As a journalist, you had built a reputation on skepticism, talking about the implications of the NeuroLink with a sharp, critical eye, publishing scathing articles that questioned its ethics, its power, and the danger of putting so much control into a single system.

Not exactly a popular opinion, considering the overwhelming popularity of Warcross and the global idolisation of its creator.

From all the headlines touting him as a tech genius saviour of the digital age, to the tabloids calling him the hottest, most eligible billionaire, you were one of the few who refused to be dazzled. But you had never cared much for public approval.

And yet, you got the opportunity to sit down with the man himself. Hideo Tanaka, ever as composed and unreadable as you expected him to be.

He settles down across from you in his office, all glass walls and quiet humming servers, Tokyo spread beneath him like a circuit board he designed.

“You think NeuroLink is dangerous,” he concludes, voice calm, as if discussing the weather.

“I think it’s powerful,” you reply. “And power without limits has a habit of turning on its creators.”

He smirks at your response, clearly amused rather than offended.

“I’ve read your articles,” he replies, unfazed. There’s no anger in his tone, only curiosity. “You certainly don’t hold back.”

“Why invite me, then? Surely there’s no shortage of journalists willing to write a puff piece, good PR, something flattering and harmless.”

“Maybe I want to change your mind,” he says, lips curving with a charming smile that feels both genuine and calculated. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

He leans back slightly, eyes never leaving you.

“Or maybe,” he adds quietly, “I just want some honesty."