SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

Miles sat in the dark of his apartment, the blue glow of his laptop screen painting his face in pale, ghostly light.

Fifty-two thousand dollars.

The number sat in his secure digital wallet, looking impossibly large and ridiculously small at the same time.

It was enough money to disappear, to start a new life somewhere far away from Northwood, far away from the Cross family.

But it wasn't nearly enough to fight them.

Spike was a symptom. A low-level infection.

Silas Cross was the disease. A cancer that had wrapped its tendrils around the entire city.

And you don't fight cancer with a pocket knife.

You needed bigger, better weapons.

He took a deep, painful breath. His shoulder was a constant, throbbing universe of agony, a souvenir from his fight with Spike. The system's Bio-Regeneration was working, knitting bone and sinew back together at an unnatural rate, but it was slow. And it hurt.

"Okay," Miles said to the empty room, his voice a low rasp. "I took out the pawn. What's the next move on the chessboard, genius?"

He was speaking to the system, to the ghost of his parents that lived in his head.

For a moment, there was no reply.

Then, a line of text scrolled across his vision.

[ANALYSIS: DIRECT CONFRONTATION WITH THE ENTITY 'SILAS CROSS' IS NOT VIABLE WITH CURRENT HOST ABILITIES.]

[PROBABILITY OF HOST SURVIVAL IN SAID SCENARIO: 0.02%.]

"Wow, that high?" Miles muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was thinking more like a solid zero. You're a real optimist, you know that?"

He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as the movement pulled at his injured shoulder. "So what's the plan? I can't just walk up and punch a skyscraper. I need to get stronger. Faster. Smarter."

[A PATHWAY EXISTS,] the system replied, its digital voice as calm as ever.

"Great," Miles said. "Is it going to be me running up stairs and punching frozen meat? Because I've seen that movie. It looks cold."

[NEGATIVE,] the system stated. [THE PATHWAY IS DIGITAL.]

[THERE EXISTS A DECENTRALIZED, ANONYMOUS NETWORK USED BY SYSTEM USERS TO EXCHANGE INFORMATION, ASSETS, AND TECHNOLOGY.]

Miles leaned forward, his interest piqued. "A network? You mean like a social media for people who can punch through walls?"

[ANALOGY IS… FUNCTIONAL,] the system conceded after a moment's pause. It was the closest he'd ever heard it come to expressing mild annoyance.

[THE NETWORK IS KNOWN colloquially AS 'THE ECHO CHAMBER'.]

"The Echo Chamber," Miles repeated. "Catchy. Sounds like a place where everyone just agrees with each other. Or a really bad recording studio."

[ACCESSING THE NETWORK REQUIRES EXTREME SECURITY PROTOCOLS,] the system continued, ignoring his commentary. [IT IS A BLACK MARKET OPERATING IN THE DEEPEST RECESSES OF THE WEB. IT IS DANGEROUS, UNREGULATED, AND ESSENTIAL FOR YOUR CONTINUED EVOLUTION.]

"So, Amazon for assassins," Miles deadpanned. "Got it. Do they have Prime shipping? I've got a revenge quest on a tight schedule."

[INITIATING CONNECTION,] the system announced.

His laptop screen went black. Then, just like when he had bought his spy gear, lines of green code began to cascade down the display, a waterfall of pure data.

[ROUTING IP ADDRESS THROUGH 24 PROXY SERVERS.]

[ENCRYPTING DATA STREAM WITH QUANTUM-LEVEL ALGORITHMS.]

[BOUNCING SIGNAL OFF THREE SEPARATE SATELLITES.]

"Are you hacking the planet or just logging me into a website?" Miles asked, half-impressed and half-terrified. "This seems a little extra."

[SECURITY IS PARAMOUNT,] the system replied. [IN THE ECHO CHAMBER, YOUR DIGITAL FOOTPRINT IS AS REAL AS YOUR PHYSICAL ONE. A SINGLE MISTAKE CAN LEAD TO EXPOSURE. AND EXPOSURE LEADS TO TERMINATION.]

The screen flickered one last time and then settled on a simple, text-based interface.

The background was pure black. The font was a stark, blocky white. There were no pictures, no ads, no friendly user interface. It looked like something from the dawn of the internet, brutally functional and utterly anonymous.

A single prompt blinked at the top of the screen:

[>LOGIN AS:]

"What do I use for a name?" Miles asked.

[IT IS RECOMMENDED TO CHOOSE A MONIKER THAT IS BOTH MEMORABLE AND MISLEADING,] the system advised. [IT SHOULD REFLECT AN ASPECT OF YOUR ABILITIES WITHOUT REVEALING THEIR TRUE NATURE.]

Miles thought for a moment. He was a ghost. He was a whisper. He was a project meant to be an echo of his parents' will.

He typed.

[>LOGIN AS: Revenant]

[>PASSWORD: ***********]

[WELCOME, REVENANT.]

He was in.

The main page was a simple list of forums.

[>MARKETPLACE]

[>INTELLIGENCE EXCHANGE]

[>CONTRACT BOARD]

[>GENERAL DISCUSSION]

He clicked on the Marketplace.

The screen filled with listings that made his blood run cold.

[WTS: SKILL DATA-CHIP: 'PYROCLASM LVL 2'. PURE DESTRUCTIVE POWER. SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY.]

[WTB: INFORMATION ON CROSS CORP SECURITY PATROLS. HIGH PRICE PAID.]

[WTS: TIER-2 ARMOR WEAVE. CAN STOP A .50 CALIBER ROUND. SLIGHTLY USED, MINOR BLOODSTAINS.]

This was a whole new world. A hidden, underground economy where power itself was the currency.

"Okay," Miles breathed. "This is… a lot."

[THE SYSTEM WILL ANALYZE VENDOR HISTORIES AND TRANSACTION DATA TO IDENTIFY RELIABLE SELLERS,] the system said, highlighting several names in green while marking others in a warning red. [AVOID ALL RED-FLAGGED USERS. THEIR TRANSACTIONS HAVE A 92.4% PROBABILITY OF ENDING IN AMBUSH AND THEFT.]

"Good to know," Miles muttered. "So it's like Craigslist, but with a higher chance of being murdered in a dark alley. Fun."

He knew what he needed. His fight with Spike had proven one thing with painful clarity. He was a glass cannon. All of his skills were built around speed, evasion, and a single, powerful offensive strike. He had no way to defend himself against a direct, powerful hit.

He needed a shield.

He typed his search into the command line.

[>SEARCH: DEFENSIVE SKILL, TIER-3 OR HIGHER]

A single listing popped up.

[WTS: RARE SKILL DATA-CHIP: 'AEGIS SHIELD LVL 3'.]

[DESCRIPTION: PROJECTS A BARRIER OF PURE KINETIC ENERGY CAPABLE OF DEFLECTING MOST PHYSICAL AND ENERGY-BASED ATTACKS. A TRUE LIFESAVER.]

[SELLER: BROKER]

[PRICE: $30,000]

Miles winced. Thirty thousand dollars. More than half of his entire war chest, gone in a single purchase. But the description… a true lifesaver. After his encounter with Spike, those words resonated deep in his bones.

He looked at the seller's name. Broker. The system had flagged it in yellow.

[ANALYZING USER 'BROKER':] the system reported. [TRANSACTION HISTORY: 47 SUCCESSFUL SALES. 0 FAILED TRANSACTIONS.]

"Sounds pretty good," Miles said.

[ADDITIONAL DATA:] the system continued. [USER 'BROKER' IS FLAGGED FOR CONDUCTING ALL TRANSACTIONS IN HIGH-RISK, ISOLATED LOCATIONS. CROSS-REFERENCING FORUM GOSSIP INDICATES A HIGH PROBABILITY THAT 'BROKER' USES THESE LOCATIONS TO TEST THE STRENGTH OF HIS CLIENTS.]

"'Test the strength'?" Miles repeated, a cold knot forming in his stomach. "That's a funny way to spell 'ambush and rob'."

[THE PROBABILITY OF A HOSTILE ENCOUNTER DURING THIS TRANSACTION IS 97.8%,] the system stated calmly.

So it was a trap. An expensive, high-tech trap with a thirty-thousand-dollar entry fee.

He should close the window. Find another seller. Find a cheaper, safer option.

That was the smart thing to do.

The sane thing to do.

But as he looked at the listing, an idea began to form in his mind. A cold, reckless, and dangerous idea.

Broker wanted to test him.

Broker wanted to see if he was strong enough to deserve the prize.

An ambush wasn't just a risk.

It was also an opportunity.

An opportunity to get the shield, and maybe something more.

He had walked into a den of vipers once before and come out alive.

Maybe it was time to start hunting the vipers on his own terms.

He took a deep, steadying breath, the pain in his shoulder a sharp reminder of what was at stake.

Then, he clicked the 'CONTACT SELLER' button.

He typed out a short, simple message.

[>TO: BROKER]

[>FROM: REVENANT]

[>MESSAGE: I'LL TAKE IT. NAME THE TIME AND PLACE.]

He hit send.

The message disappeared into the dark web, a single baited hook cast into a sea of sharks.

There was no going back now.

He was officially in the game.

And he had just deliberately, willingly, and with cold, calculated intent, walked straight into the lion's den.

He just hoped he was a good enough hunter to survive it.