40

And your core team, those you've worked most closely with this year, are here. Winston Q, your Chief Financial Officer and right-hand man. Your guide, almost, in those first months that you held this job. Electra Jones, shrewd and subtle, your head of security. Robert Leach, your assistant. You feel there's still a great deal you don't know about him. Brett Golightly, your head of field operations. A fighter through and through.

It takes you a few seconds to spot Claudette Byron, your head of research. She is one of those on the dance floor, you realize. She sees you then, extricates herself from the dancers, and comes to join Winston and the rest. She is already holding a flute of champagne, you notice.

Electra comes toward you, and takes one of your hands. "We're glad you made it. Here, now."

Winston nods. "You've done well to make it this far. Time to face the big guys upstairs now, huh?"

Little by little, the rest of the room becomes aware of your presence. The group turns to face you, in muted contemplation. You consider giving some sort of speech, but decide against it. In truth, you're curious to see how your staff will judge you. And so you say nothing, and wait for their response to your arrival.

Your staff applauds you. You've been a fine leader to them this past year. Under your stewardship, MetaHuman has weathered both alien invasion and cutthroat competition. Throughout, you've treated your staff with consideration and respect, and that respect has been returned to you in kind. These past few weeks in particular, your people have worked hard to boost MetaHuman's profits and profile—and consequently, to improve the reputation of you, its leader, as well.

You give your staff a short, improvised speech of thanks. But then, all too soon, your appointment with the shareholders arrives. Electra walks you to the elevator. You step into it, alone.

Glancing down, you see a button for a floor labelled 111.

You could swear you've never seen that button in this elevator before. You push it.

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