Rimelion: The Exploiter

45. The Seed of Simulation

My jaw tightened as I bolted up from my seat, the leather creaking beneath me. I started pacing, my heels clicking against the polished floor. "So this young punk is some leader of a big organization? What nonsense! He's barely fifteen!" My head was spiraling, the absurdity of it all making it hard to focus.

Riker placed a hand lightly on my shoulder. His touch was strangely calming. "Miss Charlie," he said, his voice dropping, "he is but twelve years old, thrust into the weight of an inheritance."

I froze for a moment, his words cutting through my frustration. Twelve? That number rattled in my head as I slowly sat back down, the weight of it settling in my chest. "Twelve..." I murmured. "How could he even find me?"

"Ah, allow me to illuminate the matter," Riker began, stepping back, as though delivering a well-rehearsed monologue. "Nathan and his entourage—formidable figures in their own right—were apprehended a few years ago and placed into a highly classified prison facility. But not just any facility," he added, leaning slightly forward. "It was an ambitious experimental program."

"What kind of program?" I asked warily, my brow furrowing.

"A program designed to rehabilitate criminals," Riker continued. "They were immersed in simulated environments aimed at easing their minds and reintegrating them into society. Or so the official pitch went."

My mind flashed back to the punk's cryptic words and strange behavior. "Jeffrey was behaving strange," I muttered, rubbing my temple. "I don't know. I was super drunk when I met him."

Lucas suddenly burst out laughing, the sound breaking the tension like whiskey glass shattering. "Of course you were, Charlie!" he said between gasps of laughter, his shoulders shaking.

I glared at him, but Riker's sharp laugh interrupted. "Fate, it seems, has a twisted sense of humor," he said.

He composed himself quickly, his tone darkening. "The program malfunctioned spectacularly, trapping its participants in an endless cycle of simulations. The authorities, in their infinite wisdom, attempted to salvage the situation by introducing their families into the system, hoping for some connection, some breakthrough. Instead, they only expanded the chaos, ensnaring even more lives in the digital web."

I blinked. "So Jeffrey wasn't the original leader?" I asked, my voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

"His father was. These individuals," Riker said, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial hush, "are no ordinary criminals. They are powerful, dangerous, and utterly relentless. Within these simulations, they've tested countless scenarios—what works, what doesn't." He paused, his eyes locking onto mine with a glimmer of self-satisfaction. "Thankfully, they understand I am a reasonable man."

"So Jeffrey?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the storm of questions swirling in my head.

"Oh yes, my dear," Riker replied with a knowing smirk. "His father met an untimely end—somehow—within the simulation. Simply... expired." He leaned back, swirling the drink in his hand lazily again.

What a slow drinker. He should shake hands with Lucas.

"The peculiar logic of their twisted minds insists on maintaining an equal number of participants, as though balance were some sacred principle to them." He paused, his gaze flicking toward the city beyond the window. "And yet," he added, "they're down by two now. But that curious little detail doesn't seem to deter them in the slightest."

I sat frozen, my mind racing. Should I tell him about me? About the young punk and what he'd done?

No.