Inside the dimly lit study, Benson and Murphy sat across from one another, the heavy mahogany desk separating the two long-time associates.
"So, Murphy," Benson began, leaning back and crossing his arms. "How's the business treating you lately?"
"Things are moving," Murphy replied smoothly, his tone deliberately neutral. "Can't complain."
Benson nodded, his expression turning more serious. "Listen, Murphy... earlier downstairs, you mentioned that once Madison finishes her higher education, you'll start considering marriage options for her."
Murphy gave a slow, definitive nod. "That's correct."
"What if there isn't anyone she happens to like by then?" Benson pressed, leaning forward. "Would you step in and arrange a marriage for her?"
Murphy shook his head decisively. "No. Truth be told, there is already someone... I made a formal promise to a certain family years ago to unite Madison with their son."
Benson raised an eyebrow, digesting the information. "So you've already decided her future for her."
"Not entirely. It was a mutual, deeply rooted decision between families," Murphy explained, his eyes locking onto Benson's. "But as I said, if she genuinely falls in love with someone else, and that guy proves himself to be a good, honorable man, I won't force her to fulfill that old promise. Arranging that specific marriage is simply the contingency plan—it only happens if she reaches the end of her studies without anyone capturing her heart."
Benson nodded slowly, respecting the old-school honor code. "Fair enough."
"Anyway, how's your MMA gym holding up?" Murphy asked, shifting the topic.
"Business is solid. We're training some real men lately," Benson replied with a grin.
"You always did love fighting," Murphy said calmly.
Benson's grin faded, his posture sharpening. "Actually, Murphy, that brings me to why I really stopped by tonight. I need the old archival footage. The video profiles of those elite fighters from back in the day."
Murphy narrowed his eyes, a flicker of caution passing through his gaze before he gave a slow nod. "Do you even remember where we stored the encrypted archive?"
"On your daughter's old childhood desktop," Benson said.
"You'll have to ask her for assistance, then," Murphy said. "I was away for long, I won't be of any help."
Benson glanced at the wall clock. "I figured she'd be fast asleep by now."
"Hopefully, she isn't," Murphy muttered, pulling out his smartphone and dialing Madison's extension.
She picked up on the very first ring. "Yes, Father? Is there something you need?"
"Yes, Madison. Step up to the study for a moment. There's something I need you to help Benson with," Murphy instructed.
"Understood. I'm on my way," she said, and the line clicked dead.
Within seconds, a polite knock sounded at the heavy door, and Madison stepped into the study. "Yes?"
"Madison, do you still have your old childhood desktop tower kept around somewhere?" Benson asked, looking up from the couch.
Madison thought for a brief moment before nodding. "Yeah, it should still be stored away in my old playroom."
"Remember years ago when I told you I wanted to archive some old files on there?" Benson said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a USB drive. "I'm finally here to retrieve them."
"Uncle, I haven't powered that machine up in ages," Madison said honestly, looking at the drive. "I honestly don't know if I'll be much help. I remember using it for a few basic PC games when I was little, but that's about it. The operating system is completely outdated."
"Yeah, well, technology moves at a terrifying pace nowadays," Benson chuckled, standing up. "Desktops are a relic of our generation. But do you mind showing me where it is?"
Madison nodded and gestured for him to follow her down the hall to her old room.
The moment they stepped into the dark, nostalgic bedroom, Benson's eyes immediately locked onto the bulky, dust-covered CPU tower resting in the corner. He walked over, blew a thick layer of grey dust off the cooling vents, and clicked the power button.
The old machine groaned to life with a loud, mechanical hum.
Madison stood quietly behind him, watching his hands fly across the keyboard.
Benson slid the USB drive into the front port, bypassed the archaic security prompt, and clicked into the deepest root directory of the hard drive. Madison watched the monitor as he located a hidden, heavily encrypted folder simply labeled: Fighters.
Benson clicked it open. Inside were dozens of sub-folders, each completely devoid of names, categorized only by sequential numbers. Without opening the media files, Benson selected the master folder and initiated the transfer protocol directly to his USB drive.
Standing up, Benson stretched his back. "The read-write speed on this old rig is incredibly slow. This transfer is going to take a while. Let's leave it be."
Madison nodded. "You can head back to my father's study, Uncle. I'll wait here and bring the drive to you once the progress bar hits one hundred percent."
Benson smiled warmly, gently patting the top of her head. "Thanks, kid. I appreciate it."
With that, his heavy footsteps faded back down the hallway. Madison sat down in the swivel chair, pulling out her phone to scroll through her feed to pass the time.
A few minutes later, a soft chime signaled that the transfer was complete. Every single encrypted folder had successfully migrated to the USB drive—except for one isolated, un-numbered image file that had caused a system glitch.
Madison attempted to drag the file over manually, but her finger slipped on the outdated mouse, accidentally double-clicking it.
The image opened instantly across the full screen.
Madison froze.
It was a high-resolution photograph of two men. One was seated formally in a chair, while the other stood directly behind him like a loyal guardian. But the image had been deliberately, professionally altered—their throats, faces, and hair were completely blocked out by pitch-black, unnatural shadows, leaving only their clothing and builds visible.
What on earth is this? Madison thought, her heart skipping a beat as she stared closely at the eerie silhouettes on the screen.
Sensing a strange weight to the photo, she quickly closed the image, dragged the file onto the USB, and ejected the drive from the tower.
Walking down the hall, she gave a firm knock on her father's study door, stepped inside, and handed the warm metal drive directly back to Benson.