The Hyperion building stabbed at the LA skyline, a sleek tower of glass and steel that snagged the morning sun like a sharpened edge. Esterio squinted up at it from the passenger seat of Marcus’s sedan, the glare prickling his eyes as it danced off the tinted windows. His laptop sat heavy on his lap, and last night’s scan lingered in his thoughts—a restless dive through EVO’s code that had stolen his sleep. Those ancient glyphs, flickering like embers, shimmered in his mind, cryptic yet persistent, tugging at a thread he couldn’t name. He rubbed his temples, fatigue settling into his bones, a quiet ache pulsing behind his eyes.

  Elliot, slouched in the backseat, leaned forward between them, his hoodie rumpled from a nap that hadn’t stuck, his breath still faintly salty from last night’s chips. “This place looks like a sci-fi villain’s hideout, all sleek and over-the-top, so you think Dain’s got a throne up there, sipping coffee like a king?”

  Marcus gripped the wheel and chuckled as he swung into the parking garage, the engine’s low growl bouncing off the concrete walls, “He doesn’t need a throne, he’s got Hyperion’s cash, and that’s enough to call shots wherever he lands.”

  Esterio shifted and glanced at the dashboard clock, 8:47 AM, his voice low but steady despite the weariness, “Let’s just get through this and see what he’s got lined up, also, last night’s scan didn’t turn up much.”

  Marcus parked with a jolt and cut the engine as the garage’s dim lights flickered overhead like weary stars, “Strange!, you were up half the night, so anything worth spilling yet?”

  Esterio unbuckled, his fingers brushing the laptop’s edge, “Those glyphs showed up again, old and odd, it flashed mid-scan then vanished, no logs, nothing, but there was something else, it’s… nagging at me like it is calling me.”

  Elliot climbed out and stretched with a groan as the car door slammed shut, the echo sharp in the cavernous space, “Nagging glyphs, huh, maybe EVO’s picking up some old vibes, got a ghost in the gears?”

  Marcus locked the car and pocketed the keys with a faint jingle, his smirk slicing through the gloom, “Or maybe you just overloaded it with all those churros, too much sugar clogging the works.”

  Esterio cracked a half-smile and hefted his laptop bag over his shoulder as they headed for the elevator, the concrete cold under his sneakers, “If only, but this isn’t a sugar glitch, it’s something I can’t pin yet and I have a sense of familiarity with it.”

  The elevator dinged and slid open to reveal a polished steel box, its walls warping their tired reflections—Elliot’s wild hair, Marcus’s sharp jaw, Esterio’s shadowed eyes. They stepped in, the hum of the ascent filling the quiet as the floors ticked upward, 10, 20, 30. Elliot bounced on his heels, hands stuffed in his pockets, and his restless energy broke the tension, “Bet you ten bucks Dain’s got a view that puts Universal to shame, because he’s too slick not to flaunt it.”

  Marcus leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, his tone dry as the concrete they’d left behind, “Ten bucks says he’s got more than a view, he’s got a pitch, and that galactic talk wasn’t just late-night nonsense.”

  The doors slid open at 50, spilling them into a lobby that screamed Hyperion’s deep pockets, floor-to-ceiling windows framing LA’s hazy sprawl, polished marble floors gleaming under recessed lights, a reception desk manned by a woman in a crisp blazer who barely glanced up as they approached. “Team EVO, I assume,” she said, her voice clipped and efficient, “Mr. Dain’s waiting, so follow me.”

  They trailed her down a corridor lined with frosted glass panels, each step echoing faintly on the marble, the air cool and sterile, a sharp shift from the garage’s musty dampness. Elliot muttered under his breath, “Definitely a villain setup, so where’s the hidden trap?” Marcus elbowed him, stifling a grin, while Esterio kept his eyes forward, the weight of his laptop a steady anchor against the unease curling in his gut.

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  The conference room softened the lobby’s edge, warm wood paneling wrapping the walls, a long table dominating the center, its surface polished to a mirror sheen that caught the light in faint ripples. Alexander Dain stood at the far end, framed by a window that stretched the room’s length, the city sprawling below like a toy set, smog hazing the horizon. He turned as they entered, his sunglasses tucked into his jacket pocket, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips, “Gentlemen, you’re right on time, so sit, grab some coffee if you want, we’ve got a lot to unpack.”

  Elliot flopped into a chair and spun it slightly before settling, his grin wide despite the early hour, “Coffee’s a start, but I’m betting you’ve got more than a jolt brewing, right?”

  Marcus took a seat beside him and leaned back with a casual air that didn’t hide his focus, “Let’s hear it then, because what’s this next step you’ve been teasing?”

  Esterio set his laptop on the table and slid into a chair across from Dain, his hands resting lightly on the lid, poised to flip it open, “You’ve got our attention, Dain, so what’s the play?”

  Dain didn’t sit and started pacing instead, his hands clasped behind his back, his voice smooth and deliberate, cutting through the room’s quiet, “The play, Esterio, is bigger than you’ve ever pictured, that competition wasn’t just a showcase, it was a flare, and Hyperion’s job was to snag the best in the US and you guys did amazing things with EVO, so the little AI that you built put you in the pool.”

  Elliot leaned forward, elbows on the table, and his grin faltered, “In the pool for who, rival geeks mad we took the crown?”

  Dain’s smirk sharpened as his gaze flicked to Elliot, then back to Esterio, “You will see soon, kid, the Galactic Tournament’s real, a contest that’s been running longer than humanity’s been carving numbers in stone, and Earth’s been tapped for it, not just you, the whole damn planet.”

  Marcus tilted his head, his brow arching, “So what, Earth’s on some cosmic lineup now, that’s a wild leap from an AI contest, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not a leap,” Dain said, stopping his pacing to lean on the table, his palms flat against the wood, his eyes glinting with something heavy, “it’s a call, summon or whatever you call it, but Hyperion’s only rounding up the sharpest minds, the toughest fighters, or anyone who stood out across the US, then next stop’s Washington, DC, we will meet the President and his cabinets to go through everything, unify the picks of US team, then Paris for the final cut of Earth’s representatives, Earth’s best against the universe.”

  Esterio’s chest tightened, the word “Tournament” hitting like a jolt, and Dain’s balcony hints rang louder now. He kept his voice level, probing, “Who’s calling the shots, Dain, and why Earth, why now?”

  Dain straightened, his eyes narrowing slightly, “The Watchers, cosmic referees, they don’t pick teams, they pick planets, and Earth’s number came up, they don’t care who’s stepping up, that’s our mess to sort.”

  Elliot let out a low whistle and slumped back in his chair, “So, cosmic refs tossing Earth in the ring, wild, what’s the gig, we coding, fighting, what?”

  Dain chuckled, a dry sound that didn’t warm his gaze, “Could be anything, think broad, competitors from worlds that twist energy like it’s clay, breed war beasts we’d call myths, fight with fists or tech we can’t touch, you’re not just up against smarts, you’re up against anything, and we don’t even know what we’re prepping for.”

  Marcus crossed his arms, his tone dry but curious, “And you think we’ve got a prayer, three MIT kids against that?”

  “You did amazing things,” Dain said, his gaze locking on Esterio, “not just brains, but grit, the competition showed that, and Hyperion’s pulling everyone who stood out.”

  Esterio’s chest tightened, the glyphs from last night flashing in his mind—ancient, unreadable, tugging at a thread he couldn’t trace

  Elliot leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, “Okay, that’s a lot, dude, like Earth’s draft day, so what’s the prize, galactic high-fives?”

  “Survival,” Dain said, his voice flat, “lose, and Earth’s not just out, it’s dust, that’s the stakes.”

  Marcus let out a slow breath, his smirk fading, “You’re not selling a road trip, are you, this is bonkers.”

  The room fell quiet, the city’s hum filtering through the glass, a distant pulse against the weight of Dain’s words. Elliot broke the silence, his grin shaky but real, “Guess tacos are off for now, huh, galactic survival’s a buzzkill.”

  Marcus smirked and stood to stretch, “Not off, delayed, we’ll need fuel for this ride, so let’s roll.”

  Esterio closed his laptop, the glyphs’ whisper lingering—ancient, unplaceable, a thread pulling tighter—and he looked at Dain, “How do you know all this, Dain?”

  Dain paused, his smirk softening into something heavier, his gaze distant, “I crossed paths with something out there, years back, a trickster’s voice in a shard of stone, and it’s been whispering ever since, so sit tight, I’m about tell you a story.”