Alan stands apart from the others, leaning against a table near the shattered glass doors that lead to the balcony stairs.
He’s still in his formal jacket, but his tie is loosened and his sleeves are rolled halfway up — a man trying to look composed while the world burns around him.
“I told him not to run that test live,” Alan says flatly. “The prototype was never meant for public demo.
Vale thought showing off would impress the board.”
He rubs his temples and stares at the dark console on the wall, the reflection of emergency lights flickering across his face.
“That surge—” he pauses, “it was feedback from the adapter. A flaw I’d been fixing for weeks.
He bypassed the safety checks to make the SmartServe pour faster.”
Alan lets out a low, humorless laugh.
“Faster. That’s what killed him. Speed.”
He glances toward the champagne cart, then back to you.
“You know what’s funny? He made me rewrite the diagnostic logs.
Told me to hide the voltage spikes so the investors wouldn’t panic.”
He shakes his head.
“Now it looks like my code fried him.
Half the building will think I murdered my boss for a bonus.”
Alan moves to a nearby desk, picks up a glass that someone abandoned, and sets it down again untouched.
“I didn’t hate Gordon. He was impossible, arrogant, but… I built things for him.
You don’t spend five years making someone’s vision real without some part of you believing in it.”
He pauses, voice lower.
“He used to say I was the only person in this company who understood him.
I guess that means I should’ve seen this coming.”
Alan turns back to his console, pretending to check data that no longer matters.
“I’m staying here until they get the system back online.
If L.U.N.A. comes fully back, maybe she can tell us which line burned him.”
He doesn’t look up again.