If the world was a machine, then the Super Mall was one of its busiest gears.
Massive, polished glass walls reflected the sky like a second heaven. The entrance was a tide pool of motion—feet tapping, couples laughing, families drifting from one shiny store to another. Students roamed in loose uniforms and untucked shirts, clearly fugitives from classrooms, migrating to the neon-soaked gaming zone that lit up the third floor like a digital playground.
Everyone came here for something.
Some came to buy. Some came to escape. Some came for the air conditioning and free Wi-Fi. The world outside spun fast, but inside this luxury fortress of brands and artificial cheer, people could pretend—for a few hours—that everything was okay.
And then, unnoticed in the background, a taxi pulled up near the back gate.
From the passenger seat, a man stepped out.
He wasn't the type to draw attention. His features were sharp but not striking, his clothes clean but not flashy. Normal. Handsome, but only if you looked twice. The kind of face you could forget in a crowd—or remember in a dream.
Rony paid the driver, gave a short nod, and adjusted the strap of his black messenger bag.
He didn't head toward the main entrance. Instead, he circled around the side, past dumpsters humming with city heat and humming flies, until he stood in front of a metal door that said one thing: Employees Only.
Above it, a small camera blinked lazily, like a bored eye that never slept.
Rony pulled out his ID card and swiped it at the scanner.
Beep.
The screen on the device flickered to life and displayed in pale blue text:
> Name: Rony Malik
Age: 21
Duty: CCTV Monitor, Floor 4
Status: ON TIME
Welcome Back, Rony
He barely glanced at it.
The door clicked open.
Inside, the contrast hit immediately. Fluorescent lighting. Cold walls. Narrow hallways that stretched like hospital veins. Here, the mall's glitz vanished—no music, no scent of popcorn, no posters of models trying to sell lives no one really lived.
Just gray, and work.
He passed a support room first—filled with call staff hunched over headsets, helping confused customers find lost credit cards or deal with app payment errors.
Next came the "Deal Breakers" office—a room filled with sharp-suited sharks who charged companies absurd fees to advertise inside the mall. One of them was laughing into a phone, probably closing a five-figure billboard placement above the food court.
He turned the corner and passed the Lost and Found. A sleepy attendant behind a plexiglass counter was eating noodles from a cup, watching anime on her phone. A poster on the wall read "Report suspicious items to security" in three languages.
Opposite that was the Kids' Zone—a huge, color-drenched glass room echoing with squeals and tiny shoes tapping plastic tunnels. Playthings bounced. Lights blinked. A soft robot voice repeated safety instructions every ten minutes.
Rony didn't stop. He'd seen this walk a hundred times.
Finally, in the far corner, a modest door with a metal plate: Security – Authorized Personnel Only.
He pushed it open and stepped into a room that smelled like warm coffee, shoe polish, and overused AC.
A wall-sized bulletin board was pinned with schedules and printed duty rosters. He walked straight to it and scanned the columns.
Name: Rony Malik
Duty: CCTV Monitoring – 4th Floor Hallways & Entrances
Shift Time: 10:00 a.m. – 6:00 p.m.
He smirked to himself. "Not bad."
It meant no patrolling today. No awkward confrontations. Just screens and silence.
He moved to the changing area, pulled off his jacket, and slipped on the black security vest with the mall's silver eagle logo stitched over the left chest.
The control room was just down the next hallway—an electronic cave of screens and humming fans.
Inside, he found someone already seated at the console beside his.
Ariana.
A fellow guard. Ordinary but neat, with light brown hair tied in a low ponytail and a face that carried just enough sharpness to seem unreadable. Her skin had the calm tone of someone used to staring at screens all day, and her uniform fit her like she actually ironed it.
She didn't smile, but she didn't scowl either.
"Hey," she said without looking up.
"Hey," Rony replied, setting his bag down.
He pulled out his ID badge again and from behind it, took a small glasses case. Inside were his blue-light-filter glasses—cheap but effective. He put them on like a knight donning a visor before battle.
They weren't friends, really. Just coworkers. Occasional nods and shared shifts. The kind of relationship built on silent understanding, not conversation.
They didn't need words.
Both their eyes flicked to the wall of CCTV monitors—each one a square window into the lives of strangers.
And the world kept turning.
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To Be Continued…