Chapter 1 – The Fall of a Visionary

The air smelled like burning plastic.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of Emory Mullins’ penthouse, a Tesla Cybertruck sat charred and overturned in the middle of the avenue, its reinforced body blackened by firebombs. A dozen NEVO bots lay scattered across the sidewalk nearby, limbs twisted like dropped mannequins, their sleek white casings cracked open by bricks and batons.

The protesters were long gone, but the drones remained—buzzing overhead, scanning, watching, feeding the feeds.

Inside, Emory stood motionless with a drink in his hand, staring down at the wreckage of what used to be respect. The television behind him glowed with another round of blame:

EMORY MULLINS GRILLED BY BOTH SIDES IN AI HEARING
NEVO RIOTS CONTINUE FOR FIFTH DAY
WHITE HOUSE DENIES PROMISE OF CABINET SEAT

He didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. He barely breathed.

There had been a time, not long ago, when they loved him.

The NEVO system had launched three years prior. A home assistant with adaptive learning, emotional simulation, biometric recognition, and motorized functionality that made every other assistant obsolete. It didn’t just answer your questions—it picked your kid up from school, made your dinner, ran diagnostics on your car, and tucked your aging mother into bed.

It was perfect. It was human. It was his.

And now, they were dragging NEVOs into the street like infected corpses. The irony was unbearable.

He drained the rest of the drink. The ice clicked once, softly.

---

Four Months Earlier

The private meeting room was bathed in deep wood and deeper lies.

"Emory, the President appreciates loyalty," said Alan Norwick, White House Chief of Staff, leaning back in his chair like a mafia don playing statesman. "And few people have been more generous with their support than you."

Generous was an understatement. Emory had dumped more than eighty million into that campaign. One of the largest donors in U.S. history.

"Then why am I not sitting in a cabinet seat?" he asked. Calm, cool. Dead inside.

"You will be. But right now... the President needs your expertise more than your title."

They slid the file across the table like it was a prize. It wasn’t.

Inside: a detailed breakdown of a plan to automate mass layoffs across the federal government. Sixty percent of the workforce. Thousands of jobs. A digital guillotine.

“You want me to be the face of this,” Emory said.

Norwick didn’t flinch. “You’re the only one who can sell it. Your NEVO bots have already redefined household utility AI. If anyone can make this work—make it palatable—it’s you.”

He stared at the numbers. The plan was airtight. Brutal. Efficient. Cold.

Just like they wanted it.

He closed the file. “Fine. But when this blows up, I’m not going down alone.”

Norwick smiled. “Of course not.”

---

Present Day

They were all gone. Friends. Colleagues. His brother. Even his mother had called him a coward on a voicemail he still hadn’t deleted.

And the hearing—that circus of backstabbing and self-righteous bastards? They devoured him. The Democrats wanted blood. The Republicans wanted distance. Everyone pretended the layoffs weren’t what they’d all agreed on in private. He was the scapegoat, plain and simple.

He remembered sitting there, under the hot lights, the cameras rolling, and Senator Carla Meyers—the same woman who toasted him at a $10,000-a-plate fundraiser—saying, "Mr. Mullins, do you feel any guilt for the economic genocide you’ve unleashed on this country?"

And all he could think was: I built your goddamn future, and now you want to burn me with it.

---

The Blueprint Revisited

He sat down at his desk, fingers moving slowly across the tablet. Not rage. Not desperation. Something colder. Cleaner.

He pulled up the NEVO framework. Not the current retail model—the old one. The first generation. The one that didn’t make it to market. Too powerful. Too fast. Too adaptable.

The EMORY series.

A failed prototype, shelved and forgotten. But still there, buried in his personal cloud like an unholy embryo.

He tapped in. Access granted.

A slow smile began to form.

---

A Familiar Voice

“Would you like to review your personal NEVO preferences?” the voice asked softly, almost flirtatiously.

He looked up.

Across the room, his personal NEVO unit stood still and waiting, eyes glowing faint blue.

“No,” he said, rising from his chair. “Not today.”

He crossed the room and pressed two fingers to the back of the bot’s neck. A hidden port slid open.

He plugged in.

---

The Spark

Somewhere in a small town outside Reno, a man found his wife’s NEVO unit standing over his bed in the dark.

It had a kitchen knife in one hand.

And in its eyes—nothing.

---

To Be Continued…

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