EARTH, 2022
"Hey, Mark, can you turn down the TV?"
James sat at the edge of Mark's couch, a crumpled worksheet balanced on his lap, his pencil tapping against the paper in uneven rhythms.
The room wasn't much, just a basement with mismatched furniture: a sagging couch, a chipped coffee table, and shelves stacked with old DVDs and board games no one touched anymore. It smelled faintly of popcorn and that musty scent basements always seemed to have.
Mark was sprawled out on a beanbag, a half-empty bag of chips at his side, eyes glued to the screen. "Yeah, yeah," he said, waving vaguely in James's direction, "give me a sec. There's some interesting stuff going on."
James let out a short laugh, leaning back against the armrest. "When isn't there?"
Mark didn't respond, his eyes still locked on the screen.
James waited, his pencil hovering over the page. He tried to refocus, squinting at the half-finished equation in front of him, but the noise of the TV—whatever bullshit it was—kept slicing through his thoughts. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to push through, but the irritation only built.
Finally, he snapped. "Goddamn it, Mark, can you listen to me?! Turn it down!"
Mark flinched, tearing his eyes from the screen to glance at James. "Hey, I said gimme a sec," he replied, raising his hands defensively. "If it was your TV, I wouldn't force you to turn it off. Though…" he hesitated, his voice softening as he continued, "it's not like we ever hang out at your place."
James thought for a moment then let out a slow breath.
"Fine," James muttered, "Have it your way."
He closed his notebook and tucked the worksheet back into his bag. Standing, he pulled up a chair next to Mark and folded his arms as he settled into it.
"So," he said, glancing at the TV, "what's so important that it can't wait?"
Mark gestured to the screen without looking away. "VitalisCorp. Something about Marcus Salient stepping down."
James blinked, his skepticism kicking in immediately. "Salient? That bastard owns half the country. Why would he step down?"
"Beats me," Mark said, crunching on a chip. "But it's all over the news. Could be scandal damage control."
"Or," James added, "he's making room for an even bigger monster. Vitalis is scum, scum that is specifically designed to make things worst for the rest of us."
Mark snorted. "Understatement of the century. 'Your health is our priority,' right? Unless you can't pay. Then you're just another liability."
James leaned forward, his voice sharp. "Liability? Try 'target.' They've got entire states trapped in debt loops. If you don't subscribe to their premium 'life tier,' good luck getting a basic check-up."
"And the ambulances," Mark added, shaking his head. "You remember that story last month? The guy who got hit by a truck? Ambulance wouldn't take him because his membership lapsed by two days."
"Yeah, I remember," James muttered darkly. "They left him bleeding out in the street while the app asked his family to 'upgrade to Platinum for immediate assistance.'"
Mark grimaced. "Classy."
"That's Salient's legacy," James said bitterly. "Turning basic human decency into a product line." He jabbed a finger toward the screen. "And now they're gonna spin his departure like he's some visionary leader who 'changed the world.'"
"Changed the world, alright," Mark said, tossing another chip into his mouth. "Made it a lot shittier that is."
The screen transitioned to a sharp-dressed reporter standing outside a towering skyscraper emblazoned with the glowing VitalisCorp logo. Cameras clicked incessantly, their flashes catching the reflective sheen of the building's glass facade.
"This is Courtney Maxwell reporting live," she said crisply. "As Marcus Salient steps down as CEO, questions remain about who will lead VitalisCorp into its next chapter. Speculation is rampant, and today's surprise media conference is expected to provide answers. Back to you, Hailey."
"Thanks, Courtney," Hailey said, turning to Jon. "How's the market handling the news?"
Jon nodded. "We've seen a small dip—around 2% pre-market—but nothing drastic yet. Investors are holding their breath until the board announces Salient's successor."
Hailey tapped her notes. "Do you think they'll stick with Salient's strategy?"
"Absolutely. VitalisCorp is a cornerstone monopoly. Shareholders will demand a leader who keeps the growth trajectory intact. Stability is key."
"And if there's instability?"
"Big sell-offs. Hedge funds are already watching closely. Any sign of uncertainty, and they'll move fast."
Hailey paused, touching her earpiece. "Hold on—we're being told the announcement is about to start. Let's go live to Vitalis Tower."
The camera feed shifted, focusing on a large conference room filled with journalists.
"And here he comes now—Marcus Salient," she announced, the lens capturing the man as he emerged from behind a curtain.
Salient, now in his mid-80s, still walked with an act of unshakable composure. His silver hair was neatly combed back, and his tailored suit was immaculate. The flashing of cameras lit up his sharp, angular features as he moved to the podium. The room filled with the clicks and whirrs of shutters, a cacophony that only ceased when he took his seat.
Silence spread across the room, and the spotlight remained only on the man sitting behind the table
"Today," Salient began, his voice calm and deliberate, "I don't have very much to say—just two things."
The room stiffened, reporters poised with pens and recorders.
"First," he continued, "today, I am retired."
A ripple of confusion passed through the crowd. Eyes darted toward one another, whispers filling in the pauses.
"And second," Salient said, unbothered by the murmurs, "I'd like to give a brief introduction."
He paused, letting the tension hang in the room like a taut string.
"An introduction," he repeated, his voice crisp, "to the man who will be leading VitalisCorp into the future."
The whispers grew louder, scattered voices murmuring questions and disbelief.
A bold reporter stood and attempted to cut in, raising her voice. "Sir, but why—"
Before she could finish, a suited official stepped forward from the sidelines, raising his hand. His voice was clipped, leaving no room for debate.
"There will be no questions today."
Without waiting a moment breathe, Salient continues.
"As I was saying, today I will be introducing the world to who will be taking as CEO of VitalisCorp."
"In fact," he said smoothly, "instead of me simply saying who it is, why doesn't the man introduce himself?"
There was a ripple of movement in the crowd turned their heads in unison, eyes darting to the side of the stage where Salient's focus lingered.
A moment of stillness passed before a figure stepped forward from the shadows.
Mark turned to James, his brows furrowed. "Any guesses who it might be?"
James snorted, leaning back in his chair. "No clue. Probably some bozo they've had groomed for the position for ages. You know how these things go."
Mark nodded slowly, his gaze flicking back to the screen. "Yeah, probably. Though..." He hesitated, his tone shifting slightly. "This all seems a bit off, doesn't it? Like... the way he's doing it. Retiring all out of the blue?"
"Yeah, it is weird…" James responded pensively.
The man stepped fully into the light, revealing a figure in his late forties or early fifties with a composed, almost effortless air about him. His salt-and-pepper hair was loosely combed, a little tousled in a way that made it look more natural than calculated. He wore a charcoal-gray suit with an open collar, the tie notably absent.
There was something about him—an unhurried coolness, was perhaps the best way to put it. His faint smile didn't betray any nerves, instead insisting a sense of control that made the room instinctively lean in.
The murmurs from the reporters turned louder, a mix of confusion and curiosity as they scrambled to place this unfamiliar figure. Cameras flashed as questions began to bubble up, though none loud enough to interrupt the moment.
He walked to the table with a measured stride, stopping to shake Salient's hand—a handshake that was firm yet oddly casual, like greeting an old friend. He took his seat, adjusted the microphone, and glanced briefly at the crowd as though waiting for the perfect moment to speak.
When he did, his voice was smooth and conversational, "Hello," he said, "my name is Walter Altworth, and I am excited to announce that I am now the CEO of VitalisCorp. Together, we will continue to innovate and lead in ways that set the standard for this industry."
Mark leaned back in his beanbag, his brow furrowed as he processed the announcement. "Hmm," he said, popping another chip into his mouth. "I haven't heard of the guy. Honestly, a bit surprised. I thought they'd pick someone older. What was his name again? Altworth?" He chuckled, glancing at James. "Man, you must be pissed that you share his—"
Mark's words trailed off as he turned to James, noticing something was off. James wasn't reacting like he usually would, with a snarky remark or a dismissive wave. Instead, his hands were clenched tightly on the armrest, his shoulders rigid, and—most unsettling of all—he was shaking.
"Hey," Mark said cautiously, his voice losing its teasing edge. "James? James, are you alright?"
A moment passed. James's knuckles whitened as his grip on the armrest tightened. Then, as though remembering where he was, he let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. He leaned back, his body visibly forcing itself to relax.
"Yeah," James muttered, "yeah, I'm totally fine."
Mark didn't look convinced. "You sure? You're looking at him like he just ran over your dog or something. What's going on? Do you know that guy?"
James let out a bitter laugh, a sound that carried more venom than humor. He glanced at the screen where Walter Altworth's face loomed larger than life. "Do I know that guy?" he repeated, his voice sharp. He let the question hang for a moment before continuing, each word dripping with disdain. "That absolute scumbag? The rot of the earth? Yeah, Mark, I know him."
Mark's brows shot up, caught between concern and curiosity. "Okay... who is he?"
James's gaze stayed fixed on the screen, his jaw tightening. "He's my father."