[Arknights] The Originium Gambit

Part 9: Time is ticking, Ivan!

The Oripathy had progressed faster than I'd expected. Crystalline growth now almost encased my left arm all the way to the shoulder, its jagged, blackened surface catching the faint glint of the overhead lights. Every time I spoke, a sharp, stabbing pain flared in my head, as if the infection itself resented my voice. And then there were them—shadows, figures, always at the edges of my vision. Some crouched just beyond the periphery, others loomed in the corners of rooms. Never clear, never tangible, but always there. Watching. Waiting.

"Mr. Romanov."

The voice jolted me back to the moment, snapping my gaze to the speaker. An executive—a polished man in a tailored suit—was staring at me, one eyebrow raised in alarm.

"Due to your... nature," he said, his words measured, his tone a knife's edge of professionalism and unease, "I must suggest that you step down from your position as Director of the SOC."

Right. The meeting.

I glanced around the boardroom. The gathered executives—the original heads of the companies that had folded into SOC—watched me with varying degrees of discomfort. Some avoided my gaze entirely, pretending to scrutinize their documents. Others were less subtle, their eyes flitting between my arm, my face, and the faint shimmer of black veins creeping up my neck.

"My... nature?" I repeated, leaning back in my chair and letting the word hang in the air.

The executive cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Your... condition. It's a liability. You're aware of the SOC's stance on transparency and public image. A director with Oripathy—especially at your stage—raises concerns. Both internally and externally."

I chuckled, ignoring the stabbing pain it sent through my skull. "Concerns? Let's not mince words. You're worried I'll keel over mid-meeting, or worse, crystallize in some dramatic display and take half the boardroom with me."

A few of them shifted uneasily, but no one contradicted me.

"Let me remind you," I continued, my tone hardening, "that I built this coalition. I turned your squabbling companies into the SOC. Without me, half of you would be bankrupt or swallowed whole by the competition. And now you're suggesting I step aside because of a little... sparkle?" I gestured to my arm with a smirk, the crystalline surface gleaming menacingly.

"This isn't about your contributions, Mr. Romanov," another executive interjected, a woman with a clipped, no-nonsense voice. "We acknowledge what you've done for SOC. But your condition poses a real risk—to you, to us, to the entire organization. Public perception, operational stability—"

"Public perception?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "Let them perceive this!" I slammed my crystalline fist onto the table with a force that echoed through the room, the impact leaving a fractured, jagged mark in the polished wood. A visible reminder of what I was capable of. The tremor silenced any further objections, but their wide eyes and stiff postures spoke volumes.

The silence stretched.

I leaned forward, my voice dropping to an icy, deliberate tone. "The SOC isn't a democracy. It's a machine. And I'm the one who keeps it running. You want me out? Fine. Show me someone—anyone—who can manage what I've built. But you can't. And do you know why? Because as long as I'm alive, this company will not be run by you." My gaze swept over them, a predator surveying its cornered prey.

No one moved. No one spoke.

"That's what I thought." I straightened, brushing invisible dust from my sleeve, the crystalline edges of my arm catching the motion like shattered glass. "This meeting is over. Get out. All of you."