In the aftermath of the total collapse of his father's empire, the courtroom buzzed with anticipation. A tangible blend of expectation and tension permeated the air as the crowd waited in muted silence, keen to witness Roy confront the consequences of his actions.
Faces carved with anger and resolute determination were all directed towards one individual.
In stark contrast to the ocean of stern expressions, Roy Keaton—a lean figure with jet-black hair and empty brown eyes—sported a wide grin, clearly pleased with the turmoil he had masterminded.
Adorned in an orange jumpsuit and chained to a table, Roy found himself before a panel of five judges, who were engrossed in the files chronicling his treachery. After an extended deliberation,
"Order in the court!"
A judge demanded, marking the conclusion of Roy's trial. The judge then delivered her final verdict.
"Roy Keaton, your actions have led to the permanent deletion of several hundred million people's IDs, irretrievable from the system your father built. Tragically, some have taken their own lives in the aftermath.
Countless industries that relied on your company's AI and automation technologies have been infected and destroyed by malware, and you refused to provide a solution for your own virus. You have become a public menace. Do you admit your guilt, Mr. Roy Keaton?"
With a smirk dancing on his lips, Roy defiantly raised a middle finger and stood from his chair, proclaiming,
"I'm proud of my work and not guilty at all. Just like this game suggests, Gain or Nothing. If you are willing to gain everything, prepare to lose everything, you fuckers."
His audacious display sent ripples of shock through the courtroom and beyond, sparking fury among those watching on their screens. The air was filled with cries of,
"Execute him, hang him."
"Order," The judge roared.
"Mr. Roy Keaton, you are hereby declared guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment. All expenses incurred by the victims will be compensated from the trust your father left in your name."
The crowd jeered at the judge's verdict, while Roy appeared bewildered.
Turning to his lawyer, who was seated beside him, Roy queried,
"What is this trust fund from my father? He never mentioned it. Why didn't you say anything?"
His lawyer, the epitome of tranquility, adjusted his glasses before responding,
"Son, your father told me not to give it to you if you chose the revenge path. The trust fund money your father left you will be used as compensation money to decrease your time in prison sentence. That's your father's final will."
Roy was rendered speechless, the full impact of his father's will sinking in. His gaze fell, unable to meet anyone's eyes as the prison guard approached.
The brutal reality of his predicament struck him, leaving him feeling empty and numb. As the guard led him away, Roy was swept up in a storm of emotions, but he found himself at a loss for words, engulfed by a profound sense of loss and resignation.
After the compensation from Roy's father's trust fund was distributed, the judges reduced his sentence to 20 years.
As the years rolled by, Roy Keaton found himself trapped within the four walls of his prison cell, cut off from the outside world. He spent his days in solitude, questioning his choices and pondering what his father would have wanted.
His cell was a compact cube, just spacious enough for a single occupant. A small western-style toilet faced the door, and the cold, metallic walls reflected the harsh, artificial light that seeped in from a tiny hole above.
To the right of the toilet was Roy's cot—a thin mattress on a rusted frame—that seemed to absorb the dim light. The echo of footsteps in the corridor outside amplified the sense of isolation.
Roy had no yearning to reacquaint himself with the world beyond the prison walls, fully aware that it held no place for him.
As the calendar pages fluttered by, marking the passage of years into decades,
On the day of his emancipation, after two decades of incarceration, he stepped out into the blistering heat of an isolated field, devoid of any signs of life.
A figure of mystery awaited him near a luxury vehicle. This man, in the prime of his forties, was the epitome of elegance, donning black shades, his raven hair neatly combed back, a handsome countenance, and a physique that spoke of strength. He was accompanied by a convoy of five black SUVs and a squadron of armed personnel.
This figure was a stark contrast to the bearded Roy, who emerged from the prison, gaunt and barely managing to stay upright.
The scorching sunrays seared his skin, as he was dressed in a simple white t-shirt and cotton pants that did little to hide his skeletal frame.
Roy appeared as a ghost of his former self. His eyes darted around, searching for a bus, his mind set on leaving the country.
His plan was to vanish on a secluded island. However, his plan was foiled when the elegantly dressed figure spotted him and made his way towards him.
"Look at you. You look like a ghost, barely visible to the eyes. What happened to you?"
The figure took off his shades, and continued,
"We won; you achieved your goal. I thought you would be happy, but you look... well, not dead, maybe. Roy, what happened?"
"Why are you here, Taylor?" Roy queried, his voice icy and detached.
"Why am I here? To fetch you, naturally. We've been anticipating your release. You didn't wish to see any of your comrades while in prison; that's why I'm here,"
Taylor responded, gesturing his men to open the SUV doors.
Roy, wracked by a fit of coughing and barely audible, managed to say,
"Our plan was that I execute it, and you guys need to go into hiding. What happened to that? Aria even told me when I went inside prison that all our friends were being hunted. So why are you here?"
Taylor, flashing a smile, slung his arm around Roy and guided him towards the SUV,
"I will explain everything. Now is not the time. The media is going to show up soon. We told them you would be released in the evening. Let's move, shall we?"
As Taylor and Roy left the prison behind, Roy remained silent, his gaze transfixed on the world outside the car window. He had no interest in learning about the world's transformations, but he was intrigued to see if his father's video game still held influence. So, he scanned the cityscape for any sign of 'A Thief's Paradise: Gain or Nothing.'
Roy squinted against the dazzling city skyline. Majestic skyscrapers glittered under the sun, their reflective surfaces casting a riot of colors.
The city was buzzing with activity; pedestrians moved in a choreographed dance, their steps in sync with the hum of electric vehicles. The city's symphony enveloped Roy—the distant honking of horns, the murmur of conversations, the melodious strains of street musicians.
Roy also noticed that the civilians all wore similar watches on their right wrists.
A wave of relief washed over Roy when he saw no trace of 'A Thief's Paradise: Gain or Nothing.' He let out a deep sigh, and for the first time in 20 years, a faint smile graced his face.
After several hours of journeying,
Upon reaching their destination, Taylor alighted and held the car door open for Roy, inviting him to disembark.
As Roy stepped out, he was greeted by the sight of the tallest edifice in the vicinity. As he entered the building, the grandeur of the lobby was revealed—a fusion of sleek glass and polished marble.
A holographic display projected the company's logo, a futuristic emblem that shimmered against the pristine walls. It read, "Roy Industries."
Roy was taken aback, his legs freezing as he stared at the sign, bewildered. He wondered in shock,
'Why does this name still exist?'
Roy was flooded with questions about how the company he believed he had obliterated had managed to rise from the ashes, overwhelmed by confusion and disbelief.
Noticing Roy's puzzled expression, Taylor said,
"You will uncover the truth once you meet him."
Roy followed him to a room on the top floor of the building. As Taylor and Roy stepped into the meeting room, the air was heavy with tension. A familiar voice greeted Roy.
"Welcome, Roy. Or should I say, the son of my dear friend, Reyman Keaton."