8:03 a.m.
On the highest floor of Blackmore Holding headquarters, the Board of Twelve was already seated.
No one arrived late. No one ever did.
Except the Chairman.
Outside the glass walls, the city looked small enough to own.
At the far end of the table, the Chairman's secretary rose without being asked. Efficient. Unflinching. The kind of woman who could schedule a merger or a war with equal composure.
The lights dimmed automatically.
The screen behind the Board came alive.
BLACKMORE HOLDING
Quarterly Strategic Overview
The first slide appeared.
A clean projection.
Revenue growth: 8.4 percent quarter over quarter.
R&D allocation: 20 percent, as mandated.
Global asset expansion: three new ports acquired, one hostile takeover completed before arbitration.
No one reacted. They had expected more.
Then the secretary advanced the slide.
Global Operations.
A rotating map of the world filled the screen.
Shipping lanes pulsed in white.
Blackmore satellites traced invisible grids across the atmosphere.
Urban development projects glowed along coastlines like constellations.
Pharmaceutical division approvals: twelve new patents.
Defense contracts secured: two governments, one unnamed client.
Aerospace division: successful launch window utilization at 97 percent efficiency.
The slide shifted.
The world map vanished.
A geological cross section replaced it.
The planet, cut open.
Layer by layer.
Mantle. Core. Pressure bands.
In the lower right corner, a single number pulsed.
6.66%
No title.
No commentary.
Just the percentage.
Silence stretched across the table.
Then someone cleared their throat.
Director Halvorsen of Infrastructure adjusted his cufflinks.
He was a decisive man. The kind who built rail networks through mountains and ports in hostile territory. A man who believed most problems could be solved with enough steel and funding.
"This is it," he said quietly.
Several heads turned.
"Six point six six," Halvorsen continued, his voice steady but charged with conviction. "You don't assign that number by accident. It's him. The Beast of Revelation."
A ripple moved through the room. Not panic. Attention.
Halvorsen's palm came down hard against the table.
"This is a sign. A clear one."
He straightened, drawing himself taller.
"We prepare now. Reinforce our infrastructure. Secure transport arteries. Harden energy grids. Mobilize private security under the pretext of routine expansion."
His gaze swept the board.
"If this is escalation, we do not wait for confirmation. History punishes hesitation," Halvorsen said quietly. "And I refuse to be remembered as the man who saw the Beast rising and did nothing."
The room held its breath.
At the head of the table, someone had not looked up once.
Johnny Blackmore sat with one leg crossed over the other, his coat immaculate, his expression unreadable. The glow of his phone reflected faintly in his eyes.
Halvorsen's voice thundered through the room.
"…we fortify our sites immediately—"
Johnny's thumb moved.
A beat.
Then—
"Fuck. Fucking Mega Knight."
The words slipped out, sharp and irritated.
Silence.
Twelve of the most powerful individuals in the corporate world stared at their Chairman.
Johnny blinked once.
He lowered his phone slightly.
"Sorry," he said calmly. "What were you saying?"
Halvorsen stood frozen, mid declaration of holy war.
Johnny then pretended to slip his phone into his coat pocket and click next match.
"Go on," he said.
The Chairman's secretary did not look at Halvorsen. She did not look at the Board. She looked at Johnny.
"The anomaly increased overnight," she said evenly, clicking the remote.
The slide shifted.
A timestamp appeared in the corner of the geological scan.
03:17 a.m. — 6.61%
06:42 a.m. — 6.64%
07:58 a.m. — 6.66%
The room grew quieter with each increment.
"No external seismic activity," she continued. "No tectonic shifts. No geothermal irregularities."
Another slide.
Energy readings. Deep core resonance patterns. Graphs that should not exist.
"It is not environmental," she said. "It is internal."
She paused only briefly.
"R&D confirms the signal is structured."
That word landed.
Structured.
"Pattern repetition every six hours. Escalation consistent with recovery behavior."
Johnny did not move.
"How long has it been?" he asked.
"Dormant for at least one hundred and twelve years," she replied.
No inflection.
No emphasis.
Just data.
"And before that?" Johnny asked quietly.
The secretary met his eyes.
Silence.
No one in the room fully understood the weight of that exchange more than Johnny.
Archival records appeared. Dated entries. Energy spikes. Containment notes. Redacted government correspondence.
"Previous cycle duration: eighteen months," she said. "Peak escalation: nine point three percent."
Several members of the Board exchanged brief looks.
They remembered.
Infrastructure disruptions. Markets collapsing in specific regions. A series of unexplained geological events that had cost governments billions and Blackmore significantly less.
Johnny's gaze remained steady.
"And the outcome?" he asked.
"Event stabilization without surface manifestation," she replied.
A beat.
"This cycle is trending faster."
Now the room felt different.
Not confused.
Concerned.
Johnny leaned back slightly.
"Acceleration rate?"
"Point zero two percent per hour since 03:17."
"And projections?"
"Seven percent within seventy two hours if uninterrupted."
Halvorsen no longer looked heroic.
He looked at Johnny.
The room followed.
Johnny studied the number again.
6.66%. It pulsed softly in the corner of the screen.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Meh," he said.
A pause.
"Who cares."
Silence fell hard across the table.
Several directors stiffened.
One shifted in his seat.
Another glanced instinctively at the door, as if expecting the earth to split open in protest.
Only the secretary remained perfectly still.
Johnny leaned back.
"It ran last time," he continued calmly. "It plateaued. It stabilized. Nothing surfaced."
He gestured lightly toward the screen.
"If it wants to stretch its legs, let it."
Halvorsen blinked. "Chairman, with respect—"
"If it crosses 50 percent," Johnny cut in, still relaxed, "wake me up."
The room did not know whether to be reassured or terrified.
Because the only person who sounded unconcerned was the only one old enough to remember. But only half the room knew exactly how old he was.
Silence.
Not confusion.
Calculation.
Fifty percent was not a threshold.
It was indifference.
One director shifted slightly. Another folded her hands tighter on the table.
Johnny did not look at them and continued playing with his phone.
"It has never breached ten," he said mildly. "If it decides to reinvent itself this century, I'll adjust."
Halvorsen hesitated.
"And if this cycle is different?"
Johnny finally looked at him.
"If this cycle is different," he said evenly, "you'll know."
That ended it.
Johnny stood, smoothing his coat.
"If this is the apocalypse," he said, "schedule it. If it isn't, I'm going to fuck off."
No one laughed.
No one objected.
The meeting was over.
Not by vote.
Not by consensus.
By departure.
Johnny walked toward the doors without looking back.
They opened before he reached them.
The Board remained seated.
Half of them were recalculating risk exposure.
The other half were recalculating him.
The secretary gathered her tablet and followed.
No hesitation.
No eye contact with the others.
The doors closed behind them with a quiet, final sound.
Only when the room was sealed again did Halvorsen exhale.
On the screen, the number remained.
6.66%
It pulsed once.
Then—
6.67%