Everyone is already debating whether it matters… the world around us.
Masaki waves me over, lowering his voice. “A major communication grid was knocked out overnight, stretching from Austria up to Finland and east into Russia. Globalcom is scrambling. No clue how it happened. Not yet anyway.”
He’s our tech genius, always tracking the pulse of networks, watching the ruthless way money drives technology forward while stripping away the human element.
“Don’t tell Dr. Fraine,” I whisper back to him. “Actually, whatever you find going forward… hide it in that place we talked about. Only you, Eric, and I know about it. For now, let’s keep it that way.”
He nods. An understanding. He's shared similar dreams with both of us. We have to trust that.
There’s nothing else to go on yet.
High society has always thrived on tightly knit networks… family ties, old-school relationships, and shared social circles. Many events are less about enjoyment and more about reinforcing those connections.
These are the people that make the rules we play by. We ensure their lifestyles stay intact.
Discretion is the ultimate currency.
Elite schools and universities create an unspoken hierarchy, where your alma mater signals your place in the social order before you even say a word.
Truly established people downplay their wealth, choosing quiet luxury… a confidence that comes from not needing to prove anything. Real power is influence: guiding or shaping decisions without recognition.
The rules:
Don’t overshare.
Don’t flex connections.
Privacy has high value.
Don’t lower your standards.
A mastered neutral, expensive look: perfectly tailored basics, real leather accessories… no loud logos, no obvious trends. Crisp white button-down shirts, well-fitted trousers, and loafers.
All of it is a program to use us, just a pile of bullshit. It’s all poser behavior.
The House of Eights.
Be interesting. Have something real to offer. Have money. Be attractive. Otherwise, you’re shut out.
A world built on insecurity, on the pain of those crushed under the weight of corrupt power, greed, and immorality.
I want to be on the side of good. I want to believe we can stop what’s coming. Stop the threat or threats.
But until the battle comes, everyone has to keep seeing me as an arrogant, self-obsessed, unfeeling ass.
“...sacrifice the one… and is with sleep, love the breaking of your soul upon my lips…”
“...is clout chasing so hard,” Mya says as I walk past.
“Who?” I ask.
“Was I talking to you?” she sneers.
“Well, no one else is listening to you.”
“I hate you.”
“I know. It’s part of your undying charm.”
