Chapter 1: Huh? Who's UDA?

Trigger Warning, Some Villains and other characters within this piece of fiction do not reflect the IRL views of the author, and This Novel Will contain very extreme themes, Which Incudes Extreme Violence, Gore, Torture, and Corse language. Will feature Adult Themes through out, sometimes making light of great trauma.

WILL NEVER INCLUDE NTR.

Chapter 1: ​

As the office door groaned open, a young man named Tim, with a trace of anxiety sketched on his face, hesitantly entered. His voice, tinged with a hint of doubt, resonated in the room as he queried, "Pardon me, sir?"

Raising my gaze from the glowing screen that had engrossed me, I looked at him and replied, "Yes, what's the matter?" I rotated my chair to face him fully, giving him my undivided attention.

"Mr. Cosworth has relayed a message, sir," Tim started, his eyes flickering between me and the floor. "The second phase of trials for Project Q Alpha is set to begin shortly. He has specifically requested your attendance, Mr. David. Could you make it to the meeting?" The question lingered in the air, accompanied by a silent plea for direction noticeable in his stance.

"Indeed, I will be there momentarily," I affirmed, nodding my head in agreement.

Tim remained standing, ready and alert, his posture indicating a readiness to provide further assistance. "Is there anything more I can assist you with, sir?" he asked, his tone hopeful and eager to perform any additional tasks.

"No, thank you, Tim. That will suffice," I responded, dismissing him with a casual wave of my hand. As he exited, the door softly closed behind him, leaving me alone in the office once again.

As I meticulously sifted through the digital disarray of my inbox, a particular email from Arnold captured my attention. The subject revolved around a project he had been diligently working on, a defensive mechanism designed to shield residential properties from the devastating effects of Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles. This groundbreaking concept was of significant importance, particularly for homeowners living in high-risk areas.

Arnold's message was filled with promising results from the initial trials, which had shown positive signs. His enthusiasm for the project was palpable in his words, as he expressed his eagerness to delve into the finer details and potential adjustments required for installations tailored to specific locations.

Promptly, I began drafting a response, confirming my participation in our upcoming discussion. I conveyed my own enthusiasm for the progress made so far, recognizing the importance of such advancements. I was aware that Arnold would be stationed in the simulation area, diligently preparing for Alpha 2—an imminent live drill designed to counteract a specific threat to one of our clients.

With my inbox otherwise under control, I pushed back from my desk and walked to the restroom. There, I was greeted by the refreshing aroma of citrus. The space was spotless, the stalls well-stocked—a luxury I relished, not having to clean it myself.

As I wiped my hands dry with a scratchy paper towel and discarded it carelessly, I ambled back to the bustling center of the building. My steps slowed to a stop as I passed the reception desk, where Belle Johanna radiated her usual exquisite aura. She was impossible to overlook, with her long blond hair styled provocatively, an hourglass figure that seemed sculpted to perfection, and a charm uniquely her own. A flush spread across my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment mingling with a quiet admiration at the sight of her effortless allure.

"Yeah? What's up, David?" she called out, that familiar twinkle dancing in her eyes, her smile as warm as a shot of whiskey in a cold night, inviting me to chat.

"You hittin' up the bar tonight?" I tossed the question her way, sure as anything that Friday nights at the bar were as regular for her as the sunrise.

"Sure thing," she answered, her long blond hair in a braid catching the dim light as she gave me a nod. "And you ain't gonna skip out on us, right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," I shot back, my grin mirroring hers. She shifted her focus back to her work, sweeping a stray strand of hair behind her ear just as her desk phone burst into life. With that same practiced charm, she picked up and swayed into conversation, her Brooklyn accent making sweet music for whoever was calling.

Resuming my path, I returned to my desk, my mind already swirling with the details of an impending meeting with a high-profile client. This particular client was investing in a complex project, complicated further by the volcanic tunnels running beneath his Pacific island home. The potential solutions were as intricate as the problem itself, one of which involved rerouting the tunnels, a task that would require substantial funds and resources. I weighed the possibilities in my mind, considering the client's potential reactions: he might allocate the necessary resources, or he might opt for a different location altogether, one less fraught with geological challenges.

With the client's meeting looming, I had little time to ponder the complexities of the situation. Determined to tackle the problem head-on, I activated the Holovision display, eager to better visualize the challenge at hand. The device hummed to life, casting a tapestry of light and shadow across the room. Despite the commonplace nature of the technology in my field, I still found myself filled with awe at the sight.

As the Holovision display flickered and stabilized, a vivid, three-dimensional representation of a small island materialized before my eyes. The island lay perilously close to the ominous silhouette of an active volcano, its smoldering crater a constant reminder of the geological hazards at play. The client's request was clear: they desired a subterranean structure on this very island, a task that could effortlessly inflate the initial estimate for the expansion by a factor of three. Bracing myself for the impending conversation, I prepared to broach the subjects of feasibility and financial ramifications with the client, using the holographic island as the crux of our imminent, complex dialogue. The delicate balance between the client's vision and the practical challenges of the project hung in the air, as tangible as the hologram itself.

Knock Knock. The door creaks open to reveal a petite figure. "A Gnome?" The word slips out before I can stop it, a silent whisper that hangs in the air. My eyes scan him from head to toe, taking in his compact build. "I didn't expect you to be... needing a booster seat," I blurt out, the words spilling from my mouth before I can filter them. I hope he doesn't take it the wrong way, I think to myself, my face flushing with embarrassment. I quickly extend my hand in a peace offering, "Mr. Rockfellow? I presume?" At least, that's the name of the person I was supposed to meet.

The room falls silent, the air thick with tension. He is a man who radiates an aura of authority, commanding respect with his mere presence. And my careless words, I fear, have offended him.

Time seems to stretch on forever before he finally reaches out to shake my hand, now damp with sweat. The handshake is awkward, marred by the noticeable pause and my subsequent attempt to wipe my sweaty palm on my pants before extending it again.

"Davy, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," he said as his fingers brushed mine in greeting. His voice was husky, no doubt the result of years indulging in tobacco's vice. His grip was light, the flesh of his hands loose and delicate over what felt like a fragile scaffolding of bones. His years were considerable, especially for someone with dwarfism, wearing the weight of time visibly.

I offered a grin. "Absolutely, the sentiment is mutual," I assured him, peering into his piercing green eyes that seemed to hint at a shrewdness beneath their surface. "Might you be considering any particular acquisitions? The curious among us are eager for even the slightest hint," I ventured, hoping to glean some insight that would guide my next move in the market.

"Ha! You're quite audacious, aren't you? That sort of information is strictly confidential," he chided with a chuckle, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Imagine the chaos if we all went around leaking strategies. The competition would be unbearable, don't you think?" He paused, eyeing me with a mix of amusement and caution. "Besides, I suspect your predictions might be off. Wouldn't want you to find yourself in financial ruin on my account. No, that's not why we're here. You mentioned there was some troubling news?"

His question caught me off-guard. "Hold on, how did you guess my intentions?"

"It's the same with all you finance types—always circling like vultures for the next big score. It's become rather predictable, hasn't it? Tell me I'm mistaken," he challenged.

My face contorted into a frown, a wave of defeat crashing over me. Though I am more of the hands-on guy here, the family business, the family wears many hats. Though I have a lot of wealth, I am not a 'financial type' at least I'm pretty sure.

"You're not," I conceded, my voice laced with reluctance. "But let's set that aside for the moment and concentrate on the urgent issue before us. We're encountering a major obstacle with the project. It's become essential to redesign the trajectory of the volcanic tunnels, which implies we'll require additional time and a substantial amount of computational resources to execute the necessary simulations for the magma's fluid dynamics. I'm confident you understand the severity of this situation. The consequences are evident: expenses will skyrocket far beyond our original estimates."

"I see," he acknowledged, nodding his head.

"Regarding this issue, I have three questions. First, what is your budget? Second, how crucial is it for the project to be located here? Third, have you entertained the idea of alternative locations?" I assumed his budget would fall short for his desired structure to function within the earth's crust.

"Well, I don't have a clear concept of a budget," he admitted, pausing briefly. "The location is vital because of the resonance. I can't quite articulate what I mean yet. It's a sacred land for us." He paused again, and I assumed 'us' referred to his family. I decided not to probe further. "Well, the stakeholders and shareholders won't be pleased about this, but they will proceed with it regardless of the cost." It appeared to be of significant importance to his 'clan,' for lack of a better term, if my assumption about the funding source was correct.

"Well," I hesitated, relieved that budget wasn't a constraint. "Then, we'll make it happen. However, the timeframe will be extended by threefold, and you can anticipate the final results within 18 months. It takes approximately four months to simulate the magma flows to comprehend how they need to be redirected for your preferred design." Moving on to the preset choice with customization options.

He cast a quick glance in my direction. "So, about your preferred design, did your 'family' settle on a model you're all comfortable with?" His expression remained stoic, betraying nothing of his thoughts or feelings.

"I'm placing my confidence in you to make it feasible, strong enough to withstand the very worst scenarios. I trust that confidence isn't ill-founded, is it?" His words were tantamount to handing us a carte blanche. I've always had a measure of respect for someone who could place their faith in others so readily. A reassuring smile played on my lips in response to his unwavering trust.

"So tell me, how frequently would you like to be briefed on the progress? Please send me an email detailing your precise requirements," I said, pausing momentarily to gauge his reaction. "Given the size of your contribution, we have the capacity to undertake custom projects and incorporate cutting-edge techniques to achieve distinctive results. Does that prospect appeal to you-"

"Yes!" he interjected with palpable enthusiasm, his eyes lighting up with the prospect of innovation. "We're eager to harness the latest advancements in this field. Expect our detailed specifications soon." With that, he departed the room, his slight figure navigating the space with unexpected nimbleness.

Reflecting on the interaction, I contemplated whether we should have probed further into his needs. Yet, dealing with those of considerable wealth often left a void in the exchange, a hollowness from the lack of negotiation, of haggling over costs. It was a novel experience for our company to land a client so assured in our capabilities to engineer what, in essence, is an underground stronghold, colloquially termed a bunker—a term that's lingered since the great war. Additionally, his presence conjured images of a gnome straight out of a fantasy tome—small but with a mysterious affinity for the "resonance" he had alluded to earlier. That detail demanded further investigation; my curiosity was significantly stirred. I made a mental note to delve into that later, eager to unravel the mystery behind his words.

* * *

I'd misplaced all sense of time, engaged in a lively conversation with Belle Johanna at the reception desk, her laughter a symphony I could enjoy endlessly. The manner in which she flung her blonde locks over her shoulder and the gleam in her eyes when she discussed her aspirations—damn, it was simple to overlook the outside world in that faintly lit nook we'd made our own.

Belle Johanna leaned forward, the glint of ambition in her eye as captivating as the bright lights from the monitors behind the reception desk. With her iconic Brooklyn accent, she could turn the simplest phrase into an enthralling tale.

"I need to leave, Belle," I conceded, my voice tinged with a hesitation that mirrored the protest of my heart. "Duty calls."

"Oh, youse gotta bounce now, Davy?" she replied, her words rolling off her tongue with that charmingly brisk cadence. There was a playful scowl on her lips, but her eyes danced with undeniable warmth. "Go on, get outta here, ya big lug."

I chuckled at her jest, the sound mingling with the familiar hum of the UDA tower. "I'll catch you later at the bar, all right?" I promised, imagining the clink of glasses and the comfort of familiar banter at the bar.

With a last exchange of knowing smirks, I turned from the desk, pushing through the revolving doors of the Umbral Defence Agency Tower. As the cool evening air brushed against my face, I risked a quick glance at the looming clock—it was later than I thought. Arnold would have my head for this delay, and there wasn't a witty retort in the world that could save me now.

The passageway leading to research and development is akin to an airlock; biometric security is required for entry, and the cameras within the lock are always monitoring. The security personnel refer to that as a kill box. I couldn't suppress my curiosity about what might transpire if someone was caught in the Box.

The AI assistant, affectionately dubbed "Dexter" by the marketers, verified my identity, granting me access to the research sector of the base of the families tower. The concrete floor here is roughly ten feet thick, a necessity for the machinery that maintains the tower's smooth operation. In fact, the world's quakes have been increasingly severe than ever. Perhaps that Rockfellow could shed light on the reason, maybe it's tied to that resonance.

Upon entering the research sector, I could sense the throb of the machinery surrounding me. It was akin to a pulse, synchronizing with the rhythm of the world outside. I navigated my way to the command center, where I could oversee the trials and assess the progress. But as I rounded the bend, I halted. There, in the center of the chamber, was a spectacle that sent shivers down my spine.

Upon stepping into Arnold's office, the frostiness was palpable. He was stationed by the window, his back turned to me, strain evident in his shoulders like a wound spring.

"you're, like totally late, Hughes."

His tone was of a man high on marijuana but laced with a sharp undercurrent. I steeled myself.

"Indeed, my apologies," I uttered, aware that it sounded feeble even to my own ears.

Arnold pivoted gradually, his gaze fixing onto mine with an intensity that felt like a blow to the stomach.

"I was expecting you earlier, man" he grumbled. "You need to learn and understand…, man…., the world doesn't revolve around you,… man…. What if a buyer was uh missed because of your dally,… dude?"

I concurred; contention wouldn't achieve anything.

"I understand," I stated, "it won't happen again." I recognized that punctuality had never been a particular concern for me. However, I had never met a woman as captivating as Belle before.

He scrutinized me for a while longer before exhaling profoundly and gesturing for me to take a seat. I did.

"Project Q Alpha," he initiated, his voice transforming, becoming less obviously stoned, as he delved into the subject at hand. "We've accomplished triumph with Alpha One—the theoretical basis is solid. Now, we advance to something more concrete: empirical experimentation… dude…."

I stared in astonishment, "You're implying that we succeeded in effectively neutralizing the myriad threats originating from numerous missiles, each one countered? What was the effectiveness rate, and how swiftly were we able to execute this?" I paused. "To elaborate, those threats I referred to were simulated warheads from the cluster mechanism of the colossal missiles."

In theory, this was the obstacle preventing us from worrying about nuclear Armageddon—the deployment and neutralization of the threats. Previous systems were easily inundated by speed, and primarily by volume.

He presented blueprints and diagrams on the display behind him, depicting elaborate security systems and complex experimentation procedures.

"The forthcoming phase is Alpha 2, involving practical implementation and evaluation... uh… A gathering of all team members will be mandatory. However, dude, I cannot assure success. For these trials, we'll need to employ deactivated missiles that are currently enroute from the weapons manufacturer… Muh, home slice"

"Understood," I declared resolutely. This was the pinnacle of our endeavors; innumerable hours and endless formulas were about to confront reality head-on.

Arnold nodded briskly, seemingly satisfied for the moment.

"We'll delve into specifics…, man…, after you've examined the new data … dude," he stated, passing me a tablet loaded with documents. The took a blunt out of his front square pocket. Put it to his lips, sparked up, looking me dead in my eye, "Ensure you're updated by tomorrow morning, for the family's business meeting… Dude.,," He gestured to share his toke, I shook my head and turned to leave. "You need to relax a little, sometimes, muh man!"

"I'll think about it, just not today." Importantly, I need to keep my mind stable, at least while at work, and not a weekend. I smirked to myself.

Exiting his office, tablet in hand, Belle's luminous smile persisted in my thoughts, a stark contrast to Arnold's somber countenance. It was a clash of worlds—my longing for a more carefree life conflicting with the weighty obligation of responsibility that rested firmly on my shoulders. The carefree aspect was uncharted territory.

* * *

Upon entering the faintly illuminated tavern, the Soggy Doggy, I was greeted by the familiar aroma of old beer and cigarette smoke. A quick survey of the room revealed Belle nestled in a corner booth. A spark of recognition lit up her eyes as I drew near, and we traded friendly hellos.

"Hey there, David," she said in her Brooklyn accent. "What brings you to the Soggy Doggy tonight?"

"Just trying to unwind after a long day," I replied. "How about you, Belle? You look like you're in deep thought."

"Oh, just thinking about all the crazy stuff going on in the world," she said, taking a sip of her drink. "You know, the whole conspiracy to assassinate the Chancellor of the Swanigan Federation? It's got me worried, you know? What if it was us? We have just about as much power as that whole Federation. Our reach is global."

I nodded, understanding her concerns. "It's a troubling time, Belle," I said. "Cybrus Security Group is getting stronger, and it seems like everything's about to explode."

"Yeah, it's like we're living in a alternate universe or something," she said, her voice tinged with worry. "And it's not just the Federation, you know? There's so much hatred and violence out there. It's like we're all just waiting for the other shoe to drop."

I took a swig of my beer, trying to process her words. "It's a convoluted predicament, Belle," I said. "But we have to remain cautious and make sure we protect ourselves."

"I know, I know," she said, nodding in agreement. "But it's hard not to feel overwhelmed by it all. Sometimes I just want to escape from all the chaos and live a simple, peaceful life."

"I hear you, Belle," I said. "But we can't just ignore the problems that are right in front of us. We have to defend ourselves from violence, and do our best to avoid conflict, no matter how difficult it may be." He smiled. "And, we have a solution to mutually assured destruction thanks to Arnold."

Belle cocked an eyebrow, her smirk playin' on her lips like a spotlight on a starlet. "At least we got ourselves some spark-pluggin' innovators. I know plenty who'd prefer the predictable path, ya know—preservin' the petty status quo, puttin' a pin in human progress, pulverizin' potential. They're packin' pockets full of wealth an' power, propped up by whole nations, no less." She fixed me with a gaze sharp enough to slice through steel. "You'd be thunderstruck by where their tentacles be tangled. Wouldn't surprise me none if it was those very vipers that ventured that vile assassination attempt."

"We just need to maintained a principled approach, we'll survive this." I said, hoping that we aren't loud enough in the influential realm.

As the evening wore on, we continued to discuss the state of the world, our voices growing louder as we consumed more scotch. The liquor loosened us up, and we found ourselves laughing and joking like old friends. For a brief moment, the weight of our obligations seemed to lift, and we were able to enjoy each other's company without the burden of our responsibilities.

"You know, Belle," I said, raising my glass. "Despite everything that's going on, I'm glad we have each other to lean on."

"Aw, Dave," she said, smiling. "I'm glad we do too. Here's to friendship and surviving the chaos."

We clinked our glasses together, and for a moment, it felt like everything was going to be okay. But as the night wore on, we both knew that the challenges we faced were far from over. Nevertheless, we were determined to face them head-on, no matter what the future held.

As the evening progressed, our conversation continued, our voices escalating as we consumed several glasses of scotch. The liquor relaxed us, and we found ourselves increasingly drawn to one another. Our mirth reverberated through the bar, momentarily erasing the burden of my obligations.

Eventually, Belle's head began to bob, signaling it was time for her to depart. I volunteered to accompany her home, and as we emerged into the crisp night air, I felt an inexplicable yearning.

Upon arriving at her residence, I paused momentarily, uncertain of my next move. Belle gazed up at me, her eyes brimming with expectation. Without uttering a word, I drew her close, our lips merging in a fervent embrace.

As we stood there, absorbed in our connection, I realized I desired more. Yet, I was also acutely it wasn't appropriate with a drunk girl. With a sense of melancholy, I disengaged, assisting Belle into her apartment.

"Rest well, Belle," I murmured, my voice hushed. "I'll be in touch soon."

As I exited her apartment, I couldn't dismiss the sensation that I had just encountered something extraordinary. Yet, I was cognizant of my need to prioritize my work, to confront the obligations that awaited me. The world was a labyrinthine place, and I was merely a minor component. However, I also understood that I needed to discover a way to harmonize my duties with my desires, to lead a life that was both gratifying and responsible. It was a hurdle I was resolved to confront head-on.