The Fortis Group had begun with a single bright idea, an ambition to revolutionize private security. They weren't supposed to be just another collection of guards-for-hire. No, their vision was far grander. Fortis was designed to be cutting-edge, advanced, and unshakable in every way.
They prided themselves on blending human talent with the sharpest edge of technology. Drones circled above their clients, providing a constant aerial view of the surroundings. Their AI systems fed streams of data to handheld devices, predicting the most likely routes of intrusion or moments when an assailant might strike. Even their arsenal was at the absolute limit of what was legal, no live ammunition, but rubber bullets engineered for maximum force, tasers strong enough to bring down a bear, and shock-batons that could send a fully grown man into convulsions.
The name Fortis meant "strong," and their goal was simple: to become the strongest, most unshakable private security firm in the world.
To achieve that, they spared no expense. The company sought out the best of the best, offering high salaries to lure talent away from more conventional jobs. They recruited Olympic athletes whose careers had stalled, fighters straight out of high school gyms, decorated veterans, and bodyguards with reputations for never letting a client fall.
The money poured in. Angel investors, dazzled by slick presentations, funded the dream. PowerPoints boasted graphs of projected growth, glossy videos showcased high-tech facilities, and investors were promised a future where Fortis would dominate the private security sector.
At first, it worked. The Fortis Group managed to secure high-profile clients and even attracted the interest of government officials. When celebrities started hiring them, their reputation soared. For the wealthy elite, flaunting Fortis guards at your side became more than safety, it became a statement of status.
But that golden age didn't last.
Because in reality, most of those clients were never in serious danger. The threats amounted to overeager fans, paparazzi with cameras, or overzealous autograph seekers. For this, Fortis's overwhelming strength became more a liability than a selling point.
The tension inside the company simmered. The recruits had expected more. Why did they train so hard, day after day, in sprawling facilities? Why were they pushed like soldiers preparing for war, when their only real opponents were teenagers with camera phones?
Then came the incident that shattered everything.
A fan broke through the security cordon at a celebrity event, desperately trying to get a selfie. She shouted insults at one of the guards, called him ugly, called the group a fraud, and in that heated moment, the guard snapped. He lashed out and punched her across the face.
The fallout was immediate and devastating. Yes, the celebrity had been protected. Yes, the guard had done his job in the strictest sense. But public opinion turned like a storm. Headlines screamed: "Brutal Security Team Punches Woman."Social media dragged their name through the mud. Celebrities, terrified of being associated with such bad press, stopped hiring them.
Their reputation was poisoned.
Clients dried up, contracts vanished, and even those who stayed realized they didn't need such an extreme level of protection. Fortis had built themselves for a world of assassins and ambushes. The world they lived in only needed bodyguards who could smile for the cameras.
But by then, all of the money had already been sunk into their fortress-like headquarters.
The company's debt spiraled.
Their base was enormous, a facility built on the outskirts of Notting Hill City. They had purchased a huge plot of land and wrapped it with thick concrete walls lined with cameras. Inside the grounds lay a courtyard large enough for training drills, outdoor obstacle courses, and even a running track that circled the compound.
The main building was ten stories tall, its design a mix of steel and mirrored glass, intimidating from the outside and fortified on the inside. Beneath it was a secure underground car park that could hold hundreds of vehicles.
Inside, they weren't just security guards. They had an entire ecosystem, three hundred employees in total. Office staff to handle bookings, sales teams to attract clients, marketing departments to polish their image, PR experts to spin every incident, dietitians to craft strict meal plans for guards, and even a canteen staffed by professional chefs. The dream was for everything to function like a military machine, every part optimized.
At the heart of it all was Tim Heart, the founder and CEO.
Tim was not what anyone expected the head of such a group to look like. He was short, round, and visibly tired. The stress of the company's decline weighed on him, and his body showed it. Food was the only comfort he had left, and the strain of failure made him eat more than he should.
Still, he clung to his philosophy. Fortis would never water down their methods. To him, their strength was their uniqueness. But uniqueness didn't pay the bills. He had already poured his personal fortune into the company, mortgaging his future to keep it afloat. Now, bankruptcy loomed.
Then the call came.
Warma's voice, steady and professional, delivered the words that felt like salvation.
"Are you serious right now?" Tim asked, his voice trembling as he pressed the phone harder against his ear. There was silence for a long pause. Then, when he realized Warma was not joking, his resolve cracked. "No, we'll take it. Those terms are more than fair. If you send over the contract, I'll sign it immediately. You've saved us."
When he hung up, relief washed over him like a flood. For the first time in months, he felt like he could breathe.
His pudgy hand slammed a button on the intercom.
"Nesa! Get in here immediately! I have an important task for you!"
The office door burst open a moment later. A woman hurried inside, wearing professional attire, round glasses perched on her nose, and her dark hair tied neatly back. She looked sharp, efficient, the kind of assistant who could handle any emergency.
"Yes, sir!" she answered quickly.
Tim sat forward, his hands pressed together like a man in prayer. His eyes were wild with relief and desperation.
"I have news, important news. Our company has been saved. We've been bought out. There's a new Chairman now."
Nesa's eyes widened. A buyout? In her mind, that meant their entire future hung in the balance.
"Once the details are finalized, the new Chairman will be coming here. You need to do everything you can to appease them. Do not make them upset. Do you understand me?" Tim's voice cracked with urgency. "Whatever they ask, whatever they want, make it happen. No excuses."
"Yes, sir," Nesa replied, though her voice carried hesitation. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or frightened.
Tim leaned back, sweat dripping from his forehead, and let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob.
"We've been saved," he whispered to himself, almost in disbelief. "Fortis lives… Fortis lives."