Chapter 1: The Golden Goose and the Rot

Chapter 1: The Golden Goose and the Rot

The air in Bay 7 hummed with a low, resonant thrum, a sound that spoke of immense power held in careful check. It was the sound of money—millions of dollars of it, rotating slowly on the cradle of the CMM, the Coordinate Measuring Machine. To Alex Thorne, it was the sound of perfection.

The machine was the facility's golden goose. A thirty-foot-long, climate-controlled behemoth of granite and steel, it was the final arbiter of quality for the refurbished gas turbine rotors that powered entire cities. A single rotor, gleaming like a metallic spine from some colossal beast, was worth more than Alex’s entire ancestral line had ever earned. And he, a scholarship kid barely two months on the job, was its new keeper.

His mentor, Antonio Rossi, leaned against the machine’s control console, his gnarled hands resting on the cool metal as if patting an old, loyal dog. “She’s a sensitive lady, Alex,” Antonio said, his voice a gravelly rumble that barely carried over the hum. “Treat her right, and she’ll tell you secrets the engineers don’t even know.”

Alex nodded, his eyes fixed on the rotor. In his mind’s eye, a calm, cerulean blue overlay shimmered into existence over the real world.

[Precision Engineering System Activated] [Objective: Complete initial calibration scan on Rotor Assembly 7B-441] [Reward: +50 System XP, +1 Skill Point (Metrology)]

The System was his secret, the cheat code that had propelled him through technical college and into this high-stakes job. It wasn’t magic; it was pure data. A holographic interface only he could see flooded his vision with thermal readings, micro-vibration analysis, and probability matrices. He adjusted a setting on the console, his fingers moving with practiced ease. The machine's ruby-tipped probe, an extension of his own will, glided silently towards the first turbine blade.

“Easy does it,” Antonio grunted, a flicker of pride in his tired eyes. “You’ve got the touch. Most guys, they wrestle with it. You… you dance with it.”

Before Alex could respond, a loud, obnoxious voice cut through the bay’s focused quiet. “Oi, new guy! Got the next stage for ya.”

Igor ‘Iggy’ Volkov sauntered over, pushing a cart with a newly machined compressor disk. His safety gear was rumpled, his expression a mask of pure, unadulterated boredom. He wasn’t walking so much as slouching with forward momentum, scrolling through his phone with one hand.

Alex’s System immediately flagged him. [Warning: Subject ‘Igor Volkov’ has a 92% probability of introducing procedural error.] [Past Infractions Logged: 17 minor, 4 major.]

Alex felt his jaw tighten. He was an ice block when faced with incompetence, and Iggy was a walking, talking monument to it.

Iggy shoved the cart near the CMM’s staging area with a jarring screech of metal. “Get this one measured up, quick. I’m due for my break.” He didn’t even look up from his phone.

Antonio’s expression soured. “You ran the preliminary checks, Iggy? Deburred the edges? Let it acclimate to the room temperature?”

Iggy finally pocketed his phone with an exaggerated sigh. “Yeah, yeah, old man. It’s a chunk of metal, not a baby. Just scan the damn thing so I can get it signed off.”

Alex’s desire was simple: to do the job correctly. The obstacle was the lazy, entitled man in front of him, who saw precision as a nuisance. His action was dictated by the unblinking logic of his System.

He walked over to the compressor disk, his digital caliper already in hand. As he approached, the System’s overlay intensified, painting the disk in shades of red and yellow.

[Anomaly Detected: Thermal Gradient Fluctuation] [Surface Temperature: 28.1°C. Ambient: 21.5°C.] [Conclusion: Component has not been properly acclimated. Measurement will be compromised.]

[Anomaly Detected: Micro-burring on slot edges.] [Probability of seating failure in final assembly: 78.4%]

“It’s not ready,” Alex stated flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. He didn't look at Iggy, his attention focused on the flaws his System illuminated. “The thermal gradient is outside tolerance, and you haven’t deburred the blade slots.”

Iggy blinked, his lazy expression curdling into a sneer. “What are you, some kind of robot? It’s fine. I just brought it from the mill. It’s warm, so what?”

“So,” Alex said, turning to face him, his own eyes magnified by his glasses, “the expansion will throw off the measurement by at least fifty microns. That’s five times the allowable tolerance. And these burrs will cause stress fractures when the blades are seated. The entire disk will have to be scrapped.” He pointed to the nearly invisible metal fragments with the tip of his caliper. To him, they glowed like angry red embers.

A sudden, tense silence fell over the area. A few other technicians nearby paused their work, sensing a confrontation. This was the turning point. This was the moment Alex learned that in this factory, facts were secondary to hierarchy.

Iggy’s face flushed a blotchy red. He stepped closer, puffing out his chest. “Are you calling me a liar? I’ve been doing this for five years. My brother is Boris in shipping. You think some nerd with a calculator can tell me how to do my job?”

The name ‘Boris’ hung in the air like a bad smell. It was the key to Iggy’s untouchable status—nepotism, the rot that Antonio had warned him about.

Alex stood his ground. “I’m not calling you anything. I am stating the data. This component is a fail. I will not scan it until it meets protocol.”

“You’ll do what you’re told, you little runt!” Iggy jabbed a greasy finger towards Alex’s chest.

Before the finger could make contact, Antonio’s hand, strong as a steel vise, clamped down on Iggy’s wrist. “That’s enough, Igor.”

Iggy tried to wrench his arm away, but Antonio’s grip was unyielding. “Get your hands off me, old man!”

“Go take your break,” Antonio said, his voice dangerously low. “And when you come back, you will prep this part properly. Or you can explain to Mr. Vance why a two-hundred-thousand-dollar disk is being held up on your account.”

The mention of the department head, Freddy Vance, made Iggy pale slightly. He ripped his arm free, shot Alex a look of pure venom, and stormed off, muttering curses under his breath.

The other technicians quickly went back to their work, pretending they hadn’t seen a thing.

The immediate threat was gone, but the air remained thick with unspoken hostility. A surprise welled up in Alex’s chest: a feeling of profound isolation. He had done the right thing, followed the rules, and in doing so, had painted a target on his back.

Antonio released a long, weary sigh. He turned to Alex, his kind eyes now filled with a grim sort of resignation.

“You see now?” he said quietly. “You were 100% correct. And you just made a powerful enemy.”

He gestured around the vast, humming bay. “This place… it’s a sick animal, kid. A golden goose with rot in its guts. You have a gift, Alex. The best I’ve ever seen. But here, being the best doesn’t make you safe. It makes you a threat.”

He clapped a heavy hand on Alex’s shoulder. “You want to survive here? You need to learn to fight a different kind of war. Not with calipers and data, but with secrets. Watch your back. Because they will come for you.”

A new notification pinged silently in Alex’s mind, its text a chilling shade of crimson.

[New Quest Issued: A War of Shadows] [Objective: Survive the corporate ecosystem.] [Warning: Competence is perceived as aggression. Adapt or be eliminated.]