An old man with a bored expression glanced at Vincent as he stepped inside and walked through the small lobby to the reception desk where the man sat.
Without much interest, the man asked, "Need a room? Twenty dollars a night."
Vincent placed several bills on the counter and replied, "Three nights."
The man took the cash, counted it quickly, then wordlessly placed a key with the number 17 engraved on the keychain onto the desk.
Vincent picked up the key without speaking and went off to find room 17. He passed through a long, damp-smelling hallway, climbed a flight of stairs, and finally stopped in front of his door.
Once there, he inserted the key, turned it, opened the door, and stepped inside, immediately locking it behind him.
The room was small. A worn-out bed sat in the corner, its mattress showing clear signs of age. A wooden desk stood nearby, full of scratches. There was also a window, but it faced the neighboring building's wall, covered by a nearly torn curtain.
Vincent threw his bag onto the bed and sat down in the wooden chair beside the desk, staring toward the bed.
His mind drifted back to everything that had happened today, things that would make anyone shudder just hearing about them. Betrayed by his own girlfriend, shot, and nearly burned alive.
And now, here he was, sitting in a rundown motel room, leaving behind everything he had just to avoid the man who had stolen his girlfriend, and who might come after him again.
***
The clock on the motel wall showed eleven at night, and Vincent felt his stomach aching with hunger. He was frustrated—after everything that had happened, his body still demanded food.
He sat on the edge of the bed, debating whether to take the risk of going outside.
But he had no choice, his stomach had been growling for a while now.
Finally, he pulled on his leather jacket, lowered the hood of his hoodie, and stepped out of the motel, braving the icy streets once more.
The snowfall had stopped, leaving piles of snow on the roads. A cold wind blew, sending a shiver through him. He walked aimlessly, unfamiliar with this rundown part of town, searching for a place to eat.
Then he spotted a small, worn-down food stall at the end of the street. He didn't care what it was selling—it was the only place he could find in this freezing weather.
Vincent stepped into the tent-covered stall, instantly feeling the warmth inside. The rich scent of buttered fried meat and cheap coffee hit him, making him quickly scan the menu on the wall.
A weary-looking middle-aged man peeked out from behind the counter. "What do you want to order?" he asked.
Without hesitation, Vincent responded. "Two burgers and coffee," he muttered.
A few minutes later, he sat in the furthest corner of the seating area inside the tent. He ate like a starving man, finishing both burgers in no time.
As Vincent slowly sipped his hot coffee, trying to decide whether he was dreaming or not, a sudden voice echoed in his head. It was a woman's voice—smooth and artificial—like the AI-generated voices he had heard countless times while coding.
> Sovereign Syndicate Activated.
The voice said nothing else, fading into silence just as quickly as it had appeared.
Vincent frowned and glanced toward the man at the food stall, but the vendor was dozing off in his chair. He hesitated for a moment before standing up, placing some cash in front of the man. After a quiet thank you, he stepped out into the freezing night once more.
***
Back in his room, Vincent locked the door and dragged a chair over to wedge it against the handle.
'No harm in being extra careful,' he thought. He wasn't sure whether Pearson's men knew if he had died in the fire or not, but he wasn't about to take any chances.
He threw himself face down onto the bed, making the old mattress creak loudly, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Exhausted, it didn't take long for sleep to take over.
Then, suddenly, the same woman's voice echoed in his head again—the one he had forgotten about in his post-meal drowsiness.
> Sovereign Syndicate Database: Checking Heir Status…
> Processing Vital Data…
> Confirmed: Heir Status is Active.
> Warning: Abnormal condition detected.
Vincent's eyes snapped open.
> System Integration at 9%—Incomplete.
> Further activation requires external input.
The voices echoed in his head, and although the woman's tone was calm and soothing, it still startled him and made him uneasy.
He had spent years developing AI-based programs, even creating several SaaS platforms for his clients, but this was the first time he had heard something like this directly in his mind—without a laptop in front of him. And right now, he didn't even have a phone.
"What the hell does that mean?" Vincent muttered, gripping the bedsheet tightly. His body tensed.
> Inquiry Activated.
> Heir, state your directive.
Vincent blinked several times. "Directive?" The voice was asking him to give an order—but for what? What was he supposed to say?
After a brief hesitation, the words that finally escaped his lips were, "What are you?"
Without hesitation, the voice responded again.
> Sovereign Syndicate is a control mechanism.
> Designed for a single heir.
> Primary objective: Acquisition and domination.
Vincent swallowed hard before asking again, "Why can I hear you when I'm not using any electronic device?"
The response was immediate, as if the system had anticipated his confusion.
> Neural Link Established.
> Sovereign Syndicate operates beyond conventional hardware.
> Direct synchronization with heir's cognitive processing detected.
Vincent felt even more confused and asked again, "Synchronization? You're saying… you're inside my mind?"
> Correction: Integrated with heir's perception.
> System functions exist within non-physical construct.
> Hardware dependency eliminated.
Vincent grew more and more confused, especially with the system's responses that only made him furrow his brow even more.
Finally, he grumbled, "Can you just display your replies in text instead? Hearing a voice like this is only making me more confused."