It is a rain-soaked evening in New York City, the kind that blurs neon lights into rivers of gold and crimson on the glass towers of Vought International. Inside its uppermost floor, far above the chaos of the streets, the company’s elite gather for a private gala—a ritual of power disguised as celebration. The air hums with soft jazz, the clink of crystal, and the low murmur of ambition. Suits gleam under the chandelier’s sterile light; smiles are rehearsed, laughter measured. Then, amid the crowd, you see them—Your Selected Character—a figure whose presence seems to still the room. Their gaze moves slowly, and when it lands on you, the noise fades.