Liam wasn't interested in the guilds' offers. He never had any intention of joining one in the first place.

He didn't see the point of signing contracts or swearing oaths to organizations he would eventually outgrow. The idea of being bound by obligations, schedules, and political loyalties didn't sit well with him. It was unnecessary weight.

The reason he had taken the Hunter's test was simple—to make life easier for himself, as the title gave him freedom. It opened doors, both figurative and literal, in this new world.

He didn't need a guild to do that.

It was already evening and as he drove down the road, the city lights reflected faintly across the windshield.

Then, his phone began to ring.

The screen flashed an unknown number but Liam picked up without hesitation.

"Mr. Scott?" a calm, professional voice greeted. "Good evening. My name is Blaire Novak. I'm calling from J.P. Morgan Private Banking Division. I've just been assigned as your personal banker."

Efficient as always. It hadn't even been six hours since Alice Hathaway's call, and they were already moving. Liam smiled.

"Good evening, Mr. Novak. I was expecting your call."

"That's good to hear," Novak said smoothly. "I wanted to personally introduce myself and confirm your account activation on our end. If there's anything you'd like arranged immediately, I'll see to it."

"Yes," Liam said, tone calm but direct. "I need an estate management and security team assigned to my residence. Full staff. Property management, maintenance, and round-the-clock security detail."

There was a brief pause before Novak responded, "Understood, sir. I'll begin selecting personnel right away. Would you prefer to review their profiles before deployment?"

"Send them to me for approval first. I'll decide which to keep," Liam replied.

"Of course," Novak said. "You'll have the full shortlist within a few hours. Is there anything else you'd like me to handle personally?"

"That will be all for now."

"Very well. I'll proceed with your request immediately, Mr. Scott. Expect an update before midnight."

"Thank you," Liam said, and the call ended.

He lowered the phone, a smile on his face, as he felt a sense of progress. Delegation was something he'd grown used to; it freed his attention for more important things. And if this world's J.P. Morgan operated with the same precision as the one in his home world, then by this time tomorrow, his estate would already be under professional supervision.

He leaned back slightly, satisfied.

The city lights stretched before him like a web of gold veins across the night. He decided not to return to the villa right away but get himself something to eat.

He wasn't hungry, not really, but the idea of trying food from an alternate Earth intrigued him. The thought made him chuckle.

"Let's see what a world with monsters and gates serves for dinner."

He pulled up the car's GPS and searched for nearby restaurants. A place caught his eye—a local spot not far from downtown Delaware. He adjusted the steering wheel and set off toward it. The Alfa Romeo's engine purred softly as he drove.

***

Meanwhile, across worlds—back on Liam's Earth—the ripples caused by Lucid's public release had only just begun to surface.

Inside a restricted wing of Peterson Space Force Base, a meeting was underway.

The conference room was windowless, its walls soundproof, painted in sterile gray and secured in way that even Lucy can't get in.

A long table dominated the center and around it, sat twelve people, each one senior enough to bypass most levels of clearance. Military intelligence, NSA, DARPA, Treasury, and Homeland Security—all present.

The air was heavy, the kind of silence that came from minds too busy to speak.

Finally, the man at the head of the table—a graying officer with deep lines across his face—spoke. His voice was calm but carried authority that didn't need to be raised.

"Nova Technologies," he said, his eyes fixed on the central projection. "We've confirmed that they distributed one thousand units of the device, Lucid, through what appear to be automated drone deliveries."

He turned his gaze to the woman on his left. "Status on retrieval?"

The woman, a civilian in a navy suit with an NSA pin on her lapel, adjusted her tablet. "We've identified the buyers, sir. All one thousand. Most are verified individuals with no criminal records or corporate ties. Teams were deployed to retrieve one working unit of the device or drone, but…" She hesitated. "So far, none have succeeded."

"None?" the officer asked.

"Not one," she said quietly. "Our field assets can't get close enough. The drones disappear into the sky the moment they complete delivery. They're undetectable beyond ten kilometers. Even NORAD's sensors can't track them. As for the device, the creation of the platform for the users have made it even more difficult to acquire one. We are thinking of using special methods."

The officer leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose. "And the company's registration?"

A man across the table answered this time—a Treasury liaison, glasses perched low on his nose. "We traced the company through standard channels. We got nothing except the already known information that its corporate identity was created through J.P. Morgan's incubation registry, Delaware. We can't pierce it. Every inquiry hits legal walls."

The general's brows furrowed slightly. "So the world's most advanced technology company appears out of nowhere, releases something that's rewriting half our technological models, and up to now, nobody knows who runs it."

"Correct," the Treasury man said simply.

The general's eyes moved to the man sitting beside him. "What about the NSA?"

The representative, a calm man in his forties, exhaled slowly. "We've had teams monitoring electromagnetic anomalies, drone traffic, and communication patterns. Nothing. It's like the drones vanish into vacuum after delivery. We've also tapped satellite arrays for tracking potential origin points. No hits."

"DARPA?"

The answer came from a man further down the table. "Our liaison is already in contact with their research heads. Sandia's on standby to begin analysis once we obtain a working unit. But without one, we can't replicate or reverse-engineer anything."

The general's hand tightened briefly around his pen before setting it down. "So, after four days, the United States government knows nothing."

The room was silent. No one disagreed.

A younger analyst near the end of the table finally spoke up, his tone hesitant. "Sir, if I may—there's a theory circulating among the analysts. They believe Nova Technologies might not be a company at all. It could be a government project—one operating outside formal jurisdiction."

The general looked at him. "Whose government?"

The young man swallowed. "We don't know, sir. Possibly ours. Possibly not."

The general's jaw tightened. "Speculation doesn't help us. Evidence does. Until then, we treat Nova as an independent entity operating beyond our visibility. And that's a problem."

"We can't afford to be caught flat-footed again," he said firmly. "The fact that this company can deploy technology like this at scale, means that they have rewritten warfare, intelligence, and communication. We need answers."

He looked toward the NSA delegate. "Double your coverage on J.P. Morgan's network. Monitor for encrypted communications originating from their private banking division. If Nova was built under their umbrella, something will leak through."

The man nodded. "Understood."

The general's tone softened slightly. "And keep our contact at DARPA in the loop. If Sandia gets a unit, I want full-spectrum analysis within twenty-four hours."

"Understood, sir."

He sat back, his expression unreadable. "Gentlemen, ladies—you all know what's at stake here. If someone has technology this advanced and they're choosing to release it publicly, it means one of two things. Either they're confident we can't stop them…" He paused. "Or they don't see us as competition. And both are bad."

No one spoke.

The meeting ended quietly. One by one, the officials gathered their tablets and left the room, their footsteps echoing in the silence.

When the last door closed, the general remained seated for a moment longer and exhaled slowly.

"There's something wrong somewhere," he muttered under his breath. "And I intend to find out what."

The lights dimmed as he left the room.

It wasn't just the US government that was stuck. It was the same with every government around the world.

But the corporate world was the one experiencing the ripples more—Mētā to be specific.

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