“Mister Riker is expecting you on the top floor,” said the man on the left, his tone as neutral as his expression.


    “Thanks,” I replied instinctively, but neither of them moved. Their solid bodies remained firmly planted in front of the door.


    Should I go? Or…


    I hesitated, glancing at the slightly ajar door behind them. We stood there in an awkward silence, eyes locked, neither party making the first move.


    Charlie, be brave! “Uhmm… Can I go through then?” I asked, motioning vaguely toward the door.


    “Yes,” said the man on the right, but he didn’t step aside. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement? A test? His lips curved ever so slightly into the hint of a smirk.


    Ah. A test. Fine. Irwen to the rescue!


    “Move. Now.” My icy tone came out sharper than I’d intended. For a moment, I thought it had worked; I saw a subtle shiver ripple through him. “See the dress? Would be a shame to stain it,” I added, taking a deliberate step forward.


    Even so, they didn’t budge. My heart raced, pounding in my chest like an imperial marching song as the tension mounted. Behind me, I caught a faint murmur from the crowd. Stupid people. Stupid guards. Why?


    WHY?


    WHY!


    Without thinking, instinct took over.


    I stepped closer to the guard on the right and executed Imperial Move Seventeen—a swift, fluid motion designed to exploit openings in an opponent’s stance.


    My hands darted to his side in a feint while my foot struck out in a sharp arc.


    He didn’t react quickly enough, a mistake on his part, because a moment later, his head met the wall with a solid bong.


    The sound echoed in the air as he stumbled. “Stay,” I commanded, my voice cold.


    Neither of them moved now, their expressions blank with shock—or respect, maybe? Ignoring my hammering pulse, I strode past them, forcing myself not to look back.


    The door creaked slightly as I pushed it open, and with every step inside, the tension eased—until the murmur of the crowd outside faded entirely.


    “Stupid Riker,” I whispered to myself.


    “Oh, come now, Miss Charlie,” a voice came from shadows. It belonged to a man in a bizarre, multicolored coat, his silhouette shimmering faintly in the dim light. “Surely, a woman of your caliber can appreciate the artistry of a harmless jest?”


    I froze mid-step, squinting into the near-darkness. My eyes struggled to adjust to the dimly lit hall, the faint gleam of the plush carpet beneath my feet the only discernible detail. “Riker, I presume?” My voice carried more irritation than I intended.


    “The very same,” he replied. Suddenly, the lights blazed to full power, illuminating the room in a harsh, blinding glare. His coat—a ridiculous monstrosity of rainbow hues—sparkled with every color imaginable, a showy display that made me wince.


    “I must confess, Lady Charlie, that your attire serves only to accentuate the radiant beauty you possess so effortlessly. Though I was well aware of your remarkable talents, I must admit—your timeless elegance is a revelation that words could scarcely do justice.”


    I shielded my eyes with a hand, grimacing. “You certainly have a thing for the dramatic,” I muttered.


    “And you, my dear, have a talent for understatement,” he countered, throwing his arms wide as if basking in an imagined applause. “A party, after all, is meant to dazzle! One must rise to the occasion for all guests to be happy.”


    “That coat is ugly,” I shot back before I could stop myself. The words hung in the air for a moment before I added, “And your guards aren’t polite. And you’re holding Lucas hostage. I am not happy.”


    The entire day had worn me down. From Katherine’s antics to Lucas’s mess, from Patrick’s bar to Roberto’s chaotic driving, and now this… Riker.


    “Ah,” he stammered. A faint blush colored his cheeks, though he quickly composed himself. “I see you are not one to mince words. Admirable, truly.” With a sweeping gesture toward a door at the far end of the hall, he offered a smile. “Come, let us discuss matters in more agreeable surroundings. I assure you, my hospitality will not disappoint.”


    From another door, a man barged into the hall. He was almost running and almost tripped over us. Stylishly dressed, but not ostentatious, he exuded a natural charisma—effortless so I could never replicate.


    “Oh, Mister Riker!” he greeted warmly, his smile practiced. His eyes flicked to me, and his tone turned admiring. “And a woman with the beauty of a hundred admirers.”


    Riker’s grin remained firmly in place as he inclined his head toward the newcomer. “Ah, Mister Rodriguez! May I introduce the illustrious Miss Charlie! I see you’re departing so soon—how regrettable! Pray, did the festivities meet your expectations?”


    Rodriguez nodded, his face shifting into something that looked a bit apologetic. “Sorry, something urgent’s come up.” He glanced at me again. “Apologies for ducking out so quickly, Miss Charlie. Maybe we’ll run into each other another time.”


    Before I could find a response, he was gone, disappearing as quickly as he’d appeared.


    The door led us to a small room, with cozy leather armchairs squeezed around a low glass coffee table, with walls paneled in dark wood. It all felt like being in the slimy dungeon library all over again.


    I hesitated for a moment before taking a seat.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    The leather creaked softly under me as Riker settled across from me, his multicolored coat catching the dim light and shimmering faintly like some misplaced rainbow. He smiled that infuriatingly confident smile. “Charlie, do you truly understand the essence of what I represent?” His tone was curious, almost teasing, as his stare studied me with disturbing precision. “You seem to know so much about me, and yet I hold only your name.”


    I crossed my legs—finally succeed!—and leaned back, trying to appear calm as the door slid shut with a quiet click. A voice in the back of my head screamed danger, but honestly, I was beyond caring. I sighed. “You mean Riker’s Rimelion Ranking? Or maybe Riker’s Rimelion Guide?”


    His poker face slipped, his eyes tightening slightly as he leaned forward. “Impressive. Truly, your breadth of knowledge is nothing short of extraordinary. The Rimelion rankings? Indeed, we’ve spared no expense in ensuring their prominence through relentless marketing endeavors. But the guides? Only a select few were privy to their existence. Yet, somehow, you already know.”


    I needed to change the subject—fast. Time to bring out the big guns. “I want to save the world,” I declared, leaning forward. “We’re heading into a dystopian future where people do nothing but play Rimelion, lounging at home while robots do all the work.”


    Riker’s smirk faded, his expression turning thoughtful. “Miss Charlie… you are absolutely correct in your analysis. This trajectory leads to stagnation, dependency, and eventual societal collapse. What solution do you propose?”


    “I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling a bit deflated under his scrutinizing gaze. “This isn’t my forte. Maybe… make money and create jobs for people?”


    Riker’s lips curved into a knowing smirk. “A noble sentiment. But let me ask—if your workers produce services, who will consume them? AIs and robots provide a cheaper alternative. In a declining job market, consumers naturally gravitate toward the cheapest option, not necessarily what’s best for them.”


    I frowned, his words sinking in. “But… if I gave them jobs…”


    “A commendable idea,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “But it would work only on a microscale. On a macro scale, however, your business must remain profitable. And profitability, as it stands, often hinges on minimizing human labor. The cycle perpetuates itself. The only viable solution at that level is taxation—tax the companies and redistribute the funds to the populace.”


    I let out a long sigh, slumping slightly in my seat. “The commie tax…”


    Riker burst into laughter, the sound infectious. “Indeed, it could be considered communist.”


    And then the room shifted.


    Wait.


    The world moved?


    I grabbed the armrest instinctively, my body tensing as I looked around. The sensation was subtle—a smooth, gliding motion, like being on a lift. My heart jumped, ready to bolt, but Riker raised a hand, his expression calm. “Don’t be alarmed. We’re in the elevator, after all.”


    I blinked, glancing around again. This was an elevator? The polished wood, the plush armchairs, the cozy lighting—it was all so deliberately designed, I’d assumed it was a ridiculous showpiece. “You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.


    Riker’s grin widened as if my disbelief was exactly the reaction he wanted.


    “Dear Charlie, your reactions speak volumes, revealing truths you may not even realize, and I must say—I find them utterly fascinating,” Riker said cryptically. “Ignorance, when paired with unrefined brilliance, is a rare and potent combination. It’s like raw ore—unpolished, but brimming with infinite potential for those who can see it.”


    “Mister Riker,” I replied, my tone sharper than intended. Damn you, Irwen! “I’m not some random ore you can dig out and forge into a sword.” I paused, letting the words hang before adding with a wry smile, “Not that I don’t appreciate a fine sword, but in this stupid metaphor, I’d like to keep some agency. Understood?”


    Riker’s lips curved into a faint smile, more amused than bothered. “Charlie, if I believed you were someone easily swayed by simple persuasion, we would not be having this conversation. Your presence here speaks to a certain fortitude of spirit—a trait I find both admirable and, dare I say, essential to the matters at hand.”


    He leaned back in his chair, his multicolored coat blinding me again as he studied me like a puzzle he’d yet to solve. “Lucas, for all his reticence, did manage to share one intriguing detail: your debt. A burden, no doubt, but also a thread that ties you to choices far more complex than most would care to understand.”


    The soft chime of the elevator saved me from answering him. I let Riker step out first, his coat blinding me as he moved, and followed him into a unique room.


    Not what I expected.


    Don’t get me wrong—there was the obligatory big-ass window spanning the length of the room, offering a breathtaking view of the city lights glittering below.


    That I expected.


    But the rest of the room? A far cry from the lavish opulence I had braced myself for.


    The space was surprisingly minimalistic, almost stark. A modest sofa dominated the center, something so unassuming it could’ve come from a bargain store. It wasn’t worn or shabby, but its simplicity stood out, especially in contrast to what I imagined someone like Riker would own. It’s a sofa I could’ve afforded—if I still had a job. The thought made me smile.


    Sitting on that sofa was Lucas.


    He was wearing one of his expensive suits, the kind that screamed loaned money, but his perpetually unkempt hair undermined the entire look.


    Did he come here with his hair like that?! I resisted the urge to groan out loud.


    Lucas glanced at us as we entered, his expression a mix of relief and unease. His eyes darted between me and Riker, like he wasn’t sure if this was a rescue mission or a setup. His eyes lingered on my dress for a moment, and the look was worth all the trouble getting the dress.


    He didn’t care that his mouth was open.


    The room’s other occupants were harder to ignore: four armed guards, stationed at each corner like statues. Their uniforms were stylish, their weapons subtle yet apparent.


    “And so, the destined lovers!” Riker announced theatrically, slapping his hands together with a grin that practically sparkled. Well, his coat did. “Guided by the invisible hand of fate, rediscover the path that leads them back together!”


    “Riker,” I said, fixing him with a glare, “if there weren’t guards here, you’d be flying out that window.”


    The guards, as expected, didn’t react to my words. They stood stoically, eyes forward, weapons as steady as their stances.


    Riker, on the other hand, burst out laughing as if I’d just told him the most absurd joke about the drunken Imperial Prince in the stables. Which, to be fair, actually happened.


    Lucas, however, didn’t share Riker’s sense of humor. “Charlie…” His expression screamed at me, like he’d just caught me sipping a hundred-year-old whiskey straight from the bottle.


    I rolled my eyes and turned to Lucas. “So, what trouble are you in?” I asked, plopping onto the sofa but keeping a deliberate distance from him as Riker busied himself pouring drinks.


    “Miss Charlie,” Riker said smoothly, approaching with a glass in hand, his movements as practiced as a seasoned sommelier, but had nothing at Patrick''s expertise. “Our dear Lucas here indulged in my modest creation, the esteemed Riker’s Luck! And what a performance it was—a display nothing short of remarkable. Were it not for the formidable firewall at the last hurdle, he might well have claimed a spectacular victory!”


    “So you lost,” I said flatly, directing my words at Lucas as I took a cautious sip from the glass. Scotch. It wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t Irish whiskey. And it sure as hell wasn’t Patrick’s Irish whiskey.. “I prefer Irish whiskey,” I couldn’t hold myself, already regretting the drink. And probably something cheaper.


    Lucas frowned, finally finding his voice. “Lost on a technicality,” he admitted, his tone full of frustration. “I have… less money than I came with.”


    “Ah, Irish whiskey!” Riker declared loudly, nodding as if I’d made a grand proclamation. “Duly noted. And yes, Mister Lucas—rules are rules. Back tunneling is perfectly allowed.”


    His tone was almost smug, and I caught a flicker of annoyance cross Lucas’s face. It was hard to tell if he was angrier at himself for losing or at Riker for finding the whole situation so entertaining.


    Then Riker turned to me, his grin fading slightly, replaced by an expression that was serious. It was unsettling, like watching a circus performer suddenly step off the stage. He swirled the scotch in his glass absently, his gaze sharp as it locked onto mine.


    And then, as if he were asking about the weather, he said, “What do you know about Nathan?”