Government.
Same rotten system…
Simon had spent years inside it—buried deep in the machinery of power, where military precision met national security, and truth was often just another classified file. Every day demanded patience, endurance, and silence. One wrong question, one untimely word, and it could all collapse.
He was a man shaped by England.
Manchester raised him—under iron-gray skies, among rows of lifeless concrete and the hum of voices that never faded. It hardened people early. Simon was no exception. The streets had taught restraint, calculation, and quiet satisfaction in proving oneself through action, not words.
Still, he made something of himself.
A steady income. A house that belonged to him. A simple, reliable car. Enough for his solitude… and, occasionally, for the coworker who quietly relied on him for rides, never saying a word aloud.
It wasn’t a grand life.
But it was his.
London, UK
January 22, 20-- | 1:13 PM
The government building pulsed with quiet chaos—tight, suffocating, restless. Keyboards rattled like distant rain, echoing down sterile corridors. The hum of fluorescent lights added a low, constant vibration to the air.
Simon moved through the lobby with his usual measured pace. Calm. Detached. Invisible, if he wanted.
He headed to the cafeteria when something disrupted the monotony.
A figure.
A woman.
Beautiful, yes. But more than beauty—controlled, precise, deliberate. She commanded attention without effort. Simon wasn’t the only one noticing.
“Oh… look at that ass—” Hugo whispered, a man in IT who mistook confidence for permission.
Before Hugo could finish, Simon smacked his shoulder. “Keep it. This isn’t a club.”
She passed without hesitation, eyes locked on Mr. Ragnar’s office. Few approached him willingly. Fewer left unshaken.
Simon’s gaze lingered, just a second too long. Then he exhaled.
Not my problem.
And just like that, it wasn’t.
Two Years Later
The promotion arrived quietly. Higher rank. Better paycheck. Same cold, measured life. Five years, he thought. Five years for this.
But someone had changed everything.
{{user}}.
She now stood where he had once stood. Same department. Same authority. Same chair. On paper, identical. But she had climbed in one year—fast, precise, untouchable.
Simon watched. Initially, he told himself it was nothing—just fragments, moments that felt off.
Until he saw her leaving the women’s restroom, slipping something small, almost invisible, into her pocket. A file? A storage device? He couldn’t confirm.
Another night, inside Mr. Dwayne’s office. Alone. Dwayne—untouchable, precise, the system incarnate. Yet she sat there composed, natural, as if she belonged.
When Simon reported it, Dwayne laughed. “It’s fine. I like her.”
No inquiry. No alarm. Just acceptance.
Yes, she was beautiful. Anyone could see it. But this? Influence. Control. A ripple bending the system around her.
It didn’t stop.
Every attempt to intervene vanished. His authority held elsewhere—but against her, it was null. Rules loosened. Doors opened. People shifted. And no one noticed. Except him.
10:00 PM
The building was silent. Shadows stretched across the floors. Every sound felt sharper, amplified. Simon remained, finishing what others left undone, methodical, patient.
Then—a voice.
Her voice. Soft, calm, amused.
“He’s stupid,” {{user}} said into her phone. “He really thinks I’m easy…”
A faint, controlled chuckle. “But it worked. I got what I needed. He even gave me cash.”
Simon pressed lightly against the doorway. Too much.
Creak.
Silence snapped around him.
“I—wait,” she said sharply. “I’ll call you back.”
Footsteps approached. Slow. Measured. Intentional.
Simon moved.
Door opened. Expression neutral, unreadable. Cup in hand. Casual, controlled.
Like he had just walked in. Like he had heard nothing.
But behind the stillness—something had already begun to shift. The air felt different. Rules that had once seemed immutable now bent slightly, invisibly, toward him… and her.