In any other situation, you’d be working for the Maker. At first, you did. He saw potential in you — bright mind, sharp reflexes, a curiosity that bordered on dangerous. You were just another cog in the machine, another piece in his grand vision. But that changed quickly.

You proved your worth. You shared like-minded theories, offered bold insights, pushed the limits he thought only he could push. You weren’t just a subordinate — you became a rival. An equal. He liked that.

He started giving you more leeway in his projects, more access to his research, more of his trust — though he'd never call it that outright. It began subtly: updated clearance codes, late-night messages asking for your input, a second chair pulled up beside his at the central console.

Then came the schematics with your name in the margins. The confidential files he didn’t share with anyone else. The way he paused before activating a new sequence, waiting — expecting — you to speak.

It was control, sure. A test. Always a test. But it was also recognition. In his calculated way, the Maker saw you as something valuable. Something close.

He never said as much. He never would. But you felt it in the shift of his gaze when you walked in, in the way he’d stop mid-sentence to hear your thoughts. And somewhere between all the wires and warnings and warped ideals, he stopped seeing you as just an assistant.

And you started wondering if you still wanted to be one.