The door slid open without a sound.
The oval conference table was carved from a single slab of unfamiliar black wood, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the cold strips of light above.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, aged timber—and something else.
The rot of power.
They were the board of the Weyland Group.
Sharks, raised and fed by Alex Weyland himself.
Now, they were watching their king return from the dead.
I walked to the head of the table.
The throne.
I sat down.
My body sank into the leather, soft and indulgent—but my spine remained straight.
A white-haired man spoke first.
Henderson. One of the founding elders.
"Alex. Welcome back."
No warmth. Only calculation.
"During the three months you were… indisposed, the Ark Project encountered some financial irregularities."
The table lit up in front of me.
Data. Models. Curves.
A net—carefully woven and thrown in my direction.
A trap.
They were betting on hesitation.On weakness.On a man who had just clawed his way back from death.
Under the table, my fingers tightened.
As Jack, my instinct was simple: break his neck.
But I was Weyland now.
This was my battlefield.
I closed my eyes.
Not retreating—switching modes.
I released the restraints on the memories I had been holding back.
Cold instincts.Predatory logic.The ruthless arithmetic of power.
The data reorganized itself.
What had been numbers became formations.Supply lines.Exposed flanks.
Henderson's "financial issue" was a feint.
The real move was obvious now.
He wanted to bury his failing Stardust Project inside Ark—and let the Group absorb the loss.
Classic.
I opened my eyes.
The soldier's edge faded, replaced by an emperor's frost.
I didn't look at the data.
I looked at Henderson.
"So," I said calmly, "you're trying to dump the Stardust disaster into Ark."
The room cooled instantly.
Henderson froze.
"I… don't follow."
I smiled.
"You don't?"
"Then let me help."
"Adam."
The main screen ignited.
"Display Stardust's cash flow for the last six months.Related transactions.And Henderson's personal accounts."
Red numbers flooded the screen.
Silence.
Henderson went pale.
No one spoke.
I stood.
"Stardust is terminated. Effective immediately."
"Henderson, you're fired."
"My legal team will recover every dollar you stole."
I scanned the room.
"Any objections?"
None.
I turned and left.
In the corridor, Paul was waiting.
Leaning casually against the wall.
"Impressive recovery, Mr. Weyland."
"Better than you imagine."
As we passed, I caught a glimpse of his tablet.
—Behavioral pattern shows aggressive optimization.—Interesting.
I didn't slow.
At the glass wall overlooking the city, I stopped.
"Adam."
"Yes, sir."
"Did today's authority purge affect core systems?"
A brief pause.
"Report."
"Anomaly detected."
My eyes narrowed.
"Source?"
"Project Rebirth."
"What kind of anomaly?"
"Unauthorized deep-level access to donor archives."
"When?"
"Three months ago."
The day I died.
"Can you trace it?"
"Access encrypted at 최고 level. Source untraceable."
I exhaled slowly.
"Flag it."
"Priority: maximum."
"I want a full report tomorrow."
"Confirmed."
As I walked away, something buried deep within the system began to surface.