The bureau of the rich man sat high above the city, far from the noise and dust of the lower districts. The building itself was made of smooth white stone and dark glass, rising like a clean blade into the sky. Inside, silence ruled. Not the peaceful silence of rest, but the heavy silence of power.
The bureau was wide and perfectly ordered. The floor was polished black marble that reflected the ceiling lights like still water. A long desk made of dark oak stood at the center, carved with careful precision. On it rested a crystal paperweight, stacks of neatly aligned documents, and a thin tablet glowing softly with numbers and maps. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was unnecessary.
Behind the desk hung a massive window stretching from floor to ceiling. Through it, Utopia could be seen in full glory. Clean streets, moving lights, floating rails, and towers shining like silver spears. Air vehicles drifted slowly between buildings. Everything moved smoothly, like a machine that never made mistakes.
On one side of the bureau stood shelves filled with books bound in leather and metal. They were books about economics, governance, urban design, and history. No novels. No poetry. On the opposite wall hung abstract art—shapes and colors that meant nothing and everything at once. Wealth did not need meaning; it created its own.
The rich man stood near the window. He was tall, dressed in a tailored suit the color of midnight. His hands were behind his back, fingers calmly locked. His hair was neatly combed, his face sharp and controlled. This was Richard.
Behind him, a man waited near the door. He was younger, slimmer, dressed well but not extravagantly. His name was Elias, Richard's helper, secretary, and quiet shadow. He held a digital folder close to his chest.
Richard spoke first, his voice calm and low.
"They crossed again last night."
Elias nodded. "Yes, sir. Three families from Potter Field. Two adults, four children. They used the old maintenance tunnel under Sector Seven."
Richard sighed, not in anger, but in annoyance—like a man disturbed by a small crack in a perfect wall.
"That tunnel was sealed."
"It was," Elias said carefully. "They reopened it. Hunger makes people creative."
Richard turned slowly from the window. His eyes were cold, calculating.
"Hunger is not our concern," he replied. "Stability is."
Elias hesitated. "With respect, sir, Potter Field is collapsing faster than projected. If crossings continue, Utopia will feel it. Disease, crime, unrest—"
"Exactly," Richard interrupted. "Which is why it must stop."
He walked back to his desk and sat down, folding his hands neatly.
"Utopia survives because it is controlled. Clean borders. Clean systems. Clean people."
Elias shifted his weight. "They are people too."
Richard raised an eyebrow. "Are they?" he asked softly. "People contribute. They produce. They maintain balance. Potter Field consumes without giving."
"That wasn't always the case," Elias said. "They used to supply labor. Factories. Infrastructure."
"And when automation replaced them, they became obsolete," Richard said flatly. "That is not cruelty. That is progress."
Elias looked down at his folder. "The posters… the curses. Your name is everywhere in the Third Grade."
Richard smiled faintly. "Of course it is. Someone must carry the blame. Better me than the system."
He tapped the tablet, and a holographic map appeared above the desk. Two cities glowed side by side. Utopia shone blue and white. Potter Field glowed red and dim.
"These crossings," Richard continued, "are cracks between worlds that should never touch. Utopia is an idea. If the poor enter freely, the idea dies."
Elias looked at the map. "They just want food. Work. Safety."
"And if we give it to them," Richard said, "more will come. Then more. Then millions. Utopia will drown under good intentions."
Silence filled the room.
Elias finally spoke. "What do you want me to do?"
Richard leaned back. "Seal every route. Physical barriers. Surveillance. Armed patrols if needed."
"Children will be turned away."
"Yes."
"Some will die."
Richard's voice did not change. "Some already are."
Elias clenched his jaw. "History won't be kind to this."
Richard chuckled quietly. "History is written from towers like this one, Elias. Not from the streets of Potter Field."
He stood again and walked to the window, looking down at the glowing city he ruled.
"Utopia is fragile," he said. "People think strength comes from compassion. It doesn't. It comes from separation."
Elias stepped closer. "And if Potter Field collapses completely?"
Richard's reflection stared back from the glass. "Then it will serve as a warning."
"A warning to who?"
"To everyone," Richard said. "That order has a price."
The helper remained silent. He had served Richard for years. He had seen decisions like this before. Still, something about the word children echoed in his mind.
"I'll give the orders," Elias said at last.
Richard nodded. "Good. Make it clean. Quiet. No public announcements."
As Elias turned to leave, he paused at the door. "Sir… do you ever look down and wonder what it feels like to live there?"
He took a deep look at teh under city and then answered
I dont wonder i know its suck as hell
And while elia leaved the room the pen on the table moved