THE HEIR'S AGONY TRIAL BY FIRE

the threads of truth

Aidan stared at the screen, his pulse pounding in his ears. The email felt like a ghost reaching out to him, its presence impossible to ignore. The photograph of William Cross, standing confidently in front of Pacific West University, burned into his mind.

"Why?" he muttered to himself, leaning closer. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he couldn’t bring himself to open the attachment again. Questions swirled like a storm in his mind. Why had someone sent this? Who had sent this? And most importantly, what did it mean?

The harsh glare of the screen illuminated the dark lab as Aidan’s thoughts raced. His instincts told him to delete the email, to ignore it. Yet, a deeper, gnawing curiosity compelled him to dig further.

---

The next morning, Aidan’s usual routine felt foreign, his movements mechanical as he walked across campus. The whispers and snickers from his classmates seemed muted, drowned out by the questions echoing in his head. He barely registered when Liam Hayes shoulder-checked him in the hallway.

"Watch it, Cross," Liam sneered.

Aidan didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. For once, Liam’s taunts couldn’t penetrate the thick fog clouding his thoughts.

In the lecture hall, Professor Calloway’s voice droned on about advanced AI principles, but Aidan’s notebook remained untouched. His mind kept returning to the photograph. He had never truly known his father—William Cross had been nothing but a name on a piece of paper, a shadow from the past. Yet here he was, connected to Aidan’s present in ways he couldn’t understand.

---

That evening, Aidan locked himself in the lab, the glow of the computer screen his only companion. The email stared back at him, daring him to explore its secrets.

"Alright," he murmured, steeling himself. "Let’s see what you’re hiding."

With a click, he reopened the email and scrutinized the photograph. The building behind William Cross wasn’t just any part of the campus—it was the administrative wing. Aidan’s stomach tightened. If his father had ties to Pacific West, why had no one ever told him?

He typed "William Cross Pacific West University" into the search engine, hoping for answers. At first, the results were mundane—alumni lists, old event records. But then he found something that made his blood run cold.

A news article, dated nearly two decades ago, announced William Cross’s generous donation to the university’s cutting-edge robotics program. The accompanying photo was eerily similar to the one in the email. Aidan’s heart raced as he scrolled through the article.

Why had his father invested in robotics? And why had no one ever mentioned this connection to him?

---

A loud bang jolted Aidan from his thoughts. He spun around, his chair scraping against the floor.

"Hello?" he called, his voice shaky.

Silence.

The lab was empty, but the faint sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Someone had been watching him.

Aidan stood, his nerves on edge. He grabbed a nearby wrench for comfort and crept toward the door. Peering into the dimly lit corridor, he saw nothing—only the faint flicker of a light at the far end.

"Who’s there?" he demanded, his voice firmer now.

No response.

Aidan’s grip on the wrench tightened as he ventured further. The silence was oppressive, every creak of the floorboards amplifying his paranoia. When he reached the end of the hallway, he saw a piece of paper taped to the wall.

On it, scrawled in jagged handwriting, were the words: "The answers you seek are in the archives."

---

The university archives were a labyrinth of dusty shelves and forgotten records. Aidan had never set foot in them before, but tonight, he felt drawn to their shadows.

"Okay," he whispered to himself as he slipped inside, the door creaking ominously. "Let’s see what you’re hiding, Dad."

He moved quickly, scanning the labeled sections: "Donations," "Alumni," "Events." His fingers brushed against folders and binders, their contents a testament to decades of history. When he reached the "Cross, William" file, his breath caught.

Inside was a collection of documents—donation receipts, event programs, and a letter addressed to the university president. Aidan’s eyes widened as he read the letter, dated shortly before his father’s death.

To Whom It May Concern,

The work we’ve begun must continue. My son may one day walk these halls, and when he does, I trust you’ll honor our agreement. Ensure his path is clear.

Aidan’s hands trembled. What agreement? What had his father been planning? The letter raised more questions than answers.

---

Hours later, Aidan emerged from the archives, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and anger. He clutched the letter tightly, its weight both literal and metaphorical. The campus was eerily quiet as he walked back to his dorm, the night air heavy with tension.

When he entered his room, he found another surprise waiting for him. A small, unmarked envelope lay on his desk. Inside was a single key and a note: "This is your next step. The workshop. Midnight."

---

Midnight found Aidan standing outside an old, abandoned workshop on the edge of campus. The building was decrepit, its windows boarded up and its door barely hanging on its hinges. He hesitated before unlocking the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and the faint smell of oil. The room was filled with half-finished machines and tools, as if someone had walked out in the middle of their work and never returned.

In the center of the room sat a single, covered object. Aidan approached cautiously, his hands trembling as he pulled off the tarp.

What he uncovered left him speechless: a sleek, humanoid robot, its design far more advanced than anything he had ever seen. A small plaque at its base read: "Project Prometheus—Designed by William Cross."

As Aidan reached out to examine the robot, its eyes flickered to life, and a distorted voice echoed through the workshop: "Hello, Aidan. I’ve been waiting for you."