001 | Anonymous Source
Tyrell’s slender pale fingers flew over the keyboard. Each click echoed in the room. Tyrell worked on a new system for the company. It was supposed to be groundbreaking.
Then he heard a ping. Tyrell’s brows furrowed. Usually, he would rarely have any new messages from anyone. He glanced around nervously. His expensive marble door remains locked. The pitch-black desk in the middle of the room is neatly packed with technical magazines.
There were three bookshelves filled to the brim with books. Huge windows to the hot summer sun. Nothing to raise suspicion.
After some brief coding, he managed to unlock the message. It read:
To: Tyrell Wallick
It has come to my attention that you are a capable hacker. This in itself is a great opportunity for you. To raise in ranks of society. We’re looking for someone capable to destroy records. Efficiently eliminating people’s issues with your firm. And whistleblow how much corruption is happening straight underneath your nose. Below, you will find the virus to do as has been told earlier. We’re glad to co-operate with you.
Greetings, Mr. Robot.
The code laid indeed where the stranger of Mr. Robot had suggested. In a folder deleted as soon, the virus was securely in his computer files. There it would remain. Yet in Tyrell’s thoughts open wide of a million possibilities. Each action would be the result of his doing. The power thrilled through his veins like wildfire. By a press of his fingertip, Tyrell would be able to tip the scales to his favor.
The catch? Nowhere in his mind.
The echo of a thud against the door.
Awakening Tyrell from his daze. Swiftly Tyrell closed down the page and faced the entrance. In the progress making Tyrell almost jumps in his seat.
A man walked towards him with determination in his brown eyes. A red tint to his cheeks as he slammed his hand on the desk. “Here are the documents you asked for,” the junior executive told him. Mr. Jackson, a male of minor importance, the sweat drops exposed on his fragile bronze skin.
An irritating ticking of Mr. Jackson’s ring finger. A nervous gulp exchanged in the abundant silence.
Laying the pile on top of his sleek and perfectly clean desk. The documents appeared out of place by how it stuck out odd pages in different colors and taggings. Clearly from someone who didn’t value the priority of an organization.
Tyrell’s gaze narrowed by the small movement by the other. Little told Mr. Jackson what was about to happen in the next seconds. Tyrell was merciless of cutting off anyone who hindered him from his goals. To the point of being reckless. Perhaps.
A polite smile spread across Tyrell’s pale features. His silvery irises cold as ice while he took in the fidgeting from the younger male. Tyrell saw himself as a predator in disguise, perfectly hidden underneath his black suit, long heavy tie, and matching leather shoes.
“Thank you,” his voice carrying itself smoothly, both men aware who was the real dominant in the room. “Sit down.” The order followed swiftly by the junior executive. Tyrell folded his delicate hands together, rubbing his thumbs in unison.
“Y-Yes, sir," the man stuttered out, awkwardly composing himself on the synthetic-leather chair. “Did I mistype the newest coding? I can correct it in a few days’ time——” Mr. Jackson desperately attempted to save face. Features paling as he comes to the realization his head is about to get chopped off by a mere utterance of words by Tyrell’s lips.
Tyrell’s minor frustration grew for every passing second, hearing each excuse as another way to destroy his perfect life. His nostrils flare as his eyes became to two black pits of the void. “A shame you can’t,” his voice cut through the mumbling like arrows raining down on a bloody battlefield. “You’re fired.”
“B-But——” the junior executive protested with a gaping mouth and shock on his face. Much as a fish on the water. “I haven’t done anything wrong——” Mr. Jackson appealed. Well-aware the words that befall his lips would fall on deaf ears. Fear rising in his amber eyes. Growing into an earthquake.
"Now,” Tyrell raised barely his voice and the man immediately stumbled out the door with the tail between his legs. The door softly slammed shut. Resuming the silence. Perhaps in another reality, he would’ve fucked the man for information. Though, the fact was he already had what he required. Or at least what Tyrell considered important.
The nagging thought at the back of his mind resided until he went home and went to bed. On one end, Tyrell desired to knock out the RED SERVICES company. If only to rebuild it in his own vision. The appeal for taking the power in his own hands was as sweet cherry vine coloring his plump lips blood red.
The risk was high; Tyrell would lose his work and all those years of countless effort if a mere fault made. Adrenalin rushed in his veins. His breathing becoming labored in response. Could he be the one to crush those egotistical CEOs who had no mind of their own? Only seeking more money and exploiting their users.
Yet, yet Tyrell secretly wished to know who this mysterious Mr. Robot was. Is the stranger a foe or a friend? The time would expose whatever they had in mind. Tyrell felt certain about that fact.
His past ex-lover, Joanna would have gripped this choice without hesitation. Although Tyrell could hardly fault her, the world was his for the taking. Her words rang true in his ears, whispering luscious, ”alt er ditt." Everything is yours.
The alarm clock illuminated his visage exposing his neck and wide-open eyes, the sun setting in the distance. Stars sparkling in the freezing night. Sirens wailing far in the distance. The foreboding night foreshadowing little of what was amiss. Nor would they be aware until it was too late to react ...