Chapter 53: Gabey Fair

When Dennis pushed the door open, the room instantly darkened.

The spacious office atop the skyscraper was unlit; everything within sight—the modest furnishings—seemed shrouded in a dull gray haze, sinking into a cold, iron-like stillness in the dimness.

Yet, a sliver of light remained.

Before the vast floor-to-ceiling window, a man stood with his back turned, pausing as he gazed down upon the world a hundred meters below.

Even near midnight, the neon forest of Palo Ther, born of steel and vacuum tubes, still gleamed brilliantly. The kaleidoscope of holographic projections and the ceaseless flow of dazzling traffic reflected ever-changing hues across the man’s face.

“Supervisor.”

Dennis hesitated for a moment before speaking, eyes fixed on the scene: “The DNA comparison is complete. The deceased is indeed Keng.”

Another silence, as lifeless as death itself.

After an uncertain span, the man finally turned around.

Except for a circuit pattern etched along his jaw, he appeared indistinguishable from a natural human—just over thirty years old, clad in a sharply tailored black suit.

For those who followed the news, this face was hardly unfamiliar.

Though not often seen on screen, every appearance signified a major event—most recently, this man had stood alongside the Director of Security to announce a significant blow dealt to the extremist armed faction known as the “Dawnbringers” in Palo Ther, once again upholding the city’s safety and order.

Gabriel Fair, head of security at Emerald Manufacturing’s Palo Ther branch.

“This trivial matter shouldn’t have brought you to me.”

Gabriel’s expression was cold, and he showed no intention of moving. “I have no time to care about a minor player like Keng.”

“I understand, but sir, this case is somewhat unusual.”

Dennis spoke with respect. “The killer is a psychic. And according to current data, nine days ago, he was a medical trial volunteer at Keng’s research institute.”

“Oh?”

Hearing this, Gabriel’s interest seemed piqued at last. Before Dennis could continue, he received a briefing file and video through the company’s internal communication system.

Gabriel’s pupils flickered with light as he accepted the files and quickly reviewed them.

“A first-tier Source awakened with such aptitude... impressive.”

Gabriel nodded slightly. “He’s certainly valuable. Has his dossier been thoroughly checked?”

“It’s all compiled.”

Dennis replied, “He’s a government-placed orphan from the Romond Welfare Center, graduated from Palo Ther’s Seventh Public High School, and has lived in the Deep Moss district. Due to the welfare center’s poor management and near bankruptcy, he chose to become a medical experimental volunteer in exchange for compensation.”

“The personnel department’s personality and behavioral analyses indicate a clear ‘anti-corporate tendency’ and an ‘emotionally manipulative personality.’ He’s currently rated as a Level Two human resource.”

“Hm.”

Gabriel’s expression remained unchanged as he said coolly, “Find him. If he killed Keng, offer him an M5 contract and bring him into the security department.”

Dennis was slightly taken aback. As a Senior Executive Officer, he himself was only M6, the same grade as Keng. Yet Keng was a director at a marginalized institute, whereas Dennis had risen rapidly within the security department in recent years. In truth, Dennis’s position was higher.

Within security, a regular officer was M4; M5 marked a senior level.

Isn’t that a bit too generous?

“Sir, this—”

Dennis hesitated, but considering Gabriel’s temperament, he dropped the thought.

He didn’t ask questions like “What if he refuses the offer?” Instead, he nodded to indicate understanding, then continued:

“There’s one more thing. Regarding Keng’s death, the medical division has voiced some concerns. Some are pushing for a swift investigation and arrest of the killer. This could complicate our position...”

“The medical division? Some people?”

Gabriel shook his head. “They’re no longer in charge there. Calls to investigate ‘Keng’s’ death? Ha. Merely an excuse to stir trouble.”

“As for ‘Song Shi,’ if he’s willing to join security, I’ll take responsibility for any ensuing pressure. If he refuses, hand him over to the medical division—this matter is yours to handle.”

“Understood. I will—”

“Dennis.”

Gabriel cut him off, his tone sharpening. “You’ve done well so far, so I’m entrusting this to you. But know your limits. You may want Vidani, but don’t push too far. It must be by mutual consent—at least an agreement between the two of you.”

“Sir, I—” Dennis’s face tightened.

“I won’t concern myself with the means or outcome. But if you cross the line, causing those medical folks to claim ‘persecution’ on Vidani’s behalf and file grievances—”

Though still standing by the window, not moving a step, in Dennis’s eyes Gabriel’s shadow suddenly swelled, engulfing most of the room in a suffocating weight, as if to swallow him whole.

The expensive ocular implant worth 150,000 credit points, equipped with a recording function, clearly showed no such swelling shadow—Gabriel was simply standing there, meeting his gaze.

The oppressive vision was but an illusion.

This is... the power of the psychic?

—This is the third-tier [Transcendence]?

It was only when Dennis entered the elevator and accidentally bumped into someone that he realized he had been out of the office for some time.

Flustered, he shoved the nearly fallen data pad back into his arms. The middle-aged employee looked up to see who was so rude.

The next moment, seeing the uniform and cold stare, he quickly fell silent, eyes fixed on his nose and mouth, obediently shrinking into the elevator corner.

“...Psychic.”

Dennis murmured almost inaudibly, head lowered, his expression hidden.

A minute later.

When the display showed “11,” the elevator silently opened.

Dennis, having lifted his head once more, adjusted his collar with a practiced smile, stepped out, and headed toward his own office.

He casually opened a message app, selected a contact labeled “Isa Garden Manager,” and sent a text:

“—Reserve a top-floor private room for tomorrow night at seven, a table for two. And you know what I want—I want your best chef.”