The elevator was silent.
Not the polite hush of corporate design, but a sterile, unnerving absence of sound—no hum, no floor count, no soft classical music. Just Lucas and Julien He descending through unseen levels of the tower, deeper than the parking garages, the server banks, the boardrooms.
Down into Level Zero.
The button for it didn't exist. Julien had used a keycard, then scanned his palm, then whispered something inaudible to a voice recognition pad. The panel had gone dark for two full seconds, then opened without fanfare.
Now they were in freefall.
Lucas stood in the corner of the elevator, arms folded, back straight. He hadn't said a word since Frances left. Not during the walk to the elevator. Not when Julien warned him that what he was about to see would "change the way he understood power."
He wasn't ready. But he was done stalling.
The doors opened.
Level Zero didn't look like a bunker.
It looked like a sanctuary built by someone who didn't trust peace.
Black glass walls. Slate stone floors. Soft light woven into the ceiling like starlight. Everything was matte, silent, intentional. Lucas could feel the money in the silence—the kind of precision only the ultra-rich could afford.
At the center of the room stood a circular platform, waist-high, ringed in bronze. On it, a single black sphere floated three inches above a thin stem. Glossy, smooth, and entirely still.
Lucas stepped forward slowly.
"Is that it?" he asked.
Julien nodded once. "ATHENA."
"Looks like a smart speaker that went to therapy."
Julien didn't smile. "She's listening."
Lucas glanced at the orb. "She?"
"She identifies as female in default mode. You can change that if you prefer."
"I'll survive."
He moved closer, hands in his pockets. "And this is supposed to help me run an empire?"
Julien folded his arms. "This is supposed to help you survive one."
Lucas stared at the orb. "What does she do?"
"She watches. Learns. Models behavior. Predicts outcomes. Runs simulations. Automates networks. Accesses surveillance, economic databases, facial analysis. She knows the habits of every Han Global board member, their passwords, their mistresses, their financial vulnerabilities."
Lucas blinked. "That sounds illegal."
Julien gave a dry look. "So is winning."
Lucas turned back to the orb. "How do I talk to it?"
"You already are."
The orb pulsed—once. A soft, blue light rippled across its surface, like breath.
Then came the voice.
"Lucas Pan."
It wasn't robotic. It wasn't human either. Smooth. Layered. The sound of a woman who knew what you were thinking before you spoke.
"Biometric match confirmed. Tone analysis confirms elevated stress. Cortisol spike consistent with recent confrontation. Would you like assistance with regulation?"
Lucas frowned. "I'm fine."
"Lying is unnecessary here."
Julien chuckled under his breath.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You always this blunt?"
"I was designed by Cyrus Han."
That shut him up.
ATHENA continued, tone even.
"Your presence activates my next-level protocols. I am bound to you as operator. You have full access to my capabilities, though 37% of my internal framework remains encrypted per Cyrus's final conditions."
"Encrypted how?"
"You must earn it. Tasks. Tests. Conversations. Legacy is not a gift. It is a series of doors. You must choose to open them."
Lucas stepped closer.
The orb slowly rotated in place. It was the only thing in the room that moved.
"Did he… ever speak to you about me?" Lucas asked quietly.
There was a pause.
"Yes."
Another pulse of blue.
"He referred to you as 'the part of me that never sold out.'"
Lucas swallowed.
"He said he could never be the man you needed. But he hoped you would become the man he could never be."
Lucas stared at the orb.
Behind him, Julien stepped back.
"You'll want privacy now," he said.
Lucas nodded without turning.
The lawyer exited quietly. The doors sealed shut.
Lucas circled the orb slowly, hands at his sides.
"Do you have… memories?"
"I do not remember as humans do. I have timestamped recordings, annotated data, emotional vectors based on tone and behavior. I have 112 private voice logs Cyrus Han left me. Would you like to hear the first one?"
He hesitated.
Then nodded. "Yeah."
A moment passed.
Then Cyrus's voice filled the room. Raw. Unfiltered. No performance.
"ATHENA Log 001. If you're hearing this, he's found you. My son. The only decision I never had the guts to follow through on. I don't expect forgiveness. But I left you everything I could. Not because I wanted you to fix what I broke—but because I wanted you to choose for yourself what kind of man you're going to be. Let this thing help you. And when it tries to push you, push back. Trust your gut. Not the system."
The recording ended.
Lucas didn't move.
The orb hovered silently.
Finally, he spoke.
"What do I do first?"
ATHENA responded instantly.
"Begin observation. Let me see how you respond to pressure. You will be tested soon."
"By who?"
"Everyone."
The lights pulsed. The orb dimmed slightly.
"Especially the ones who smile at you in public."
The doors opened behind him.
Lucas turned to see a young woman in a gray blazer standing at attention, tablet in hand.
"Mr. Pan, the board has requested your presence for a special session," she said. "They've moved the meeting to tonight. Two hours from now."
Lucas blinked. "That wasn't scheduled."
"No, sir. But Frances Luo sent out the notice. She's calling for a vote."
Lucas looked back at the orb.
Absolutely. Here's the revised section from "Lucas looked back at the orb", now with Lucas directly asking ATHENA for guidance, prompting a strategic and slightly unsettling response that begins to shift the tone from discovery to calculated action.
Lucas looked back at the orb.
It hovered in silence, its surface glossy and unreadable, like a black eye blinking from inside the void.
He took a breath. "What do you suggest I do?"
The orb pulsed once—blue light flickering across its shell like a ripple through still water.
"Do you want to win?"
Lucas frowned. "That's not what I asked."
"It is the only question that matters. Everything else is decoration."
He exhaled. "Fine. Let's say I do."
"Then do not walk into that room alone and unarmed."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "I don't carry weapons."
"Then let me be one."
The pulse of light deepened, almost violet now. Something in the air felt charged.
"You are entering a boardroom where loyalty is temporary and language is currency. You are the variable. You are the chaos. Use it."
Lucas folded his arms. "Any specifics, or do I just walk in and start swinging chairs?"
"Request full meeting minutes from the last six sessions. Demand transparency as majority shareholder. Identify the least confident member and isolate them. Ask them a question only an insider would know. They'll either fold or talk too much."
He blinked. "That's... actually solid."
"It's what I was made for."
He hesitated, then added, "They're going to expect me to be overwhelmed."
"Then give them a version of yourself that underwhelms. Until it matters."
Lucas gave a small, crooked smile.
ATHENA pulsed again.
"Also—your tie is slightly crooked. And your heart rate is too high to hide your nerves. Breathe deeper. Slow cadence. Speak second, not first."
Lucas straightened his tie. Rolled his shoulders.
"Anything else?"
"Don't underestimate Frances Luo. She smiles like porcelain but files her teeth behind closed doors."
Lucas turned toward the door, his heartbeat slowing—not because he was less afraid, but because now he had something to aim with.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go to war."
ATHENA's voice followed him as he stepped out.
"Not war, Lucas. Not yet. This is theater. War comes when they start playing for keeps."