I headed to the elevator, pressed the button, stepped inside, and descended. When the doors slid open, I turned right and followed the hallway toward the department's corner office.

This floor looked different than ours—brighter colors, posters of TechForge products on the walls, neon slogans like "Impact Through Innovation", plants everywhere, and a bunch of standing desks with people pitching things to each other loudly. Marketing energy. Horrible.

The Head of Marketing's office was at the end, a frosted-glass door with his name on it.

"Reid Marson - Chief Marketing Officer."

That was my guy.

I knocked once and stepped in.

The office was surprisingly neat—too neat. A dark walnut desk, an absurdly expensive ergonomic chair, two monitors angled toward him, a shelf full of marketing books nobody actually reads, and a little zen fountain trickling on the side table. He sat behind his desk in a navy sweater, circular glasses, and hair gelled so perfectly it looked illegal. Mid-thirties, maybe. Clean-shaven. Definitely the type to talk about "brand synergy" unironically.

He looked up as I shut the door behind me.

"Who are you?" he asked. Then squinted. "I do know you from somewhere…"

"Coffee boy?" I offered. "I'm Ms. Nolin's secretary."

"Ahh, right." He nodded slowly. "So, Mr…?"

"Marlowe."

"How may I help you, Mr. Marlowe?"

"I'm here to ask a few questions," I said, stepping closer to his desk. "Specifically: where were you when I found that culprit hiding in the security room?"

"In my office," he said instantly. "Right here. Taking a break. Sipping my black coffee."

"Anyone who can confirm that?"

"No." He shook his head. "I'm very strict about how many people I see in a day, Mr. Marlowe."

"…Why is that?"

"Too many people kills the brain." He held his fingers like a gun to his temple and mimicked pulling the trigger. "Boom. Dead neurons. That leads to Alzheimer's. And other… unpleasant things."

"R-right," I muttered. "So, no one saw you."

"Correct."

"How about cameras? Anything pointing at your office? Something that could confirm you didn't leave before I found the culprit?"

"No cameras here," he said casually. "Sorry, Mr. Marlowe. But I'm not the culprit."

"Hmm. Hopefully you're not, Mr. Marson."

He waved his hand dismissively. "I believe that's all. Please leave before you give me Alzheimer's, Mr. Marlowe. Goodbye."

I didn't say a word—just turned and left. Outside the office, I exhaled.

Fucking weirdo.

Something felt off about him. Too eager to get rid of me. Too rehearsed. Too smooth.

Then I lifted my gaze.

A dome camera was mounted high above his office, angled directly toward the corridor leading to his door. On the casing, printed in tiny white letters: "Camera 10B."

"So why lie about the cameras?" I muttered.

Everyone I'd spoken to so far had access to Project Phoenix. Each of them was important enough to be considered a threat—except Tyler, who was just a coding machine.

But Reid Marson lying about surveillance? That put his ass high on the list.

"Alright, 10B," I said under my breath. "You're next."

But before I checked the footage, I still had two more people to talk to.

My next destination was a floor below—Ali Mulen, who worked in Systems Calibration & Maintenance, the department responsible for monitoring hardware performance, server loads, and general system health checks. The kind of job that required caffeine in the bloodstream at all times.

I didn't take the elevator this time. I felt sleepy, and I needed to wake myself up somehow, so I headed for the stairwell instead. The cold metal railing, the echo of my footsteps, and the slightly cooler air helped a bit.

When I reached the floor, I turned left and followed the corridor until I found his door—half-open, a little crooked, like someone had bumped it too hard one day and nobody bothered fixing it.

I knocked lightly and stepped inside.

The office was… a mess. Papers everywhere. Stacks of circuit boards, screwdrivers, random cables, coffee mugs with dried-up bottoms, two monitors showing graphs I didn't understand, and a small fan trying its best to push warm air around the room. A toolbox lay open on the floor, and a jacket was tossed over the back of a chair like he had collapsed here last night and didn't care where it landed.

Ali himself looked like he belonged in the middle of that chaos. Full beard, thick glasses, tousled dark hair, probably early thirties. He blinked when he saw me, then adjusted his glasses.

"Mr. Marlowe," he said. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"I'm here to ask a few questions about the day the mole was found by me," I said. "If that's alright."

"Absolutely."

"Where were you when the mole was discovered in the security room?"

"Here, in my office," he replied immediately. "Why ask that? Are you implying that I might be the mole?"

"I'm not implying anything," I said calmly. "Just routine questions, Mr. Mulen."

"I was here all day." He rubbed his face. "And honestly? Half-asleep. Coffee is the only thing keeping me alive, and the machines broke."

"Huh?"

"The damn coffee machines! This floor and five floors up!" he groaned. "Can you believe that? I swear that's the mole's doing. Keep us off caffeine so our productivity dies, and the whole project collapses."

My fucking god, Guy. Why did you hire freaks to your company?

"Definitely," I said sarcastically. "That bastard."

"RIGHT?" He threw his hands up. "Damn son of a bitch. SON OF A BITCH!"

I exhaled. "Uh, okay… thank you for your time, Mr. Mulen."

"Anytime," he said cheerfully. "Bye!"

"Yeah. Bye."

I stepped out and closed the door.

He wasn't lying—no camera covered this hallway directly. Sure, one camera watched the elevator, but the stairway? Totally blind spot. I hadn't noticed before, but now that I had, I realized none of these floors had stairway coverage. We really needed to fix that.

The last suspect worked in Data Integration & Storage, the department responsible for syncing internal servers and handling classified data packets. Important enough for someone to keep a close eye on.

I needed to get to him before he went on break.

He worked on the same floor, just on the opposite wing. So instead of taking the stairs again, I just turned around and headed down the long hallway. The air here smelled faintly of burnt dust and old printer ink—typical office stuff.

His office was at the very end.

I was just about to knock when the door swung open and a guy stepped out.

"Oh," he said. "Um, hey?"

And holy shit—yeah, I remembered him.

He had neon pink hair, styled like he lost a fight with a paint bucket, and a long, thick beard that reached halfway down his chest. Hard to forget someone like that. I had seen him on the ground floor the day I chased the mole—he'd been standing there with a thermos, watching me sprint past like some cartoon character.

"Hey," I said. "I, uh… wanted to talk to you. I'm Evan Marlowe—Ms. Nolin's secretary."

"Oh yeah, I've heard about you," he said, stopping. "Why are you here though?"

"You talked with Adam the day the mole was found," I said. "Asked about Jenkins."

"Yes."

"I think I already know the answer," I continued, "but… were you on the ground floor when the chase started?"

"Yeah. I watched you go after him," he said casually. "Why?"

"I'm just going down a list of people who might be suspects," I said. "Thought I'd ask, just in case."

"Oh." He actually recoiled a bit. "You think I'm the mole? Wow."

"Not really. Like I said—just checking everyone."

"No problem, Mr. Marlowe," he said with a small shrug. "Hope you find the culprit so we can fire his ass."

Without waiting for anything else, he stepped around me and headed straight for the elevator.

Well. That was the last name on today's list.

Now… before heading home, I still had to check that 10b camera and see if it caught anything.

❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎

I plugged the USB into the port and leaned back. As the video started loading, Minne walked up to me with an orange juice in both hands like she was offering a peace treaty.

"Here you go, Master," she said, smiling warmly.

"Thanks," I said, giving her a small smile back.

She bowed her head a little and padded back toward the kitchen. The girls had gone out shopping—clothes, shoes, whatever the hell else they'd drag back. I told them I'd stay. I had this mole shit to deal with, and honestly? I didn't want to walk around a mall with five hyperactive women comparing skirts.

The loading bar crawled. God, Kim's laptop was slower than a damn fossil. I was definitely buying her a new one. Maybe two.

Finally, the video opened.

I took a sip of the orange juice and leaned forward. The camera covered Reid Marson's office doorway and the short hall around it. People walked past. Someone dropped a stack of papers. A janitor passed through with a mop bucket. Typical stuff.

Then Reid appeared.

He walked into his office—right around the time I cornered the suspect in the security room, a little before that, actually.

But then, not even twenty seconds later… he stepped out again. Looked both ways. And walked right out of the camera's view.

Fucking hell.

"So he went out," I muttered.

The timestamp lined up almost too perfectly. He could've taken the stairs up. Gone to the roof. Slipped through the vent. Reached the security room. It was tight, but doable.

My jaw tightened.

"I need to talk to him again."

If Reid Marson really was the mole, then maybe this entire shitstorm would finally end. And the best part? I'd get a mountain of rewards for rooting him out. Stats, bonuses, items—whatever the system felt generous enough to spit out.

╭──────────────────────╮

MAIN QUEST

==========================

Title: Corporate Betrayal

Task: Find the mole in TechForge.

Reward: +950 EXP, 1500c

╰──────────────────────╯

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