wouldn't just need to talk to Adrian; he would need to solve him.

  Michael stepped into the copter, closed the heavy door with a sealing that severed him from the outside world. He leaned back into the shadows of the cabin and closed his eyes. He wasn't seeking rest; he was convening the court -- the internal space where he would weigh every variable and simulate every possible deviation. In the rhythmic noise of the flight, the arithmetic of the coming encounter began to pulse in the dark behind his eyelids.

  ***

  The building housing the Inter-Cluster Court was located in the very heart of Rotterdam. Because of the rising sea levels, several of the city's districts had been elevated, and what was once the world's busiest sea port had been transformed into a quiet recreation area. Even history was subject to the Cluster's logistics; a few ancient, historical buildings had been moved to these heights piece-by-piece, relocated simply to preserve them from the water below.

  Despite a lifespan spanning centuries, this was Adrian's first time in the city. He could sense that something was being prepared for him inside that building, so he bypassed the sights, choosing instead to face the consequences as quickly as possible. His experience was vast; he understood that there was no point in drawing a deep breath before a failure -- it simply wouldn't help.

  He made his way to the designated room, HGA-012. The space itself was smaller than he had expected. In fact, the entire procedure -- the audience, the environment -- was nothing like what he had imagined during his long journey.

  Outside, there was no snow; only a windy, damp warmth, with the temperature hovering precisely five degrees above the melting point of ice. The clinical simplicity of the process made him uneasy on one hand, yet strangely more relaxed on the other. It didn't feel like a grand trial; it felt like a routine process of the system.

  After a lengthy explanation of the case -- detailing the violations and the cold list of possible consequences -- the judge finally gave the floor to Adrian. This was the crucial moment. It was his chance to scan the room and locate Michael and his company. He needed to establish eye contact, to scrutinise their faces and monitor every flicker of a reaction.

  "Honourable Judge, members of the technical committee," Adrian began, his voice steady as he scanned the room.

  "I do not contest the fact of the violation. However, I wish to submit supplementary data to the record -- evidence that re frames this incident not as a breach of protocol, but as a localised technical issue..."

  He didn't get to finish.

  "Committee, I insist that we analyse my data first. I applied for this matter days ago," Michael interrupted, his voice cutting through the room with the weight of his office.

  The members of the committee, and the judge as well, showed no reaction. They weren't surprised -- or at least, they were disciplined enough to hide it. To them, Michael's intervention was simply another gear turning in the mechanism under the shiny bonnet.

  "The Committee requires a technical break of two standard hours to process the new data," the judge concluded, his voice final.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "The violator's data will be reviewed later. Dismissed!"

  ***

  The initial proceedings left Adrian with a hollow, unsettled feeling. He had expected more. In his mind, the violation of a core Protocol should have carried a certain weight -- a gravity that matched the centuries of history moved to these Rotterdam heights. Instead, the proceedings felt like a routine system process. Despite the two hours spent submerged in the dry, rhythmic flow of the official procedure, he didn't feel drained. If the goal was to wear him down with the friction of bureaucracy, the system had failed; his mind remained sharp, fuelled by the quiet, stubborn persistence of a man who had seen the world dramatically changed in the past.

  He headed into the corridor to find the nearest exit. His plan was simple: smoke and reflect on what had just happened. But his path was blocked by a tall, solidly built man wearing a dark brown coat.

  "Finally, we meet, Adrian. As you have surely concluded, I am Michael Berndt," the tall man began.

  Adrian wasn’t quite surprised by the encounter, yet he hadn't planned to meet Michael in person so soon.

  "Oh, hello Michael. Yep, and thank you for the opportunity to visit ancient Grote Kerk or Sint-Laurenskerk ..." replied Adrian with a bit of smile. He was leaning into the dry sarcasm, using the joke to steady himself and hide the flicker of confusion Michael's presence had triggered.

  "You are welcome. However, as I have observed, the sightseeing and the good manners are not the primary objectives at the current moment. I wish to engage in the discussion with you regarding the case and the subsequent implications. Considering the nature of the kin to which you belong, I am certain that the satisfaction will be achieved and the hunger of the curiosity will be satiated," Michael continued in his typically calm, measured voice.

  "I have reserved the privacy-hardened room for the negotiations. Given the limited hour, I have the hope... well, please, follow me. We do not possess the luxury of the time before the second hearing of the case begins," insisted Michael.

  "Sure. No sense breathing deep before the death, you know," Adrian replied.

  "Death? The breathing? You are disappointing me, Adrian. It is the opportunity for the second breath instead," Michael reacted, his voice devoid of any amusement as he corrected the logic of the joke.

  They proceeded to the negotiation room in the silence. It was the window of a few minutes -- a final chance for the both of them to calculate their actions before the next move.

  ***

  The negotiation room was far from small. The walls were covered by sound insulation panels of varying geometric shapes. Due to the complex mixture of these geometries, the panel compositions had an unearthly appearance; their forms and arrangements had been calculated by algorithms with a singular goal: to provide the most efficient way to trap air vibrations within the space.

  In the centre of the room sat a massive table. This table was the central piece of the environment; the surrounding chairs were the room's only other inhabitants. The table itself was a composite of materials: aged oak, polished granite at the centre, and metallic forms embedded directly into the surface. It was certainly a work of art and high design -- striking to look at, yet strictly functional.

  Adrian and Michael sat at opposite sides of the massive table. For the first ten seconds, there was only a silence so absolute it felt like physical pressure -- the true weight of the privacy-hardened space. Each man scrutinised the other, attempting to guess the logic of the person sitting across from him. Had an observer been present, they would have felt the atmospheric tension, an invisible storm cooking between two giants.

  On one side sat Michael: the embodiment of corporate authority, weighted by a century of strategic manoeuvring and the cold instinct for survival. On the other was Adrian: the expert of engineering, anchored by a lifetime of technical expertise and the same stubborn. They were two relics of the same era, each having adapted to the new world in entirely different ways.

  They were two powerful units of society; their power was different in nature, yet comparable in scale.

  "As I stated previously, we do not possess the luxury of the time. I know you, and I am quite certain you know who I am," Michael began.

  "I am fond of the people of our era -- the first generation that faced the great changes. In the year of my birth -- 42BS -- the world was still dominated by the failing governments. Your birth year -- 40BS -- was not different, especially in that regard. I have the ability to read the people, to understand their motivations, the desires... And you know what -- most of them can be bought, and many can be loyal, but... not those born BS. There is so much of the mess in our brains left by the centuries, by the knowledge..." Michael continued in his low, steady voice.

  "That might be true. But maybe you should start a book. Should we save the time and talk about the case instead?" Adrian interrupted.

  "Yes, we should. You are correct. Let us set the philosophy aside for the later time. What I wish to convey before the formal discussion commences -- or perhaps this is the commencement of our discussion -- is this: you have to make the decision before we depart from this room. There is the other matter worth the mentioning. You possess the choice regarding the outcome of this case. Either you proceed to the full trial due to the gross violation of the Privacy Protocol, or this case is reclassified as the routine disciplinary matter -- a very minor violation," Michael continued.

  Adrian had not anticipated such a turn of events. He still held the information -- the projectiles he had prepared to launch -- but the terrain of the situation had shifted.

  "Mmm. And the second option... it comes at a cost, right?" asked Adrian.

  "Correct. You are aware of the fundamental fact -- the everything possesses the cost. Our civilisation exists upon the basis of the constant trading. By selecting the second option, you will need to work with me..." Michael answered.

  "I am quite sure you have your own facts for the court, and you are free to file them. It would be an unnecessary waste of time and -- as you have undoubtedly calculated -- a significant pain in my ass. But please, understand one thing: my offer for the second option is not merely because of that. We are both capable of surviving a trial. But I believe a collaboration -- a true cooperation -- will be a win-win situation in these circumstances."

  Michael continued, monitoring his opponent's reaction, attempting to read his mind. It wasn't working well; Adrian's face remained unchangeable.

  "Work with you, huh? Interesting. But your offer should come with something -- with more information. Otherwise, as you mentioned right now, we are both able to survive." Adrian replied.

  "Well, that is the part of our deal. Let us be brief: Lizzie Wolters is not dead -- at least on the paper. Later, she will return to the life. Literally. But now, it is your turn to reveal your information, Adrian. Not because I wish to leave you unarmed, but because I require the starting point to know what I should share next," Michael replied.

  Adrian was shocked by that sentence. This single variable changed the entire equation in his head.

  "I knew that someone walled her off a few days before the... mmm... death. Literal death. I have the proof right here. I know her last movements and the connection to the other dead man -- Hugo Moreau. Sorry if the pronunciation is wrong. All points to you. But... Michael, what do you really know?" Adrian said.

  It was Adrian's curiosity asking now, pushing past his caution.

  "More than you, but still not the full picture. As you can see, someone is attempting to disrupt the matters intended to be under my control. The explosion on the Heidelberg is a part of that hidden entity's operations," Michael continued.

  "Mmm. I have another question. In my possession, I have a report from an insurance company. It states a wrong cargo declaration. And, a more interesting thing is the activity of the space tug -- one of yours. The way the communication was tampered with... it is very the same as during the Lizzie's car incident," continued Adrian.

  "It would be simple to think you are behind it -- just to get control of Lizzie's voice, or whatever else you are planning. But... there are many illogical things with that. Is someone trying to frame you? What is it you really want, Michael?" concluded Adrian.

  "Ahh, the space tug. I did not think you were so deeply involved in that specific matter. There was indeed an attempt to redirect the vessel, but the cargo was of a highly confidential nature -- that is the reason there are no official reports concerning the event. And no, it is far more concerning than a simple attempt at the framing... That is what I require from you: the knowledge. I do not wish to proceed with the internal resources of the Cluster. This delicate matter must be managed by someone external. Someone with the technical expertise and the your so-called 'magic' to find connections that my subordinates lack," Michael replied.

  "It's time, you have to smoke right?", asked Michael.

  "Mmm, would like to," Adrian replied.

  "So, the choice. You must reach the decision while we are departing from the room, mmm?" Michael asked again.

  "How are you going to convert the case to a minor disciplinary violation?" Adrian insisted on knowing.

  "I want to understand the procedure."

  "It is a personal assignment from the Lizzie Wolters, issued directly to you. The objective: to retrieve the data which you have -- from the official perspective -- merely secured on her behalf. Since she remains alive on the papers, the directive is legally valid. It is simple, is it not?" Michael replied, a small, knowing smile touching his lips.

  "Oh, yes, give me something else ..." Adrian requested, his voice steady despite the weight of the previous reveal.

  "Very well. The HEI transmitter -- that is the object which exploded upon the Heidelberg. It is the specific variable which has been hidden from the your equations," Michael replied, watching the realisation dawn on the engineer.

  Adrian was not a man who liked making rapid decisions, especially when based on a lack of information. He was naturally wary of becoming further entangled in this hidden operation, or of working with a man who was still an unknown variable to him. But this time, the choice was not simple -- it was a conflict between what was right and what was deeply, irresistibly interesting.

  "Yep, the second option ...", Adrian replied closing the door.