I Somehow Became The Almighty Creator, l can create anything: Be Ware
Chapter 63

Chapter 63: Chapter 63

The office of Mr. Ipswitch was a stark contrast to the sleek and utilitarian design of the rest of the facility.

Situated off the lobby area, the space seemed to pulse with its own personality, a riot of colors and memorabilia.

Football posters adorned the walls—jerseys, autographed balls, and framed photos of players mid-action.

A prominent banner across the back wall bore the name "Ipswich Town F.C.," its bold letters proudly declaring allegiance to the English football team.

Zane led Watts into the room, and the manager rose from behind a massive desk covered in papers, holoscreens, and the remains of a hastily consumed sandwich.

"Mr. Ipswitch," Zane announced.

The man was enormous, towering over Watts and Zane alike. His dark skin gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and his round belly stretched his shirt taut.

His booming laugh was the first thing that hit Watts, an explosion of sound that seemed to shake the walls.

"Well, well, well, who do we have here?" Ipswitch said, grinning wide as he extended a hand large enough to engulf Watts’ entirely.

"You must be the man they been talkin’ about. Yeah, yeah, come on in, have a seat! Let’s get cozy. Zane, you can go on now, son."

Zane, visibly relieved to leave, nodded and stepped out without a word, leaving Watts alone with the manager.

Ipswitch settled into his chair, which creaked under his weight, and leaned forward, clasping his hands together.

"So, what’s bringin’ you to my neck of the woods? Or, should I say, my tubes? Ha!" He slapped his knee and laughed uproariously at his own joke.

Watts, ever composed, simply nodded. "I’m here to arrange transport."

"Transport, huh? Oh, I see. You one of them VIP types." Ipswitch winked. "We don’t get many like you, but when we do, we roll out the red carpet, you feel me? Now, let me explain how this works."

He launched into an explanation, waving his hands animatedly.

The tube network was divided into various companies, each independently managed but working in tandem to ensure seamless operation.

It was much like major airline alliances, where carriers like SkyTeam or Star Alliance operated under separate branding but cooperated to share routes and passengers.

Here, the same principle applied to the tube system, with each manager overseeing a specific section or clientele. Ipswitch, it seemed, handled VIP transport exclusively.

"You got your economy folk, they ride with Neptune Transit—good, reliable, a bit crowded, you know? Then there’s Triton Express for the middle-tier, they a lil’ fancy but still affordable. And then there’s us."

He leaned back, spreading his arms. "AquaLux Premier. We the cream of the crop, baby. Best pods, best service, best routes. Ain’t no one better."

Watts raised an eyebrow. "And the cost?"

Ipswitch’s grin widened. "Ah, yeah, the money part. You ain’t gonna blink at this, I can tell. For your trip? Twenty-three million. Upfront. No hagglin’, no refunds."

Without hesitation, Watts nodded. "Done."

Ipswitch blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Well, damn! Ain’t nobody usually that quick with it. You serious, huh? I like that."

He slapped the desk and laughed again. "Alright then, let’s get you squared away."

The transaction was processed swiftly, the manager’s enthusiasm undampened.

With the payment complete, Ipswitch led Watts out of the office and into the lobby, where the passengers moved about in organized chaos.

It resembled a bustling airport terminal, with departure screens displaying routes, gates, and schedules.

Announcements rang out over the intercom in multiple languages, and attendants in sharp uniforms guided passengers to their designated pods.

Ipswitch chatted incessantly as they walked, pointing out various details about the system.

"See that big ol’ tube over there? That’s Triton’s main hub. They got volume, sure, but quality? Nah, man, that’s all us. And check this out—see them pods comin’ in? That’s our VIP line. Private pods, cushy seats, top-notch tech. You gonna love it."

The pods themselves were sleek cylinders of reinforced transparent alloy, each one glowing faintly with embedded energy conduits.

They hovered slightly off the ground, guided along their tracks by magnetic propulsion.

Watts paused to take it all in, his analytical mind cataloging the system’s intricacies.

The sheer scale of the operation was impressive.

Workers moved with practiced efficiency, directing passengers and performing routine maintenance.

"And here’s your ride," Ipswitch said, gesturing grandly to a smaller pod set apart from the rest.

"Custom pod, private suite, all the bells and whistles. She’s leavin’ in eighteen minutes, so you got time to stretch your legs, look around. But hey, don’t wander too far. We on a schedule, you hear?"

Watts nodded but said nothing, his attention momentarily drawn to the pods’ propulsion systems.

Ipswitch, undeterred by the silence, continued his monologue, his laughter punctuating nearly every other sentence.

He went on about his favorite football matches, his theories on the best defensive strategies, and how the team Ipswich Town F.C. should’ve been champions ages ago if only the refs weren’t "blind as bats."

A few minutes of incessant chatter, and Watts’ patience wore thin.

He glanced at the pod, then at Ipswitch, who was in the middle of recounting an overly detailed anecdote about a match from two decades ago.

"Excuse me," Watts interrupted. "I think I’ll board now."

Ipswitch blinked, then laughed again. "Man, you really don’t waste time, do ya? Alright, go on then. She’s all yours. Safe travels, my friend."

Without another word, Watts stepped into the pod, letting the doors close behind him.

The quiet was immediate, a stark contrast to the constant noise outside. He settled into the seat, exhaling softly.

For all the marvels he had seen, some things—like an overenthusiastic manager—still tested his limits.

The pod was a masterpiece of modern luxury, its interior blending the sleek design of cutting-edge technology with the timeless comfort of an exclusive lounge.

The spacious cabin was illuminated by soft, ambient lighting that adjusted subtly to his preferences.

Watts reclined in a plush leather chair, a small table beside him adorned with a selection of exotic fruits and delicacies arranged with meticulous care.

A chilled glass of water sat on a coaster, untouched.

In his hands was a paperback copy of The Stand by Stephen King.

The book was slightly worn, its pages dog-eared in places, an anomaly in his otherwise meticulously organized life.

He wasn’t a man to keep many personal attachments, but this book had gripped him in a way few things ever did.

The weight of its story, the raw humanity of its characters, resonated with him in an inexplicable way.

As he flipped a page, his eyes briefly darted to the digital display near the pod’s door.

Five minutes until departure.

Satisfied, he returned to the printed words, allowing himself to sink back into the narrative.

Unbeknownst to him, fate was spinning its threads closer than he realized.

At the far end of the terminal, Nina groaned as she lugged her small suitcase behind her.

The luggage wasn’t particularly heavy, but carrying it was an affront to her sense of ease.

A lollipop dangled lazily from her lips as she trailed behind Rina and Bontu, who were arguing in hushed tones about their assigned pods.

"I’m just saying," Rina hissed, her arms folded. "Couldn’t they have given us a pod with more space? It’s not like we’re traveling light here."

"It is what it is," Bontu replied, his thick Russian accent adding a roughness to his words. "We take zis pod. No arguments."

"Yeah, yeah," Rina muttered, her eyes darting around the bustling terminal as though expecting someone to leap out and challenge them.

Nina, ever the nonchalant one, paused to pluck a brochure from a nearby stand. "Relax, Rina. It’s just a tube. We’ll be there soon enough."

Bontu rolled his eyes but said nothing. His focus was on ensuring they didn’t miss their transport.

Despite his outward calm, he had a growing sense of unease, though he couldn’t place why.

The conductor, a tall man in a crisp uniform, approached them with a professional air. "You three are aligned to Pod 13," he said, gesturing toward the tube. "Right this way."

The trio followed him, Nina still absorbed in the brochure. "This place has a swimming pool in one of its transit stations?" she murmured, half to herself.

"Iz not important," Bontu snapped, motioning for her to hurry up.

When they reached Pod 13, the door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a cozy yet efficient space.

Unlike the VIP pod Watts was in, their cabin was utilitarian—functional seating, a modest snack bar, and little in the way of extravagance.

Nina was the first to plop into one of the seats, her suitcase barely making it to the corner before she stretched out.

"I could get used to this," she said, pulling her lollipop from her mouth to inspect it before popping it back in.

Rina shook her head, muttering something about priorities, while Bontu adjusted his luggage in the overhead compartment.

As the trio settled in, Rina glanced out the pod’s translucent window, her eyes catching the faint reflection of the pod opposite theirs.

It was larger, more luxurious. "Lucky bastards," she muttered under her breath.

"What’s zat?" Bontu asked.

"Nothing."

If any of them had looked closer, they might have caught a glimpse of Watts through the slightly tinted glass, his head bowed over a novel. But they didn’t.

They were mere meters away from the man they were hunting, their obliviousness a cruel twist of irony.

"Well," Nina said, stretching. "Here’s to a smooth ride."