The hum of the 99th floor was a creature of its own — a low, electric drone that swallowed every whisper, every footstep, every stray thought. In that vast open-plan office, rows of identical cubicles stretched like gray tombstones, each one housing a motionless figure staring into a screen. Among them sat Nesh, a sharp silhouette in a black suit, his slicked-back hair catching the cold fluorescent light. He was just another cog in the machine — until his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen, and a slow smile crept across his face. Without a word, he stood and walked. The narrow corridors between cubicles felt like a maze, but Nesh moved with purpose, his footsteps silent on the industrial carpet. No one looked up. No one ever looked up. He turned into a long, quiet corridor, leaving the white noise behind.
The private room was a shock of opulence. Polished surfaces gleamed under soft lighting, and a single painting dominated the wall — melting clocks draped over a barren landscape. Nesh studied it for a moment, then pulled it aside. Behind it, a hidden wall safe gleamed. He entered the code with practiced speed. Click. The door swung open to reveal stacks of cash, perfectly arranged. He grabbed a bag and began stuffing it — fast, efficient, hungry.
Then the door slammed open. Two security guards in suits filled the frame. One pointed at Nesh, radio crackling in his hand. “Drop the bag. Now. And step forward,” the guard ordered, his voice flat and final. Nesh froze. His eyes darted to the window — huge, openable. In that split second, a decision crystallized. He bolted.
Nesh leaped onto the windowsill and yanked the window open. A violent rush of wind exploded into the room, whipping his tie and hair. The city sprawled infinitely below — a glittering abyss of lights and concrete. He hesitated, just a second. Dizziness hit him like a wave. His fingers slipped. He fell.
At the last possible moment, his hand caught a metal railing. Now he was hanging — 99 floors above the ground. The bag snagged on something above him, tearing slightly. Dollar bills burst into the air, spinning and flying away like golden confetti. Nesh looked down. Far below, a hooded skeleton stood motionless, holding a scythe. It slowly raised a bony hand and beckoned. Come.
Nesh’s breath trembled. He looked up — the guards leaned out the window above, shouting, furious, threatening. He hung by one hand, his muscles screaming. With the other, he reached out, grabbing at the floating bills drifting past him. Money slipped through his fingers into the void. Between death below and danger above, Nesh clung on. The wind howled. The city waited. And somewhere in the distance, a scythe gleamed.
