Chapter 6 - EXPOSURE THERAPY
The journey upward was a nightmare of evasion and stealth. With Marcus monitoring the enemy frequencies on the stolen headset, they navigated the labyrinthine service tunnels, narrowly avoiding three separate security patrols. Toby’s muscles ached, and his adrenaline reserves were burning low, replaced by a deep, hollow exhaustion. But the terrifying reality kept him moving: if he stopped, he died.
They finally reached the loading dock on the ground floor. It was a cavernous space, filled with abandoned forklifts and empty road cases. In the far corner, enclosed in a chain-link cage, was the production switchboard—a massive, outdated analog console that the tech crew used as a fail-safe.
"There it is," Toby breathed, relief washing over him.
"Get to work," Marcus ordered, standing guard by the door with his rifle raised. "Patch me into the main auditorium PA, and route the video feed to the jumbotrons. Can you do it?"
Toby sprinted to the console, his hands flying over the familiar patch cables. This was his domain. He didn't know corporate strategy, but he knew audio-visual routing better than anyone. "The digital mainframe is locked, but I can hard-patch an override using the analog trunks. Give me three minutes."
Toby grabbed a fistful of quarter-inch cables, jamming them into the brass ports of the routing matrix. Input A to Master Bus. Video sync overridden. He bypassed the digital encryption entirely, creating a brute-force connection directly to the massive speakers and screens in the main hall.
Meanwhile, on the stage above them, the scene was one of orchestrated tragedy. The emergency lights had been replaced by a single, solemn spotlight. Elias Vance stood center stage, a microphone in his hand, looking down at the smoking crater. The panicked crowd had been corralled by security, forced to remain in the auditorium under the guise of "safety protocols."
Elias raised his hands, projecting a masterful display of grief.
"Please... please, listen to me," Elias’s voice echoed through the massive hall, booming with manufactured sorrow. "We have suffered a catastrophic tragedy today. A structural failure... a nightmare no one could have foreseen. My brother, my partner, Marcus Sterling... is gone."
A collective gasp rippled through the audience of thousands. The livestream, miraculously restored by Elias's team, broadcast his tearful face to millions across the globe.
"But Zenith must endure," Elias continued, his voice strengthening, taking on a commanding, presidential tone. "In this moment of profound darkness, I will step forward. I will take the mantle of CEO, effective immediately, to ensure stability for our employees, our investors, and the world."
Down in the loading dock, Toby slammed the final heavy red patch cable into the master output slot. A green light on the analog board flared to life.
"We're hot!" Toby shouted. "You have direct access to the main PA and the center screens! Everything you say will be broadcast to the room and the live feed!"
Marcus lowered his rifle. He walked over to a dusty microphone sitting on the production desk. He looked at Toby, and for the first time, the billionaire’s harsh exterior softened into a genuine expression of gratitude.
"You did good, kid," Marcus said quietly. "Now, let’s show the world what kind of snake Elias really is."
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Marcus leaned into the microphone, his voice dripping with venom, and pressed the talk button.
"Reports of my death," Marcus’s voice suddenly boomed through the sixty thousand-watt stadium speakers above, shaking the very foundations of the building, "have been greatly exaggerated."
