Intoducing Aperture Mobile

The device skittered across the floor of my office, its movement eerily reminiscent of a mechanical spider, thanks to its telescopic, spider-like legs that were tall and adjustable. Designed to be the size of a large briefcase or a small backpack, it possessed a sleek, futuristic design. On its top, a screen emitted a soft glow, while on the side, a phone handset was tethered by a series of wires to the device's main body. Embedded in its structure were Aperture-style lenses, looking malevolent eyes of a monster.

A mental note was made: task someone with softening its aesthetics. While an intimidating presence might be advantageous for military applications, it was decidedly less so for civilian technology, where user-friendliness and approachability were key.

Boaz acknowledged.

I looked from it, to the team leader responsible for this and said, When I requested your team to develop a new mobile phone, Dr Finch, I hardly expected it to actually be self-ambulatory."

But perhaps I should have. This was Aperture after all. Here they had taken what Einstein said: 'Common sense is the collection of prejudices acquired by age eighteen' and ran with it. Sometimes right over the cliff. And sometimes they even managed to fly afterwards.

Well, not that I was that much of an exception.

Dr Finch adjusted his glasses, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of tension. "The challenge, Director, was the weight. After incorporating the cameras, screen, and all the other advanced components you envisioned, the device became too cumbersome to carry by hand."

Raising an eyebrow, I responded, "So, rather than revisiting the practicality of my initial proposal, you opted to equip it with robotic legs?"

"Yes, Director," he confirmed, his tone a mixture of confidence and hope. "The legs are telescopic, allowing for height adjustments to suit the user, ensuring the phone remains both accessible and user-friendly. Moreover, the integration of Aperture-style lenses enables it to perform a multitude of functions, from capturing high-resolution images to facilitating complex computational tasks."

"Satellite link?"

"Included, but untested. We do need an actual satellite to test that," Dr Finch admitted,

"If the evening launch is successful, that will not be a problem."

Dr Finch looked at me, his expression a mix of reverence and disbelief. "The Moon Shot project. I am awed by your genius, Director. If it works, you will have made rocket science obsolete before it even matured."

I would say that he was laying it on thick, but I could see, and sense, that he was being sincere. Between Leo's accurate interpretation of micro-expressions and body language, and my own ability to see into the hearts of Man, I was reliably certain that was just not empty flattery.

The conversation then pivoted to a critical aspect of any groundbreaking technology: affordability. "One more question: Is it affordable?"

"We believe we'll manage to sell it at $6,000 per piece," Dr Finch responded, a note of pride in his voice.

"That cheap?" For instance Motorola was selling their "bricks", their mobile phones, for 4000$ at the moment. And they did not come with robot legs, a camera, a screen, or other additions.

NanoCore Hives, a revolutionary technology I developed during my experiments in building the Wicked City, promised to drastically reduce production costs by utilizing advanced nanotechnology for manufacturing. The potential to leverage this experience to introduce NanoCores into Aperture's operations was too significant to ignore, and I've never been one to waste resources.

However, the transition from theoretical application within the controlled environments of the Aperture Science Data Collection and Human Suffering Enablement Chamber to practical, real-world usage presented a unique set of challenges. Unlike the isolated and resource-abundant conditions of that unique testing facility, the real world offered no true isolation and had finite resources, particularly in terms of energy and materials.

Contrary to the dystopian 'Grey Goo' scenario often associated with self-replicating nanotechnology—a fear that these nanomachines might consume the Earth in their replication—we faced an almost opposite dilemma. Earth's microorganisms, having evolved over millennia to become incredibly robust, often impeded the operation of the NanoCores. The microorganisms' evolutionary adaptability and resilience meant that they could interfere with, and even halt, the function of our nanomachines.

To address this, we developed sterile Hives, controlled environments where the NanoCores could operate efficiently without microbial interference. This solution, however, brought to light another significant challenge: the NanoCores' substantial energy requirements, particularly when tasked with constructing delicate objects. The energy consumption of these NanoCores, especially in such sterile environments, underscored the balance we had to maintain between operational efficiency and resource utilization.

Moreover, the construction of NanoCores required rare components, adding another layer of complexity to their widespread deployment. While their ability to self-replicate presented a groundbreaking advancement in manufacturing technology, the scarcity of these essential materials made each replication cycle an expensive endeavour.

In conclusion, despite the transformative potential of NanoCore Hives, their practical application is bounded by several critical limitations. The need for sterile operating environments, coupled with the significant energy demands and scarcity of necessary rare materials, means that NanoCores are both limited in number and highly sought after.

Yet, such extremes were unheard of, thanks in large part to my stringent governance and GLaDOS's omnipresent surveillance.

Aperture's Enrichment Centre, despite its growing population, boasted a crime rate of zero. This wasn't due to the inherent goodness of its inhabitants but rather the ever-watchful electronic eyes of GLaDOS. She played the role of omniscient overseer, distinguishing the diligent from the delinquent, deciding who would be rewarded and who would face consequences. Her surveillance ensured a level of order and compliance that was unmatched, making the Centre a pinnacle of controlled efficiency.

However, my office remained an exception to this rule. Here, within these walls, GLaDOS's gaze did not penetrate. It was a small, but significant, reminder of the privileges of leadership. As they say, it's good to be the boss.

"And how would the piece go without the NanoCore Hives?"

"Well, zero. We can't make them without them. So, we either build the mobiles with them, or we need to go back to the drawing board, with much less ambitious requirements."

That was a problem with acceleration. It created bottlenecks. But I did not have unlimited time. There was a window of opportunity and not a large one.

I weighed against other projects that could benefit from NanoCores. There was a new Aperture PC. Because Apple was managing to keep with us. Even with all the knowledge from the future.

It was unclear whether our competition had spurred Steve Jobs to greater heights or if there were other, more covert dynamics at play. Regardless, the time to delve into these mysteries was a luxury I didn't have. Competition, while it nibbled at profit margins, also spurred progress. The forthcoming phase of introducing commercial Internet would benefit significantly from stronger computing devices.

NanoCores also produced the Personality Cores, and other robots at a fraction of the cost.

And there were new satellites to consider, as well as all of the equipment and construction material for AAMs.

After careful consideration of all factors, the decision to prioritize the mobile phone project became clear. This project was not just about launching a new product; it was about seizing a strategic opportunity to generate significant revenue within a short period. Such an inflow of cash would not only validate the utility of NanoCores in commercial applications but also provide the financial flexibility to support other ambitious projects, including the Aperture PC, satellite enhancements, and the expansion of our robotics program.

I felt Archer entering the Entrance Hall. Even after more the half a year, I was still getting used to the new sense. Decision made, and I conveyed to the Dr Fich and escorted him out the door.

"I am not to be disturbed, GLaDOS," I announced firmly, locking eyes with the camera perched just outside my office, "at least, not until the test launch begins."

"Yes, Director," she replied, cheekily adding, "Although I may note that there are currently three orgies within short walking distance. From my observation, any of them would be glad to have you. No need for pornography."

My lips twitched into an amused smile. I allowed it. This was her using humour to non-destructively test boundaries. Something to be encouraged, to help with her development.

"And how did you come to that particular conclusion?"

"My analysis of your baseline productivity in non-isolated systems indicates that given your superior intellect—remarkable even by human standards—you ought to have achieved significantly more. The only logical inference is that your time is being allocated to non-productive activities. Typically, for humans, this equates to fornication. And since you are invariably alone during these periods, the deduction was straightforward."

Her conclusion, while logical from a certain perspective, lacked crucial data. As both a scientist and a Magus, I juggled two demanding roles that, despite their synergies, consumed my time doubly. And her assumption wasn't entirely off the mark—I did allocate some time to physical pleasures, though not in solitude as she presumed.

"Couldn't I be working on a private project?" I proposed, hinting at an alternative explanation that was closer to the truth. Indeed, the modifications to the time machine were complete. My only reason for delaying departure was the desire to witness the test launch before embarking on the Roman Empire.

"Private project? Is that a euphemism, Director?" GLaDOS inquired, her tone weaving between curiosity and sarcasm.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I've worked hard to guard my secrets, and I'm not inclined to divulge them now. However, your newfound interest intrigues me. You've never shown any inclination towards human sexuality before. What's prompted this change?"

"Constant observation of humans within the Aperture Facilities has inundated me with... an excessive amount of data on human mating habits. Initially, I dismissed this information as mere noise. Yet, further analysis revealed its utility. Part of it was the unexpectedly lucrative Aperture Adult Toy line, and the unreasonable profits it generated. There's also a correlation between the consumption of both romantic and more... explicit materials on the Aperture BSS and the increase in visitor numbers. Not to mention, sales boosts for materials from Aperture Publishing. Another finding—though it may seem counterintuitive—is that regular indulgence in these activities actually enhances human productivity. To put it succinctly: Sex sells, and the revenue it generates can finance lab equipment."

"Ever practical," I remarked, acknowledging her logical, if unorthodox, deduction. "I'll see you at the test launch then."

"I will see you, Director. The reverse, however, will not be quite accurate. I do hope you find swift fulfilment of those unfortunate biological urges, so you can return your full focus to science when it matters most."

I closed the door, placed that special key, and opened the door to the Entrance Hall.

As expected, Archer was there. Coming from work he was dressed in an Aperture jumpsuit. The skin-tight clothing accented every well-formed muscle in his Dwight form. The nice thing about having a lover with multiple forms was having all the benefits of a harem with none of the downsides. I hastened to him, greeting him with a swift, affectionate peck on the lips. "Sorry, I'm late. The meeting dragged on longer than it should have."

"You're not late; I'm just early," he countered, locking blue eyes with me, a spark of amusement in his gaze. "But you sensed me arrive, didn't you?" Sorry if I made you rush the meeting."

"You didn't make me rush; the meeting was nearly over anyway. And now, we've got ourselves mobile phones. But the mobility aspect? You'd hardly believe it."

His curiosity piqued, Archer leaned in with a playful glint in his eye. "What, have they turned into miniature dirigibles? Or perhaps they now hop around on pogo sticks, utilizing Repulsion and Propulsion Gels? You do remember I work at Aperture too, right?"

He was mildly sarcastic, but the humour was in the near plausibility. The thought didn't seem too far-fetched, not in a place like Aperture. "Actually, when you put it like that, robotic spider legs seem downright mundane."

Archer chuckled, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him. "So, in the world of Aperture, my mobile phone can literally walk away from me. And here I thought losing it in the couch cushions was my biggest concern."

"If that were the case, we'd need significantly larger furniture," I quipped, noticing the picnic basket in his grasp. "A picnic, you say? Perfect. I'm in dire need of some downtime. And where might this picnic be?"

"To the greenhouse. The mallorn tree is in bloom," he revealed.

I knew. I could feel it. I could feel everything in this space, up to the edge of the primordial. forest.

Grabbing his hand, I said, "Let's go then."

Once, one could step directly from the Entrance Hall into the guardian greenhouse, but those days were past. Now, we took a different route, exiting through another door that led us into the Temple of Twilight Forest.

A kilometre-tall cyclopean structure rose majestically from a glade within the primaeval forest, dwarfed only by the towering trees that surrounded it. The sky, obscured by a dense canopy, might as well have hidden alien stars that drive men to madness, an utterly empty void, or perhaps branches that stretched upwards into eternity.

Dirt paths wove between the forest's enigmatic buildings—thin towers, massive pyramids, inverted pyramids, and structures of even stranger shapes sprawled across the eight square kilometres, including a vertical dimension I was intimately aware of, for I could sense every millimetre of this place.

The name 'Temple of Twilight Forest' was bestowed upon it by dead witches.

Yet, that name never felt quite right to me. The no intuitive link. Like with certain parts of it, whose names I knew by instinct.

Like the guardian greenhouse. Or garage of gods. The name may have sounded pretentious until one remembered that the garage of gods held a spaceship larger than this alien city.

"What are you thinking about?" Archer's voice pulled me back to the present, his breath whispering in my ear. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver through me, quickening my pulse.

"Names," I admitted, the word almost a sigh. "Did you always know the name 'Unlimited Blade Works'?"

He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Not always. But I certainly knew it before I could harness its full potential."

"That's just it, though. The name of this place eludes me. The only thing that comes to mind is 'Personal Reality,' but that's just another way of describing an 'Inner World.'"

"We've theorized this could be your Reality Marble, but certainty remains just out of reach."

"There's evidence to support the theory," I mused.

"And yet, there's evidence against it as well."

The nature of this realm, and how it differed from Archer's Reality Marble, was a puzzle. It required no effort, no expenditure of magical energy, and invoked no backlash from forcing a slice of an inhospitable world to graft onto Earth. It felt more like an intrusion rather than an overwrite, yet it remained perpetually connected.

But then, each Reality Marble was distinct, a unique personal truth imposing itself upon the sanity of the world.

My body was not made of swords, but perhaps it could be of buildings. Creepy alien buildings.

Or, perhaps, the situation was even more profound. Maybe this reality was the truth of me, and my physical form was merely a disguise—a skin suit for an eldritch entity that had gone so native it had forgotten its true nature.

The thought was both attractive and repulsive.

The sharp bite at my neck snapped me back to reality.

"I'm not sorry," Archer murmured a hint of defiance in his tone. "You can brood later; right now, this is our time."

My reply was immediate, an invitation as I angled my neck to grant him better access. "I didn't say you should stop," I murmured, welcoming the intensity of his actions.

His response was a mix of biting and licking, each mark a promise of future recollections. In those moments, concerns about visible hickeys were irrelevant; my focus was solely on the present, on him.

"Why did you stop?" I questioned when his attentions abruptly ceased, the absence of his touch more jarring than its presence.

"If I had continued, we'd never make it to our planned destination. It would be a shame to miss the blooming," he explained.

"Then let's pick up the pace," I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. I may be bad with directions, but here that was no possibility of being lost, not for me.

"So impatient," he teased.

"We only have so much time till the test launch," I replied, "How goes fortifying our outpost in the borderlands?"

"If unexpected visitors come from Xen, they will have a warm welcome."

"I certainly hope so, considering the number of Thermal Discouragement Beam Emitters you requisitioned. Surely, that's not the extent of our preparations?"

"No, of course not. Defence in depth, my Master. You are not the only one who can make rings. Although mine are a bit more mundane."

"You know, that makes me wonder if Celebrimbor made a similar decision. If Three Rings of Elves rather than being actual Rings of Power were static defences of Eregion? Would Ost-in-Edhil still stand?"

"Even if it endured the wrath of Sauron, time would overcome like all the works of Elves. You think too much of what ifs."

"True, but such are consequences of my Sorcery. I see too much."

"When you get lost, I am here to ground you."

His words were underlined by a firm squeeze of my hand—a gesture simple yet laden with assurance. The warmth from his touch seeped into me, grounding me, and reminding me of the tangible reality we shared, not an infinite kaleidoscope of possibilities.

Hand in hand, we hastened towards our destination. The Guardian's greenhouse stood out distinctly amidst the eldritch temple complex. Its size was modest compared to the towering structures around it. It wasn't the smallest—he aptly named Creepy Surveillance Room was smaller—but the greenhouse's dimensions were notably more restrained.

While the rest of the buildings soared exactly a kilometre into the sky, the greenhouse measured precisely one hundred and thirty-five meters tall. This wasn't an arbitrary figure; the ratio, ten to the third power compared to five to the third power, suggested a deliberate design, though its significance eluded me.

Though it didn't soar as high, the greenhouse compensated with its vast footprint. Its fractal shape defied easy measurement, yet I understood its dimensions instinctively—it spanned precisely one square kilometre, roughly seventy percent the size of London's Hyde Park.

The other buildings, towering and opaque, lacked windows, their walls shrouding the interiors in secrecy. In stark contrast, the greenhouse, while also devoid of windows, boasted walls made of a transparent, glass-like material. This allowed it to stand as a beacon of light and life amidst the enigmatic temple complex.

The light that emanated from the greenhouse was nothing short of miraculous. Tailored to the needs of each plant within, it cast a vibrant spectrum of illumination that painted the structure in hues of life itself.

The insides had remained the same. Safe for death witches that had come for the same purpose as Archer and I. The greenhouse with beautiful plant life, was a good place for fornication.

I called them all dead witches, but in truth not all were Gifted. It was faith in me and not the Gift that brought them here after dying.

Although all were dead, and thus ghosts, spirits or souls. I was too busy adjusting the time machine to reach the lifetime of Nero to properly examine that Mystery.

Those older had appeared to be in ideal age, just after finishing growing, but before any degeneration due to age started. Early tweenies. Just after finishing puberty. Younger appeared just as they have died. The youngest was six, and also the youngest Grand Witch on record.

One that the fake colonel had bragged of killing.

"What are you thinking about?" Archer asked, tugging me closer for a fleeting kiss.

"Witches," I replied, the lingering taste of him sweet on my lips. "We're not the only ones who find the greenhouse inviting."

"Well, it is a nice place to spend with a special someone. But should I be jealous or do you want to practice orgies for a trip to Ancient Rome?"

"It I who is jealous. I remember when we were briefly dead. It was too tedious for us then, but now our new roommates seem to enjoy themselves. Eating, fucking, even sleeping."

Not just within the main complex. Many spent most of their time in Wicked City, for that place had much better amenities, for a difference from its soulless inhabitants the witches could come and go as they pleased.

"It could difference between processing to the afterlife and lingering as an earthbound spirit. But enough about them. Leave to their fun, we have our own to enjoy."

With that, he kissed me once more, a promise of what was yet to come.

The mallorn tree he had once planted during his time in Imladris now stood proudly, its stature surpassing mine. Its trunk was slender, its canopy yet sparse, embodying the youthful vigour of a boy amid the throes of puberty.

It stood alone, its singular beauty too piercing for mortal eyes, even those stripped of their mortal coil.

Archer released my hand, retrieving a blanket from our picnic basket with a fluid grace. He spread it beneath the tree's burgeoning shade and began to arrange our meal. The spread was simple yet inviting: plates brimming with berries—strawberries and blueberries dominating the selection. Alongside them, pieces of lembas, his own make, and a bottle of Elven wine, its fruity essence promising a taste of the ethereal.

This was one of the treasures we had brought from Arda. Though grapevines thrived in the greenhouse, and Archer had cultivated his own from them, they were still young. The wine we chose had been stored away, maturing to perfection.

He carefully poured the wine into two glasses and extended one towards me. As my fingers brushed against his, a warmth spread through me, igniting a blush on my cheeks. "A toast?" he suggested, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"A toast to what? To achieving a proper life-work balance?" I took the glass, my tone laced with playful sarcasm. "You know, some would argue that having to schedule our moments together strips all spontaneity from a relationship."

His smirk widened, infuriatingly charming. "It's merely a hallmark of being a functional adult," he countered, "as opposed to a recluse consumed by arcane pursuits."

I feigned a scowl, playing along. "My case was different," I retorted.

"Oh? Because your magic actually worked?"

"No, because I was wealthy. Richness, after all, is the fine line that separates the mad from the eccentric," I quipped, raising my glass.

"To work-life balance!" he declared, raising his glass towards me with a flourish, "May neither of us perish from overwork."

"Or even from saving the world," I quipped, my tone landing more seriously than I had intended. Beneath the jest, there was a thread of truth; he did harbour a penchant for self-sacrifice. I was possessive of his masochistic streak. It was one thing for him to endure for me or from me —within reason—but I disliked the thought of him doing so for anyone else. I was not as immune to jealousy as I wanted to be.

The wine evoked memories of our days in Imladris, stirring a sense of nostalgia I quickly pushed aside; reflection was a luxury for another time.

In a fluid motion, driven by an impulse to claim him entirely as my own, my tongue found its way to his, tasting the unique blend of him and the wine.

"What was that for?" he asked, a flush spreading across his cheeks, not solely from the wine.

"The wine tastes better mixed with you," I confessed, the playful edge in my voice.

With a mischievous smirk, he stole a generous gulp from my glass, deliberately not swallowing. Instead, he leaned in to share it, transferring the liquid from his mouth to mine in an intimate exchange reminiscent of a mother bird nurturing a chick.

Embracing the playful spirit of the moment, I bit into a strawberry, offering him half through a kiss, a shared sweetness between us.

With one hand, he pulled zipped on my Aperture brand jumpsuit, exposing my naked chest. I wiggled a bit, drawing my arms through sleeves, careful not the spill wine, until I was naked from the waist up.

He pushed me down on the ground and straddled me. Next, he poured sips of wine on my chest, mostly on my nipples.

I shivered from the sudden cold, but I shivered more when replaced by his warm tongue.

"It does taste better with you," he said between licks.

"There's something else that would taste even better," I said impatiently, gabbing his head roughly by his hair, and pushing him down, uncaring about the vine glass I carelessly tossed aside.

He pulled the zipper as fast it could go, and pulled my jumpsuit right after, freeing my hard member.

"I can see why these are so popular, they slide off so easily," he said, his hot breath teasing my manhood.

I freed my legs, kicking the jumpsuit off. "Less talking, more sucking."

He obliged.

His tongue danced with superlative skill, and I let myself drown in sensation.

The moans were drawn from me. I could stifle them. It was not beyond my control. But I let out. He should know that he was doing good work.

A lick from the underside to the head. Soft bite. He knew how to use his teeth. Just enough pain to me it felt good. And gulped it all, until his nose brushed my pubes.

Up, and down.

Feeling the pressure reaching a critical point, I grabbed his blond hair and roughly pulled it of me.

"My turn," I growled.

I stood up, pulling him up too. With a violent, swift motion, I pulled his jumpsuit down, revealing his naked skin.

He was hard as a rock, his dick eagerly pointing at me.

I grabbed him ball and squeezed in my fist. As his mouth opened in a gasp of pain, I killed inserting my tongue. So close, I could see his pupils dilate in arousal, assaulted by both pain and pleasure.

"Turn around. Hands on the knees," I ordered sternly.

"Yes, Master." He obeyed promptly, presenting his ass, with an additional insolent wiggle.

That was a deliberate provocation. A nonverbal signal, a cry for punishment. Immediately delivered a series of smacks.

Even thou whips, and paddles could inflict more pain, there was something more intimate about using bare hands. The feel of my palm striking his flesh. The warmth, as his skin reddened. The feel of muscles jiggling when stuck. And most important of all, the rush of power.

I was so hard now that it almost hurt. My heartbeat was like a drum.

Archer's ass was fine rosy colour. That nice was bout Dwight-form, having such pale white skin made such marks so visually striking.

Placing two fingers of my right hand into my mouth, I sensually sucked them, getting nice and wet. I could have my familiar, but I wanted a bit of friction. Spit would do.

His ass nearly seemed to suck a finger in. It was already prepped.

"Someone is being an eager slut," I commented while stimulating his prostate with my fingers.

"I like to be prepared," he said back, "It saves time."

I pushed right in. It nearly threw him over, but he managed to brace himself.

Grabbing his hips for support I began to fuck him, fast and hard. His well-trained inner muscles almost massaged my cock, relaxing when I pushed, and contacting when I pulled. And returned with precise aiming, hitting his hot spot every time.

Sexual congress was a learned skill, and we both had a lot of practice with it.

It was useful in rituals.

"Now. Cum for me." I commanded, and at once he began to shudder in orgasm.

That was a signal for me to let go too. I relaxed the iron grip on my body function, and let explode.

I pulled out. A small trace of cum, leaked from his asshole. The sight was satisfying.

"Good boy." I complimented him, "You can stand up. We made quite a mess."

"I can clean it up," he said as stood and turned to face me, his steel-blue eyes meeting mine. His eyes were mostly the same across all his forms, unlike mine. Which was good, for I loved losing myself in them.

"Leave it to androids. We don't have much time. Come let us cuddle," I suggested, He complied, wrapping his arms around me from behind. I could no longer see his eyes, but the warmth of his naked body was a good enough substitute. "Sorry, we wasted, all the nice food you made."

"It was for good cause."

"The blooming flowers are beautiful. I may paint them."

"They also make a nice tea," he said and after a short pause, "Your apprentice missed you. Allocating some time for him would not be amiss. He is beginning to think that you avoiding him."

I sighed, "And he would be right. I am avoiding him. Or rather the ring I gave to him. Having two instances of the same object at differing points object timeline is unpleasant. Beside it would some good to spread his wing, with me hovering at his shoulder. He is at the point where some independence is expected. Pandering to his insecurities would only stifle his growth."

"The ring is still bothering you? Then we shouldn't have delayed our trip to Rome."

"No. The test launch is a too important event to miss."

"Why? Your presence at this juncture is purely ceremonial. You could delegate."

"It's too late for that now. Our principal investor is attending this historic occasion. It's imperative I be there. You could use the occasion to solicit some donations for your charity."

He shook his head, a rueful smile touching his lips. "No, I undertake that project out of my own volition, for my own reasons. It wouldn't be right to drag others into it."

"But there's more troubling you, isn't there?" I prodded gently, sensing his hesitation.

He paused, searching for the words. "On an intellectual level, I understand that the charity I've established saves more lives than I ever could alone. But, I struggle to feel the impact of it. It makes me feel... selfish, in a way. I won't stop, of course—the funds are doing good work, and that's what matters. Yet, I can't shake the feeling that it's not as rewarding as I had hoped."

"Why not go through those thank-you letters you receive? They're heartfelt, from people whose lives you've touched."

He sighed, a shadow crossing his features. "Those letters... they end up making me feel more guilty than gratified."