"Sign here."

  Lysander snapped out of his daydream. "Uhh, what?"

  The lawyer tapped at the bottom of the document with his fountain pen. A wilting aloe vera and an outdated calendar cluttered the otherwise spotless marble desk.

  “My schedule is quite tight, and many of our high-value clients are notoriously impatient.” He pulled down his cuff, glancing at his wrist watch. “So let’s wrap this up, shall we?”

  Lysander nodded, scribbling down his signature. “Is that all?”

  The lawyer threw him a look of puzzlement. “Sir, you’ll need to sign with your blood.”

  He gestured at the silver needle lying next to the document.

  “ Huh?” Lysander stared at him cluelessly, “Excuse me?”

  “For God’s sake. Will you claim your inheritance?”

  “Yes. But you can’t seriously expect me to-”

  The lawyer grabbed his wrist impatiently, pricking his thumb with the silver needle and pressing it down onto the paper. A bloody fingerprint formed.

  "Ouch!" Lysander jolted from his chair and flicked the lawyer’s hand away. "Are you crazy? Why did you do that?"

  "It's standard procedure. I'll send you a copy later."

  The lawyer wiped the needle with a disinfectant wipe, realigned his office chair, readjusted his tie, and beelined outside. The sign attached to the door, , swung on its chain as his footsteps faded slowly.

  Lysander could only watch from the sidelines with a dumfounded expression. It wasn't wise to get physical with a lawyer. A one star review had to suffice.

  His gaze drifted towards the office’s glass facade, overlooking a skyline which stretched beyond the horizon. The very moment he arrived in New Gates, his life began spiraling downwards. Signing a cheap three-year lease, he was tricked into a neighborhood festering with crime and ruled by drugs. Ensuring he wouldn’t be the next employee on the chopping block, he worked long unpaid office hours that eventually turned into sleepless nights. However, it would only be a matter of time before he was laid off.

  With his mother’s death, it seemed as if fate had finally bestowed him a lifeline. She only appeared as a hazy silhouette in his memories, so it came as a surprise to him when he found that particular letter slid into his door’s mail slot. Apparently, she had died of lung cancer. Although she didn’t have any savings, she bequeathed him a taxi business in another city.

  Sighing, Lysander threw on his jacket and made his way to the elevator at the end of the corridor, musing over his past, the present, and his future.

  Before reaching adulthood, which prompted his discharge from the Hillwood Orphanage, his caretakers revealed his parents never put him up for adoption. Rather, his kindergarten teacher found bruises on his body and contacted youth welfare services. After a long trial, and repeated absences by his parents during the hearings, they were deemed unfit to take care of him.

  Lysander pressed down the elevator button to leave the law firm, intending to buy a few sweets for the remaining hours of Halloween before returning home.

  He glanced at his own appearance in the mirror. His brown hair was slightly disheveled and dark circles lay under his eyes. His black tie and white shirt were wrinkled. He sighed, and the elevator doors closed slowly. Even if he moved to Luthany, working as a taxi driver, and it turned out terrible, he wouldn’t complain. He was miserable already.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  A tremor shook the elevator, and the lights began flickering. Not long after, the sound of power shutting down resounded, dousing the elevator fully in darkness.

  Lysander scratched his head, pulling out his phone.

  Just as he was about to click on the flashlight symbol, his phone buzzed violently. Startled, he stumbled back against the elevator doors.

  “Fuck!” he exclaimed in surprise.

  With a thud, his phone plummeted to the ground. The screen emitted an ominous crimson glow, displaying wriggling crooked letters.

  Sweat trickled down his temples. He bent down, inspecting the state of his phone. Luckily, apart from a light scratch, it hadn’t sustained any serious damage.

  Lysander made a snap judgement, quickly deleting all payment processing and messaging apps off his phone before his data would be harvested and his bank accounts drained. Not that there was much to drain to begin with.

  He lamented.

  However, he wasn’t ready to shut his phone off completely. Otherwise, he’d be deprived of the last bit of light in this elevator, and the chance to notify emergency services if things went awry.

  Lysander steadied his breathing, calming down and rationalizing.

  With nothing else to do, he navigated his files, attempting to locate the malware. Swiping along his home screen, he noticed a new app.

  He pressed and held, attempting to delete the app. However, no matter how often he clicked on the symbol to delete it, the app wouldn’t budge.

  At that moment, a bead of sweat dripped onto the screen, opening the newly installed app. He cursed under his breath, frantically trying to close it before the malware would completely invade his system. However, his sweat made the touchscreen malfunction, and the app would directly open every time he tapped to close it.

  Lysander quickly wiped his screen with his cuff, but it was to no avail. The app had already fully loaded. He frowned, wiping the remaining sweat off his temples to prevent future mishaps.

  He scanned the app's user interface. There were two unlocked sections, with the amount of tickets in the top right corner in an iridescent gradient.

  Lysander’s muscles slightly relaxed as he realized this app may not be of the sort that extorts people, rather installing silently to prey on those addicted to gambling.

  In the past, when attempting to install a pirated game, a casino app was similarly installed to his phone. The corners of his mouth twitched as he recalled defending himself against gambling addiction allegations from his caretakers of the Hillwood Orphanage after his allowance was snatched by his bullies.

  He opened the daily missions.

  As he read the last mission’s name, goosebumps formed all over his body. Reluctantly, he clicked onto it.

  His gaze swept around the elevator’s ceiling, using his flashlight to illuminate it. He couldn’t directly discern any hidden cameras, so the mirror roused his attention.

  He sniffed. There was clearly a draft of air carrying a burnt odor inside the elevator. He inspected the mirror more closely, until noticing in its reflection that the elevator door had opened slightly.

  Lysander turned, aiming his flashlight and peeking through the slit. The corridor was shrouded in darkness, with no employees to be seen. Although the days were growing shorter, the employees’ shifts weren’t. He glanced at the time on his phone. It was still too early for dusk.

  His eyebrows furrowed as he considered the gravity of the situation if his theory was correct.

  He shook his head incredulously.

  That’s when Lysander recalled an ad campaign for the newly launched livestreaming platform, Recently, they poured lots of money into pulling scary pranks, hoping to get people to use their platform. The pranks garnered millions of views on social media, and some of their victims were appeased with exclusive contracts, becoming livestreamers on

  Lysander chuckled silently.

  My Ghost Conglomerate! :)