Professor George arrived at the lab as the sun was above their head, his expression curious yet apprehensive.
The moment he walked into the space, he was taken aback by the disarray.
Instruments and tools were scattered haphazardly, some broken beyond repair, and the usually pristine floors were littered with remnants of raw materials.
The lab looked like a storm had passed through it, leaving destruction in its wake.
Professor George wasn't shocked merely because of the mess, though. His surprise came from a deeper place, an inability to understand what Sam could have possibly been working on that would warrant such a state of disrepair.
Sam was always a diligent worker, known for his attention to detail and respect for the lab environment. The sight before him was unlike anything he'd ever associated with Sam.
"Um, Professor George," Sam began, his voice echoing through the wrecked lab. The machines were silent as if holding their breath for what would come. "I called you here because I need your help ordering new lab equipment."
Standing amid the wreckage of what used to be a cutting-edge laboratory, George blinked at Sam. "New lab equipment?" he repeated, surprise seeping into his voice. "Are you saying..." His voice trailed off, the implication of Sam's words sinking in.
Sam nodded. "Yes, Professor. Anything you need. The budget isn't a concern. Just provide me with a list."
A thrill of excitement ran through George. There was an opportunity he had only dreamt of.
Professor George had always imagined how the lab could be transformed with state-of-the-art equipment and how much further they could push the boundaries of science.
But the reality of limited budgets had always kept those dreams firmly in check.
And now, here was Sam, giving him the freedom to upgrade the lab without considering the cost. George didn't waste any time. He scrambled to find a notepad in the disarray of the lab and began scribbling a list.
Sam watched him with a thoughtful expression, his gaze flickering over the older man's excited figure.
Once George handed him the list, Sam scanned the items and their related costs. The total cost of the equipment came to around one billion dollars. It was massive, but Sam merely nodded, a slight smile curving his lips.
"Don't worry about the cost, Professor. Consider it done. The equipment will be delivered within a week if possible," Sam reassured him, a determined glint in his eyes.
With that, Sam left the lab, leaving the Herculean task of cleaning up the mess to Professor George. Despite the disorder, the Professor couldn't help but wear a smile, eager for the impending upgrade to their work environment.
Leaving the lab behind, Sam headed toward his apartment.
He had further instructions to give to William Archer.
The cargo ship needed to be sailed to a specific location, and William was the man for the job.
The previous few day's events weighed on his mind as Sam was going to his apartment.
His life was changing rapidly, and he could hardly wait to see what was waiting for him on the horizon.
-
Four Days ago, at the Docks of City N.
In the bustling City N, where the hum of city life never ceased, a place vibrated with its own unique rhythm.
The city docks.
This was a place where stories were woven and untold secrets floated in the salty sea air.
Just four days before Sam completed his monumental work at Trion Labs, something unusual happened here.
Daven, the man in charge of the docks, was a grizzled sea veteran who had spent the better part of his life watching ships come and go.
His eyes had seen all types of vessels, but even he had to blink twice when he saw the behemoth of a cargo ship that was requesting to dock.
It was one of the largest he had ever seen.
"Why would such a massive ship dock here?" he wondered, scratching his stubbled chin.
The docks of City N weren't used to handling vessels of this size. But then again, it wasn't Daven's job to question the why's. His task was to ensure smooth operations. With a shake of his head, he approved the docking request and resumed his work.
Over the course of the next day, the docks became a hive of activity. Trucks rolled in and out, ferrying massive containers filled with materials to the waiting cargo ship.
The dock workers, who are usually laid back and unhurried, were scrambling around, working harder than they had in months. The cargo ship was loaded to the brim, its deck stacked high with containers.
Rumors started flying among the dock workers.
"Must be some billionaire building a private island," one would guess. "Or maybe a secret government project," another would counter. Regardless of the speculation, nobody dared to question it openly.
They knew better.
They understood that sometimes, their job required them to turn a blind eye. Everything was meticulously documented as a normal loading process. Any oddities were conveniently ignored.
The truck drivers and suppliers, too, shrugged off their curiosity. After all, they were being paid a handsome sum to do their job, not to probe into the cargo's final destination.
No one wanted to upset the balance, especially when earning good money. They were content as long as they could keep their heads down and work.
In the grand scheme of things, the destination of the goods didn't matter to them. So, they swallowed their questions, focusing solely on the work at hand, while the mystery of the cargo ship's journey and its massive haul remained veiled.
When the final container was locked into place, the dockworkers had a collective breath of relief. They had anticipated that the enormous ship would depart immediately, cutting through the rolling waves to an unknown destination. But it didn't.
Days passed. One, two, three, and the ship remained docked, its towering presence casting an imposing shadow over the docks.
It was the fourth day, at night, when the dock workers noticed a hustle, a particular shift in the atmosphere, signaling that the ship was finally ready to set sail.
But what honestly threw everyone off was the crew of the ship. They had seen crews of all sizes and experience levels, but this was something new.
Just one professional sailor to man this mammoth of a ship, accompanied by what seemed to be a group of novices.
And that one professional, the man at the helm, was William Archer, a sailor who was rumored to have been soft-banned by a wealthy magnate.
"Rich folks and their strange ways!" Daven grumbled under his breath, scratching his head in bafflement. The murmurs echoed through the crowd, ripples of confusion swirling amongst the dock workers.
But in the end, they all shrugged their shoulders in resigned acceptance. They were all too familiar with the eccentricities of the rich.
With a shared sigh of "Let's get back to work," they turned their attention back to their tasks, leaving the oddity of the cargo ship behind.
The details of the day were recorded in the logbooks: William Archer, the captain of the AUCS 797 Cargo Ship, had finally set sail. The ship's ownership was also under his name.
With that, the chapter closed on the City N docks, the buzzing activity around the gargantuan cargo ship receding like a wave pulling back from the shore.
The ship and its mysterious journey had become a part of the docks' lore, a story to tell over cups of steaming coffee during chilly dock nights.
-
Five days ago, when Sam and Gaia stole 1% of the money. At the Head of Technology Relations at the Atlantic Union, Michael Durant's home.
At Michael Durant's lavish home, five days before Sam completed work at Trion Labs, the family was seated around an elegant dining table, indulging in a late-night dinner.
The aroma of cooked meats and fresh vegetables wafted through the room, combined with the sound of clinking cutlery and low murmurs. It was a picture of normality, of a family enjoying a quiet evening meal, an image that belied the tumultuous happenings beyond the polished walls of their residence.
The family patriarch, Michael Durant, was a man of imposing stature and gravitas. His eyes, sharp as an eagle's, were lost in thought even as he forked a piece of steak into his mouth. His mind was elsewhere, wrestling with political schemes and economic plans, the currency of his life's work.
Suddenly, the serenity was broken. The distinctive chime of a phone notification echoed through the room.
Michael's brow furrowed in puzzlement.
His phone was always on silent, save for two exceptions - government emergencies or bank notifications.
He knew it wouldn't be the government; they would have called.
Therefore, it had to be the bank.
His stern voice sliced through the ambient noise, "Did any of you use the money to buy anything?"
The swift chorus of "No, we didn't" from around the table was the response, each voice echoing in the descended silence.
His wife, a graceful woman who was a quiet pillar of strength behind her husband's endeavors, looked at him with worry tinging her usually calm eyes.
"What happened, dear?" she asked, her voice lilting with concern.
Michael was already reaching for his phone, his mind spinning with possibilities, each darker than the last. He had a sinking feeling that something was very wrong.