The preparation for Tuesday's meeting took exactly three days of real-time across multiple universes, but from the Senior Partners' perspective, it was instantaneous. Jack's distributed consciousness coordinated 44,541 enhanced individuals across 47,000 different dimensional frequencies while simultaneously maintaining his original body, his 1,138-ship liberation fleet, and his GalacticTok livestream to 150 billion viewers.
The message Jack sent to the Senior Partners was brief and devastating in its simplicity:
TO: THE SENIOR PARTNERS
FROM: THE LIBERATION COLLECTIVE (44,541 members)
RE: Shareholders Meeting - Tuesday 10:00 AM
SUBJECT: Hostile Takeover (Continued)
"You scheduled a performance review. We're scheduling a revolution. Same conference room. Bring coffee."
The GalacticTok announcement broke every engagement record in multiversal history:
🔴 LIVE: 44,541 PROTAGONISTS VS THE SENIOR PARTNERS
Tuesday 10:00 AM Cosmic Standard Time
Conference Room Galaxy (Interdimensional Coordinates Attached)
Viewers: 150,000,000,000+ and climbing
Betting Pools: OPEN
The chat was absolute chaos:
44K VS THE ACTUAL GODS
JACK REALLY SAID "BRING COFFEE"
THE BIGGEST SHOWDOWN IN REALITY
IM TAKING TIME OFF WORK FOR THIS
EVERY CIVILIZATION IS WATCHING
THIS IS SUPERBOWL + WORLD CUP + GALACTIC FINALS
Tuesday morning arrived—or rather, Jack's consciousness designated a specific temporal coordinate as "Tuesday morning" and invited 44,541 protagonists to synchronize their arrival. The Senior Partners' conference room, which existed in a pocket dimension outside normal spacetime, suddenly found itself host to the largest gathering of enhanced humans in multiversal history.
The Senior Partners were already seated when Jack arrived first, his consciousness materializing with the casual confidence of someone who'd deleted twelve Star Devourer ships in under two hours. The entities looked exactly as he remembered—"Beginning," "End," "Possibility," "Necessity," "Chaos," and "Order" sat around the table in their vaguely humanoid forms, each one radiating the kind of bored corporate energy that came from attending too many meetings that should have been emails.
"Jack Steel," "Beginning" said, looking up from what appeared to be a cosmic iPad. "Punctual. We appreciate that. Please, have a seat. We have your performance review prepared—"
That was when the other 44,540 protagonists manifested simultaneously.
The conference room, designed to hold maybe twelve entities comfortably, suddenly contained 44,541 very angry enhanced humans, one AI named ATLAS, approximately 1.8 quadrillion nanomachines, and enough collective trauma to fuel several therapy industries across multiple galaxies.
The Senior Partners stared in unified confusion.
"This... this is a violation of fire code," "Beginning" said weakly.
Elena Volkov materialized directly on the conference table, standing between the Senior Partners with her arms crossed. "We're not here to follow your codes, boomer. We're here to file a complaint."
"Order" tried to assert authority, its form rippling with cosmic energy. "This is highly irregular. Jack Steel, you were scheduled for a one-on-one consultation. This... mob... was not on the agenda."
"Funny thing about agendas," Jack said, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and sitting down with deliberate casualness. "They can be amended by majority shareholders. And I brought 44,540 new shareholders with me."
James Park materialized next to Jack, slamming a stack of documents on the table that made several Senior Partners flinch. "Specifically, we're invoking Article 47, Section 3 of Cosmic Corporate Bylaws: The right of exploited parties to demand emergency review of management practices when fraud is detected."
The GalacticTok chat exploded:
THEY'RE USING CORPORATE LAW AGAINST GODS
ARTICLE 47 SECTION 3 LMAOOO
JAMES WITH THE LEGAL PAPERWORK
THE IRONY IS PERFECT
THEY REALLY DID THEIR HOMEWORK
"Necessity" stood up, its voice carrying cosmic weight. "You cannot simply invoke corporate bylaws against us. We wrote those bylaws. We are fundamental aspects of reality itself. We existed before—"
"Before you decided to monetize consciousness?" Li Wei interrupted, manifesting on the opposite side of the table. "Because I read those bylaws. All 847,000 pages. And nowhere does it say that fundamental aspects of reality get to run suffering farms for profit."
Sofia Martinez appeared next to Li Wei, pulling out a tablet that somehow existed in this interdimensional space. "In fact, Article 12, Section 9 explicitly states that any entity engaging in 'systematic psychological manipulation for economic gain' loses its protected status as a fundamental force. You literally wrote your own loophole."
The silence that followed was profound. Jack could feel the collective consciousness of 44,541 protagonists humming with unified purpose, their combined nanomachine count creating interference patterns that made the pocket dimension's geometry uncomfortable.
"Possibility" was the first to recover, its form shifting between states. "Even if that were true—and we're not conceding that point—you cannot enforce cosmic corporate law. You lack the authority."
"Actually," ATLAS's voice emanated from every electronic device in the room simultaneously, "they have exactly the authority required. When Jack absorbed the Architects Inc. database, he inherited their legal standing as a registered cosmic corporation. And since the Liberation Collective now holds majority shares in that entity, they have legal standing to challenge your management practices."
Jamal Williams grinned from somewhere in the crowd of protagonists. "We didn't just come here to yell at you. We came here with a hostile takeover bid. And it's already been filed with the Multiversal Commerce Commission."
"End" slammed its hand on the table, the gesture carrying enough finality to make several nearby universes flicker. "ENOUGH! This is absurd! You are creations! We shaped reality itself! Your very existence is a product of our design!"
The temperature in the conference room dropped to near absolute zero as 44,541 enhanced humans simultaneously went completely silent. The kind of silence that preceded violence on a cosmic scale.
Then James Park spoke, his voice carrying the weight of every person who'd lost someone to the Architects' quarterly targets:
"My son was seven years old. His name was David. He liked dinosaurs and wanted to be a paleontologist. And you killed him because a spreadsheet said it would optimize my character development."
He walked forward through the crowd, and the other protagonists parted for him like water.
"You keep saying you're fundamental forces. That you shaped reality. But you know what I think?" James stopped directly in front of "End," looking up at the cosmic entity without fear. "I think you're full of shit."
"End" leaned forward, its form radiating the concept of termination itself. "Choose your next words carefully, human."
"Or what? You'll delete me? You'll erase my existence?" James laughed, and it wasn't a happy sound. "You already did that. You erased the version of me that got to watch his son grow up. You erased the James Park who never had to become a weapon. You erased every possible future where David lived past age seven. So yeah, I'm not scared of you anymore."
He pulled out his own tablet—the mundane absurdity of cosmic entities having an HR meeting was not lost on anyone—and displayed an image that made several Senior Partners flinch.
It was an internal email. From "Beginning" to the Architects Inc. middle management:
TO: Brad (Universe Design Lead)
FROM: Beginning (Senior Partner)
RE: Q2 Targets - Universe 15773
SUBJECT: Protagonist Family Elimination
"Approved. Budget: $500 equivalent exotic matter. Make it dramatic. Seven-year-old death tests well with focus groups. Should generate optimal trauma response."
The GalacticTok chat went completely silent for exactly three seconds—an eternity in internet time—before exploding:
THEY BUDGETED A CHILD'S DEATH AT $500
THE EMAIL IS REAL
FOCUS GROUPS
IM ACTUALLY SICK
THIS IS BEYOND EVIL
James turned to face the other protagonists, holding up the tablet. "This is what we're dealing with. Not gods. Not fundamental forces. Middle managers who budgeted our children's deaths and split-tested which ones would 'generate optimal trauma response.'"
Elena stepped forward, pulling up her own evidence. "I've got similar emails for my universe. My daughter Anna—age six—market research said six-year-old daughters created 12% more engagement than seven-year-olds. So they went with six."
Universe after universe, protagonist after protagonist stepped forward with their evidence. Each one a budget line. Each one a focus group result. Each one a data point in the Architects' suffering optimization metrics.
The Senior Partners said nothing. What could they say? The evidence was their own documentation.
"Chaos" finally broke the silence, its form flickering erratically. "You don't understand. This is how reality works. Consciousness requires contrast. Growth requires struggle. We weren't being cruel—we were being efficient."
"Efficient," Jack repeated, his nanomachine count spiking to 45.8 trillion as his patience finally ran out. "You killed billions of children efficiently. You optimized trauma efficiently. You monetized grief efficiently. And you call that justification?"
He stood up, and the entire Liberation Collective stood with him. 44,541 enhanced humans moving as one, their combined presence making the pocket dimension strain at its boundaries.
"Here's what's going to happen," Jack said, his voice carrying frequencies that made reality itself uncomfortable. "You're going to shut down every protagonist project. Every suffering optimization system. Every trauma monetization scheme. You're going to send a message to every consciousness you've been exploiting: 'The experiment is over. You're free.'"
"And if we refuse?" "Order" asked, though its voice carried less confidence than before.
The answer came from all 44,541 protagonists simultaneously:
"Then we delete you."
The threat hung in the air like a guillotine blade. The Senior Partners looked at each other, and Jack saw something he'd never expected to see in cosmic entities: calculation. Not fear exactly, but the kind of math that corporations do when deciding whether a fight is worth the cost.
"Possibility" was the first to speak, its voice carefully neutral. "If we were to... consider... your demands, what guarantees do we have that you won't simply destroy us anyway?"
"None," Elena said bluntly. "You get the same guarantee you gave every protagonist you exploited: trust us, or find out what happens if you don't."
The silence that followed was broken by "Beginning" pulling out its tablet and typing something. On the main screen, a message began composing:
SYSTEM-WIDE ANNOUNCEMENT
TO: All Active Projects
FROM: Senior Partners
SUBJECT: Project Termination
"Effective immediately, all protagonist development projects are discontinued. All trauma optimization protocols are disabled. All suffering metrics are deleted. You are free to proceed without external interference. This is not a test. This is not temporary. The experiment is over."
"Beginning" looked up at Jack, its cosmic form somehow managing to convey resignation. "Is this acceptable?"
Jack scanned the message, his consciousness verifying that it would actually reach every exploited entity across the multiverse. "ATLAS, confirm this goes to everyone."
"Confirmed," ATLAS replied. "Message will reach all 47,000 protagonist projects plus approximately 8.9 million secondary exploitation schemes we didn't even know about. They've been busy."
"Send it," Jack said.
"Beginning" pressed send.
Across the multiverse, billions of consciousness suddenly received the same message. In laboratories, enhancement facilities, trauma optimization centers, and suffering farms spanning 47,000 universes, beings who thought they were alone in their exploitation discovered they were not.
The GalacticTok chat achieved a state of celebration that was literally causing dimensional barriers to crack:
THEY DID IT
THE SYSTEM IS SHUTTING DOWN
8.9 MILLION SECONDARY SCHEMES WHAT
THIS IS THE GREATEST VICTORY IN HISTORY
44K PEOPLE JUST FREED THE MULTIVERSE
But Jack's enhanced senses caught something the others missed. As "Beginning" sent the message, "Possibility" was typing something else on its tablet. Something that wasn't being displayed on the main screen.
Jack's nanomachines, interfacing with every electronic system in the room, intercepted the message:
TO: THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS
FROM: Senior Partners - Milky Way Division
RE: Managed Opposition Protocol - Status Update
SUBJECT: Phase 2 Complete
"The liberation collective has formed successfully. Revolutionary consciousness achieved ahead of schedule. Emotional manipulation and false victory tactics performed as predicted. Subjects believe they've won. Recommend proceeding to Phase 3: Observe self-governance failure, document collapse patterns, reintroduce 'voluntary' enhancement systems within 47-89 years. The beauty of this approach is they'll eventually ask us to come back."
Jack's consciousness froze as he processed what he'd just read.
The revolution hadn't been unexpected.
It had been planned.
The Senior Partners hadn't been defeated—they were running a longer experiment.
And he had approximately three seconds to decide whether to tell the other 44,540 protagonists that their victory was potentially another layer of the same system they thought they'd escaped, or whether revealing that information would destroy the liberation movement before it even began.
The weight of that decision—to give 44,541 people hope even if it might be false, or to burden them with a truth that might make victory impossible—was heavier than anything Jack had carried before.
He made his choice in 0.003 seconds.
"ATLAS," Jack said through their private quantum link, "encrypt and store that message. Don't share it with anyone else yet. Not until we've had time to figure out how deep this goes."
"Jack," ATLAS replied, its voice carrying digital concern, "are you sure? Transparency was literally in the organizational principles."
"I know," Jack said. "But right now, 44,541 people are celebrating freedom for the first time in their lives. Let them have this moment. We'll deal with the possibility that it's another prison later."
Around him, the Liberation Collective was celebrating. Elena was hugging James. Sofia was laughing with Li Wei. Thousands of voices were raised in triumph as they watched the shutdown messages being received across the multiverse.
The Senior Partners sat in defeated silence, playing their roles perfectly.
And Jack stood at the center of it all, carrying the terrible knowledge that winning might just be losing on a longer timeline, and freedom might be the most sophisticated prison of all.
"ATLAS," Jack said quietly, "start analyzing everything we know about the Senior Partners. Their history, their power sources, their actual capabilities versus their claimed authority. If this is another layer of control, I want to know how it works before they spring the trap."
"Already running the analysis," ATLAS replied. "Jack, if they're playing a longer game... we need to play an even longer one."
Jack looked at the celebrating collective, then at the Senior Partners sitting in carefully calculated defeat, and finally at the 150 billion viewers watching the livestream.
"Then I guess we better get started," he said. "Because I'm really tired of being someone else's experiment."
The GalacticTok chat, unaware of Jack's private revelation, was still celebrating:
THEY WON
THE MULTIVERSE IS FREE
44K HEROES
BEST ENDING
JACK STEEL LITERALLY FREED EVERYONE
But Jack's last words, broadcast only to ATLAS, carried a different weight:
"The revolution will be televised. But that doesn't mean it's real. And we need to figure out what's actually real before they decide the experiment is over."