Dusk falls, the sun sets in the west—Burj Khalifa, 124th floor.
This is Burj Khalifa’s famous panoramic observation deck, offering a view of all Dubai. As daylight fades and city lights begin to glow, the illumination spills from one street to another, merging into a dazzling river of light. From up here, it feels like the whole of Dubai is cradled in your palm. Normally, this platform is packed with tourists, but tonight, it’s transformed into a lavish venue.
Luxurious Arabian carpets woven with ornate patterns cover the floor, and the showy Middle Eastern tycoons each take their seats. The event’s organizer clearly knows how to play to their tastes, leaving every guest just a bit satisfied.
The organizer of this gathering stands right at the center of the hall.
“Honored sheikhs, esteemed princes.” The speaker is a distinguished white-haired gentleman, his hairline receding slightly, a broad forehead above deep, penetrating eyes. His upper lip sports a meticulously groomed mustache, giving him the air of a wise and charismatic old gentleman. “Perhaps many of you haven’t heard my humble name, so let me introduce myself: Santiago, from the United States.”
Of course, as a world-famous financial vampire, the attendees would’ve looked up his reputation before coming—otherwise, these billionaires wouldn’t have bothered to show up.
“Powerful people always want to stand at the top. Climbing higher is in our nature. Though I’m American, I’ve always admired this land.” Santiago spread his arms wide. “This desert has always been a birthplace of greatness. In 2600 BC, the Great Pyramid of Khufu was completed. Since then, the Middle East has held the record for the world’s tallest man-made structure. That ancient pyramid, weathered for millennia yet still standing, represents humanity’s courage to conquer the sky, death, and eternity.”
“In 1311, Lincoln Cathedral was finished and finally took the crown of tallest structure away from the Middle East. But thanks to the vision and boldness of His Highness Sheikh Mohammed, this miraculous building beneath our feet rose up, reclaiming the title of world’s tallest for the Middle East. Today, I’m lucky to stand atop the world’s highest observation deck, gazing at the beauty of the Middle East—and for that, I must thank His Highness.”
Polite but lukewarm applause followed. The old man had said a lot, but none of it was on topic. He’d showered the Middle East with praise, but nobody here was buying it. Still, since he kept complimenting the local hosts, everyone felt obliged to clap along.
But everyone knew this old man never played small. If he’d gathered all these super-tycoons together, he must have a big plan—so they waited patiently.
“I propose that, to kick off tonight’s banquet, we all raise a glass to thank His Highness Sheikh Mohammed.” The old man knew how to play the crowd, and nobody refused to oblige.
While the local landlords and tycoons clinked glasses upstairs, down below on the 76th floor—by the world’s highest pool—a local big shot was sunbathing under artificial sunlight. He showed off his tanned muscles, just the right amount of chest hair, and drew flirtatious glances from the bikini-clad beauties in the pool. The tycoon smirked, as if picking a companion for the night, but in truth, he was discreetly passing intel through a hidden mic.
“Calling Big Boss, I’m in.” Agent Durex adjusted his sunglasses—what looked like ordinary shades were actually a prototype from Dawn Monroe’s paparazzi series. On the lens display, virtual outlines highlighted everyone moving about, even people behind walls were crystal clear.
He glanced up with his sunglasses, zooming in—his vision pierced through the glass ceiling, roughly pinpointing the target’s location. "Target’s on the 124th floor, but I’ll need to get closer for a precise lock."
“Then you’d better hurry up.” Big Boss’s voice came through the mic. “You’ve got ten minutes. If you haven’t locked down the target by then, I’m marking you as a fail.”
“Ten minutes?” Durex stood up, melting into the crowd, his face cool and confident. “Plenty of time.”
124th floor.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the building beneath our feet is a bona fide miracle. But miracles like this are spreading across the globe. Chosen Ones—let’s be blunt—their very existence is shaking up the old world order. Things we took for granted? Not anymore. Take personal safety, for example.”
Santiago’s expression was both mocking and intimidating: “A year ago, who’d have thought Shanghai would become a dead city? Or that London would turn into a battlefield? Or that the U.S. Pacific Navy would be forced to retreat by just one person, doggedly chasing him all the way back home? The world isn’t safe anymore. We, the privileged, have always basked in awe—and envy. That envy used to be harmless, but now? Not so much. Even the Queen of England had to run for her life.”
He pointed at the floor. “Let’s talk about right here. Free climbing the Burj Khalifa used to be a Mission Impossible stunt. But now, who’s to say some bad actor isn’t already scaling this building, heading right for us?”
Outside the skyscraper, an agent climbing upward suddenly felt an itch in his nose and couldn’t help sneezing.
“If someone really is climbing up, who do you think they’re after—ah-choo!” Santiago’s own nose tickled, and he let out a loud sneeze.
One of the tycoons spoke up: “Mr. Santiago, did you bring us here to pitch a personal security plan?”
Wiping his nose with a tissue, Santiago composed himself: “Sorry, sorry, lost my composure. But I’m not here to sell you bodyguards—you don’t need me for that. I may not have x-ray vision, but I trust the men and women at your side all have their own special skills. In fact, I’m here to tell you the exact opposite of what you expected. I’m not here to make you hide in your shells. I’m here to announce that the Middle East is about to rise!”
“Oh?” That was a new angle. The local tycoons sat up, intrigued.
Santiago, brimming with confidence: “The world’s changed? Sure. But the rules haven’t. The middlemen change, but those at the top stay the same. Look back—these upheavals have happened before. In the age of knights, knights were the backbone of the nation, guarding kings. Then came gunpowder, and knights were useless, shot down on the battlefield. But kings stayed kings—their guards just switched to musketeers.”
With a sharp glance, Santiago noticed a few of his bodyguards suddenly spring into action. He knew these new bodyguards’ skills—some were experts in surveillance, some in combat, some could turn parts of their bodies to steel like Colossus from X-Men, real tanky meat shields. This was the strongest security team money could buy. He realized his words had become prophetic—the bodyguards had spotted trouble.
Still, he was confident his pricey superhuman hires could handle anything. With them around, he felt safer than ever.
So Santiago laughed heartily, in great spirits: “No matter how much the world changes, the basic rules stay the same. Those at the top stay at the top; all the drama in the middle doesn’t concern us. If some upstart thinks a little skill is enough to cause trouble, well, our own defenders have changed just as much!”
This argument won broad support from the bigwigs present. They nodded in agreement, and soon their own bodyguards began to organize and take action, having sensed something was off.
That made the tycoons even happier: “So, Mr. Santiago, when you talk about a Middle Eastern rise, you mean…?”
“Of course I mean a total, absolute, unrestrained rise!” Santiago was in his element, waving his arms. “Oil is gold; the desert kings are rich because of oil. But look at these sandy lands—the weakness is obvious: agriculture! The taller the building, the deeper its roots must be. Agriculture is the foundation of all industry. In times of chaos, when the cards are reshuffled, whoever has the strongest roots wins big. What I’m bringing today is more amazing than magic—a groundbreaking invention that will take Middle Eastern agriculture to a whole new level!”
“Oh!!” The old man was making sense. If Middle Eastern agriculture really could be boosted from the ground up, the region’s overall power would shoot up.
“From Tiberius Laboratory, with genius Sophia on board, comes a revolutionary super agriculture cheat—this!” Santiago waved his hand, and the big screen flashed gold. Out popped a woven bag with Santiago’s own photo: “Jin’kela!—Oops, I mean Kejin’la!”
Santiago’s face glowed with pride and excitement.
“Middle Eastern agriculture is underdeveloped—it needs my help!”
“With Kejin’la, you can absorb nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium from two meters deep!”
“With Kejin’la, fertilizer doesn’t run off or evaporate—one bag does the work of two!”
“With Kejin’la, wheat yields hit 1,800 kilos per mu—no more grain imports for the Middle East!”
“Whoa—!!” The tycoons gasped in unison.
“Boss.” Just as Santiago was basking in his glory, a bodyguard stepped up and whispered in his ear: “Something’s not right.”