[David POV]
The bunker door closed behind me with groan. When I stepped into the warehouse's upper level, I saw the low glow of the holographic monitor already alive in the gloom. Gideon stood before it.
"Gideon," I said. "Pull up the archive. All collected evidence we have so far."
"Ready and categorized, David. Would you like to begin replication?"
"Yes. We go wide tonight. Start with the hard copies."
I reached into my inventory and pulled out a set of labeled pen drives—dozens of them. Their weight was negligible, but the data inside? That could shake the the entire city power play. One by one, I handed them to Gideon who synchronized them, each pen drive absorbing files in a matter of seconds.
I paced as the process continued.
"Compile a list of independent journalists, platforms, and media outlets."
"Filtering now," Gideon replied. Names scrolled across the floating display. Ben Urich at the New York Bulletin, Joseph Robertson in Daily Bugle, Trish Talk, a few hardened freelancers from the Village Voice. I glanced through them.
"Good. They get the first wave. Attach unique metadata tags to each file we send, I want to track who publishes and who buries."
"Understood."
I the sat on a desk nearby and logged into the dark web.
Rising Tide.
I posted a mission briefing across three channels.
Attached to the post were heavily edited clips, cam footage from the warehouses, financial records, decrypted texts, and a three-minute supercut showing dirty officials with gang members. I didn't name names. The documents would do that on their own.
As I leaned back, Gideon spoke again.
"All pen drives complete, David"
"Release the TV Channels once the cops have found Alan, " I said.
"Understood. Would you like to initiate social media saturation protocols?"
"Do it. Start with the short clips. Grainy footage, the kind that spreads fast. Let conspiracy channels pick it up and amplify it. Once they take the bait, drop the full packages."
Gideon moved faster than any human assistant ever could. Feeds lit up across various online platforms. All seeded, all staggered, all traceable only to disposable relays that burned after use.
"If any site takes it down," I added, "mark it. Set the loop. Mirror the files through dead nodes, and if they delete one, upload three more."
A strange quiet settled over the space.
I knew what was coming. Retaliation. Political fallout. The Iron Serpents wouldn't be the only ones squirming. Cops, commissioners, maybe even judges would feel the heat.
"Schedule the launch for the end of the week," I said, eyes still fixed on the monitors. "That gives me three days. I need to prep."
"Sure David."
I nodded slowly.
Three days.
Three days to prepare for the chaos I was about to unleash.
I ran a hand over my face and exhaled through my nose. The headache hadn't arrived yet, but I knew it was coming. My body always knew before I did.
"I have a long week ahead," I muttered.
Gideon didn't reply. She didn't need to.
I stood, grabbed the small satchel containing the drives, and headed for the side door.
"Let's go," I said.
The city outside was waking up, unaware it was about to watch itself burn from the inside out.
---
---
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds of my apartment. I rose at six-thirty sharp. The air was quiet, still soaked in the tension of the previous night's operations. I moved through my morning chores on instinct.
I made my bed, cleaned the dishes in the sink, checked for any tampering around the apartment—same as always. Satisfied, I slipped into workout clothes and started my training. Stretching, calisthenics, a full body-weight circuit: push-ups, sit-ups, planks, squats. I pushed through a solid forty-five minutes before heading to the bathroom.
The water ran hot. I stepped into the shower and let it wash away the sweat, scrubbing my hair and skin with the same methodical care I applied to everything else. I toweled off and stood in front of the mirror for a moment, looking at the man staring back at me.
More than six feet tall. Blue eyes, sharp and alert. Brown hair cut short, slightly tousled from the towel. The relentless training had carved every muscle with precision. Defined shoulders, hardened arms, a core tight with power and discipline.
I dressed in black shorts and a dark grey t-shirt, then made my way to the kitchen.
Breakfast was clean and simple. Oats with almond milk, banana slices, a boiled egg on the side. I brewed a strong cup of black coffee while the toast browned. Once everything was ready, I sat at the small kitchen table, eating with slow, deliberate bites while skimming through financial headlines on my tablet.
The thought had been growing in the back of my mind for weeks. It was time to move out. This apartment had served its purpose, but by the middle of next month, I needed a more secure, more permanent base of operations.
After breakfast, I grabbed my phone and drafted a message to Elena about the date and set the phone aside.
I pulled up my stock portfolio. I had invested in a few companies for short-term gain, and they were performing as expected. Nothing substantial yet, not compared to the kind of capital I planned to move in the future. For now, it was enough to watch the numbers climb.
After an hour reviewing the charts, I stood up, stretched, and prepared to head out. Before leaving, I gave Gideon a final command.
"Start a quiet search for abandoned bank accounts. Global. Former shell companies, dead relatives, defunct trusts, anything with unclaimed assets. I'm not pulling from them yet. I just want intel."
"Understood. I will compile a report."
I tucked my phone into my pocket and stepped out into the city.
Lunch was quick. A modest diner on the corner, grilled chicken sandwich and bottled water. Afterward, I made stops at several different stores across the neighborhood. Bulk rice, dried beans, pasta, protein bars, toiletries, batteries, water filters. Essentials. I didn't need to carry them. One by one, each item disappeared into my system inventory with a silent mental command.
I walked back toward the apartment, the bag in my hand empty
As I reached the front entrance of the apartment building just as someone else stepped up from the sidewalk.
"David!" a voice called out brightly.
I turned and saw Jayden, walking up with a takeout bag in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. He looked like he'd just come back from a casual run or maybe brunch.
"Hey, man," he grinned. "Long weekend, huh?"
"Something like that," I said, smirking slightly.
He squinted at me with mock suspicion. "You vanished. Don't tell me you were off on some secret getaway... or were you just holed up with Elena all weekend?"
I chuckled. "What can I say? A man has his secrets."
Jayden laughed. "That a yes? That sounds like a yes. Damn, no wonder."
"You're imagining things," I said with a shrug. We started walking up the stairs together.
"Seriously though," he went on, "you guys hitting it off? She seems cool. Like actually cool."
"She is," I said. "Smart. Has her head on straight."
"That's rare. Don't mess it up," Jayden teased. "Unless you're planning to go full monk mode again and disappear for another month."
"No plans yet," I replied with a smirk. "Just trying to keep things balanced."
We reached the second floor landing. He fished out his keys.
"Catch you later, bro."
"Later, Jayden."
He disappeared into his apartment with a grin, leaving the faint smell of garlic fries in his wake.
I stepped into my apartment and locked the door behind me. I then opened my inventory and began unloading the supplies, organizing them into cabinets and storage bins.
The routine was quiet, methodical. Canned goods, dried staples, toiletries, each item found its place with clinical precision.
Once everything was sorted, I poured myself a glass of whiskey. Neat. The amber liquid swirled in the glass as I moved toward the sofa. I sat down with a sigh, the cushion molding comfortably beneath me. My laptop sat waiting on the coffee table.
I placed the whiskey down beside it and powered the system on.
There were countless ways to make money in this world, but if I wanted to be more than just a ghost lurking behind screens and shadows, I needed legitimacy. I needed a business—something tangible, something that could stand on its own. It had to be solid, and above all, respectable.
It would serve as a shield for the wealth I was building and, eventually, become the foundation for the organization I intended to create. The world needed something better—something sharper.
And I needed the funds to build it.
The investments I had made were just stepping stones. I would need far more than short-term stock gains to bankroll what I envisioned. Front companies. Acquisitions. Laundering trails that looked clean from every angle.
I leaned back and took a sip of the whiskey, letting the warmth settle in my chest.
"Gideon," I said, eyes on the screen. "Has everything been collected?"
"All global records identified and indexed," her voice replied. "Several hundred dormant bank accounts tied to criminal organizations. Some dating back years."
"Start slow," I instructed. "Small amount. Trace-less siphoning."
"Acknowledged. Initial transfer in progress."
This was the beginning of a long-term game. I would pull from these funds in waves. The kind of transactions that didn't trigger alarms or investigations. And eventually, those accounts would be empty, and the people who once used them would either be dead, in prison, or too scared to notice.
By the time I glanced out the window, the sky had turned indigo. The first stars had begun to pierce the haze.
It was time to move again.
I downed the last sip of whiskey, washed the glass, and walked to my bedroom. The closet door creaked open as I pulled out darker clothes, matte black pants, shirt, lightweight jacket. My boots were already by the door, laced and ready.
Tonight, I would scout Hell's Kitchen again. The Iron Serpents still had nightclubs running, fronts for smuggling, trafficking, and worse. If they were feeling the heat from the warehouse hits, they would be adjusting their routines. And I needed to see how.
I checked my watch.
Time to move.
To Be Continued...