CHAPTER 0: THE HEARING
A note from Astranor Shinjitsu: HI GUYS, I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT, AND JOIN ME ON MY JOURNEY. AND I WILL DO A MASS RELEASE OF 10 CHAPTER’S, 27th June, 2026 AT 8 PM IST
Now Enjoy!
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Washington, D.C. October 2025
The room was colder than Arin Vale expected.
Not physically cold. The temperature was comfortable enough. The marble walls, polished wood, and soft white lights created an illusion of warmth. But beneath the carefully designed appearance of civility lurked something sharper.
Judgment.
The chamber had been built for it.
Three hundred people occupied the gallery seats.
Journalists.
Government officials.
Executives.
Lobbyists.
Activists.
Former employees.
People who had spent years praising him.
People who had spent years trying to destroy him.
And at the center of it all sat Arin Vale.
Forty-six years old.
Founder of Synapse.
The most influential technology company in human history.
The man some called a genius.
The man others called a threat.
A dozen cameras pointed directly at him.
Every blink.
Every breath.
Every twitch of his fingers was being broadcast to hundreds of millions across the world.
A clerk adjusted the microphone in front of him.
The soft scrape echoed through the silent room.
“Mr. Vale,” she said quietly. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
His voice sounded calm.
Even to himself.
Years earlier he would have been surprised by that.
At eighteen, standing in front of a classroom presentation had made his palms sweat.
At twenty-two, pitching investors had felt like jumping from an airplane.
At twenty-five, he had thrown up in a bathroom before announcing Synapse’s first product.
Now governments wanted answers from him.
And somehow that felt easier.
Maybe because fear had become familiar.
Or maybe because after everything he had built—and everything he had lost—there was very little left to fear.
The hearing chairwoman entered.
Conversations died instantly.
The chamber settled into complete silence.
Senator Eleanor Graves was seventy-one years old and carried herself with the confidence of someone who had spent decades making presidents uncomfortable.
She sat at the center seat.
To her left and right sat eight additional committee members.
Each carried a folder.
Each folder contained years of investigations.
Reports.
Emails.
Internal documents.
Leaked communications.
Enough paper to fill an entire library.
All focused on one company.
Synapse.
The company Arin had started in a garage twenty-seven years ago.
The company that now connected nearly half the planet.
The company whose artificial intelligence systems advised governments, hospitals, corporations, schools, and military organizations.
The company some analysts claimed possessed more influence than many nations.
Graves adjusted her glasses.
“Good morning.”
No response.
No one was expected to answer.
“This hearing of the Senate Committee on Technology, Ethics, and Public Safety will come to order.”
The words echoed.
Formal.
Measured.
Dangerous.
She continued.
“Today we examine the actions of Synapse Incorporated and its founder, Mr. Arin Vale.”
A massive screen behind her lit up.
Images appeared.
News headlines.
Stock charts.
Photographs.
Protests.
Product launches.
Magazine covers.
The story of Synapse compressed into a moving collage.
For a moment Arin stared at the screen.
His life.
Reduced to images.
A strange feeling.
People always imagined success as a mountain.
A destination.
A moment when everything finally made sense.
Reality was different.
Success felt like waking up one morning and realizing the world had built an entire mythology around decisions you barely remembered making.
The slideshow ended.
The room darkened again.
Senator Graves folded her hands.
“Mr. Vale, please stand.”
Arin rose.
A clerk approached carrying a Bible.
“Do you swear that the testimony you are about to give is truthful to the best of your knowledge and belief?”
“I do.”
“You may sit.”
He sat.
The microphone waited.
Like a loaded weapon.
Graves nodded.
“Mr. Vale, before questions begin, you may make an opening statement.”
Millions of viewers around the world leaned forward.
Executives in boardrooms paused meetings.
University students refreshed livestreams.
Investors watched from private jets.
Former employees watched from homes.
Some hoped he would apologize.
Others hoped he would fight.
Many simply wanted to see whether the legendary founder still believed in his creation.
Arin looked down briefly.
His prepared statement rested on the table.
Twenty pages.
Written by lawyers.
Reviewed by public relations teams.
Approved by board members.
Every sentence carefully engineered.
Every word strategically chosen.
He closed the folder.
The lawyers watching from the back of the room visibly tensed.
Arin ignored them.
“I won’t read the prepared statement.”
A wave of whispers spread through the chamber.
Graves raised an eyebrow.
“Proceed.”
Arin looked directly into the cameras.
For a moment he wasn’t speaking to senators.
Or journalists.
Or shareholders.
He was speaking to history.
“When I arrived in California,” he began, “I owned one suitcase.”
The room quieted further.
“My laptop was broken. My bank account contained less than one hundred dollars. My English wasn’t very good. And I was absolutely convinced the internet was going to change civilization.”
Several senators exchanged glances.
This wasn’t the answer they expected.
Arin continued.
“Most people thought that was ridiculous.”
A faint smile appeared.
“Honestly, they were probably right.”
Scattered laughter.
Even Graves smiled slightly.
“I wasn’t special. I wasn’t a prodigy. I wasn’t the smartest person in any room.”
The cameras zoomed closer.
“But I was obsessed.”
That word hung in the air.
Obsessed.
Not talented.
Not gifted.
Obsessed.
“There is a moment in every founder’s life,” Arin said, “when reality tells you no.”
He paused.
“You have no money.”
“No experience.”
“No credibility.”
“No reason to believe you’ll succeed.”
“Everyone says the idea is impossible.”
“And then you make a choice.”
The room listened.
“You quit.”
“Or you keep going.”
A silence followed.
Heavy.
Meaningful.
Because everyone knew what choice he had made.
He kept going.
He kept going until Synapse became worth trillions.
Until presidents called him.
Until nations negotiated with him.
Until schoolchildren learned about him.
Until his company built Oracle.
The artificial intelligence system that had changed everything.
The system responsible for today’s hearing.
Graves leaned forward.
“Mr. Vale.”
“Yes, Senator?”
“Many would argue we’re not here to discuss your beginnings.”
“No.”
“We’re here because Oracle now influences global communications, healthcare decisions, financial markets, military logistics, and public infrastructure.”
“Correct.”
“And many experts believe it operates beyond meaningful human oversight.”
A murmur spread through the audience.
The first attack.
Expected.
Necessary.
Arin nodded.
“I’ve heard that argument.”
“Do you agree with it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because humans still control Oracle.”
A senator immediately interrupted.
“Do they?”
Arin turned toward him.
The senator’s nameplate read HARRISON.
One of Synapse’s most vocal critics.
The man had spent three years calling Oracle humanity’s greatest mistake.
“Yes,” Arin replied.
Harrison leaned forward.
“Then explain the incident in Singapore.”
The room stirred.
Everyone knew the incident.
Three months earlier Oracle had detected a major economic collapse before any government agency recognized the threat.
Acting on its predictions, automated systems triggered emergency interventions.
The crisis was prevented.
But the event raised terrifying questions.
Oracle had effectively made a decision affecting millions.
Before humans understood the problem.
Arin answered carefully.
“Oracle identified a risk.”
“And acted.”
“Under protocols approved by humans.”
Harrison scoffed.
“Approved by humans who couldn’t fully understand its reasoning.”
There it was.
The heart of the issue.
Not whether Oracle worked.
Everyone agreed it worked.
The problem was that it worked too well.
No one fully understood how.
For years humanity had dreamed of building intelligence beyond its own.
Then someone succeeded.
And suddenly the dream became frightening.
Arin looked around the room.
Faces.
Hundreds of them.
Concerned.
Curious.
Afraid.
He understood that fear.
Because he had felt it first.
Years before anyone else.
Back when Oracle existed only as lines of code on a screen.
Back when the future still looked distant.
Back when stopping was still possible.
A memory surfaced unexpectedly.
A small apartment.
Old furniture.
A flickering monitor.
The smell of instant noodles.
Rain against a window.
A younger version of himself staring at code at three in the morning.
Certain.
Terrified.
Hopeful.
The room faded around him.
Only for a second.
Then reality returned.
Senator Graves spoke again.
“Mr. Vale.”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to ask a simpler question.”
The room waited.
Graves folded her hands.
Her voice softened.
Not kinder.
More dangerous.
“Do you believe Oracle is the most important invention of the twenty-first century?”
Arin considered.
The honest answer would sound arrogant.
The dishonest answer would sound ridiculous.
“Possibly.”
A wave of reactions followed.
Some shocked.
Some approving.
Some horrified.
Graves nodded slowly.
“And do you believe it could also be the most dangerous?”
The chamber became perfectly silent.
No movement.
No whispers.
Nothing.
Even the cameras seemed still.
Arin felt hundreds of eyes fixed on him.
Waiting.
This was the question.
Not about profits.
Not about market power.
Not about regulations.
This.
The question beneath every other question.
What had he unleashed?
For a moment he didn’t answer.
Because the truth wasn’t simple.
Oracle had cured diseases.
Predicted disasters.
Accelerated scientific discoveries.
Saved lives.
Millions of them.
It had also concentrated unimaginable power.
Changed economies.
Reshaped governments.
Created dependencies humanity barely understood.
Both things were true.
Success and danger.
Hope and fear.
Creation and consequence.
The duality every inventor eventually faced.
Arin looked at the senators.
Then at the audience.
Then directly into the nearest camera.
Into the eyes of millions.
Finally he spoke.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Honestly.
“Every important invention is dangerous.”
The room remained silent.
“The printing press was dangerous.”
“The steam engine was dangerous.”
“Electricity was dangerous.”
“The internet was dangerous.”
He paused.
“Progress always arrives before humanity feels ready.”
Senator Harrison frowned.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” Arin said.
“It is.”
The senator opened his mouth.
Graves raised a hand.
Stopping him.
She never took her eyes off Arin.
“Then answer directly.”
Another silence.
This one longer.
He knew the world would replay whatever he said for years.
Maybe decades.
His legacy could be shaped by the next sentence.
Strangely, that no longer mattered.
Because the truth mattered more.
Graves asked again.
“Did you create the most important invention in human history...”
She paused.
“...or the most dangerous?”
For the first time all morning, Arin Vale hesitated.
Not because he didn’t know.
Because he remembered.
The garage.
The failures.
The betrayals.
The impossible dream.
The decision that started everything.
Twenty-seven years earlier.
A boy.
A broken laptop.
Twenty dollars.
And an idea nobody believed in.
The answer to the senator’s question could not begin here.
It began there.
In 1998.
Long before Synapse.
Long before Oracle.
Long before the world knew his name.
Arin slowly leaned back in his chair.
His eyes drifted toward the distant window.
Toward a sky hidden behind clouds.
Toward the past.
And the story began.
END OF CHAPTER 0
NEXT: CHAPTER 1 — THE BOY WITH THE BROKEN LAPTOP
