SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

Miles stared at the screen, the stark white text of the Echo Chamber burning into his retinas.

It was a supermarket for superhumans.

A place where you could buy the ability to throw fireballs with the same sterile anonymity as ordering a book online.

The thought was so completely insane that a bubble of hysterical laughter almost escaped his lips.

He was still just a kid.

A kid who, not too long ago, thought the most dangerous thing in his life was a pop quiz in calculus.

Now he was browsing a dark web forum for a magical shield to help him on his secret murder-quest.

Life comes at you fast.

He scrolled through the General Discussion forum, a lurker in a world of sharks.

The users spoke in a dense, almost impenetrable slang.

'Tier-3 juice' for a powerful skill.

'Scrubbing a hard-point' for clearing a mission.

'Running hot' for being actively hunted.

It was a language designed to keep outsiders out and insiders safe.

He saw a thread titled: "Rumor Mill: Ghost of Northwood."

His blood went cold.

He clicked on it.

[>User: VoidRipper]

[>Message: Heard whispers of a new player in Northwood. Fast-mover. Dropped the Crimson Serpents like a bad habit. Anyone got eyes on this?]

[>User: ScrapHead]

[>Message: Probably just another flash-in-the-pan. Kid gets a Tier-1 speed system and thinks he's a god. Give him a week. He'll get himself zeroed.]

[>User: Broker]

[>Message: All ghosts are just stories, until they're the one standing over your corpse. I'm interested. Information is always a valuable commodity.]

Miles felt a shiver run down his spine.

They were talking about him.

He was a ghost story.

A piece of anonymous gossip in a hidden corner of the internet.

He needed to learn the language. He needed to blend in.

He saw a simple question thread asking about the best way to maintain gear.

He decided to test the waters.

Just a simple question. Nothing that could give him away.

He typed out his reply.

[>Revenant: How do you guys clean energy residue off a soul-bound weapon without degrading the core matrix?]

He hit enter.

And the world exploded.

Not literally, of course.

But the reaction on the forum was the digital equivalent of a nuclear bomb going off.

Instantly, his post was flooded with replies.

[>ScrapHead: LMAO! "Soul-bound weapon"? "Core matrix"? What kind of fantasy novel garbage is that? Are you twelve?]

[>VoidRipper: Oh, look, fresh meat! Someone call the butcher! This kid typed a whole sentence without using a single piece of slang! Adorable!]

[>Nighthawk: My dude, just call it a soul-blade. And you don't 'clean' it. You let it eat. That's the point. This newbie is going to get himself killed.]

The mockery was a tidal wave.

He had just walked onto the world's most dangerous stage and forgotten all of his lines.

His face burned with a humiliation that was somehow worse than tipping over a vending machine.

He had just painted a giant, glowing target on his own back.

The system, in its infinite and infuriating calm, offered its analysis.

[ALERT: USER INTERACTION ANOMALY DETECTED.]

[PROBABILITY: HOST HAS BEEN MARKED AS INEXPERIENCED.]

[RISK OF EXPLOITATION: 92.1%.]

"No kidding," Miles hissed at his screen. "You think? I couldn't tell from the fifty messages calling me an idiot."

He was about to log off, to delete his account and crawl into a hole for the next hundred years.

Then, a new notification popped up.

A private message.

It was from the one user who hadn't joined in the public roast.

[>FROM: Broker]

Miles's breath hitched.

Broker.

The guy selling the Aegis Shield.

He opened the message, his heart pounding a nervous rhythm against his ribs.

[>TO: Revenant]

[>FROM: Broker]

[>MESSAGE: Don't mind the jackals. They were all new once, they just forget. I saw your search history before you posted. You're looking for a top-tier defensive skill. It's a smart move for a new player. Most kids just want the biggest gun they can find.]

Miles stared at the message.

It felt… reasonable.

Almost friendly.

[>MESSAGE (cont.): That Aegis Shield you were looking at? It's a rare piece. A true classic from the old world. Saved my life more times than I can count. I'm willing to part with it, but a piece of tech like that… it deserves a good home. With a user who understands its value.]

He was being played.

He could feel it.

This was a salesman's pitch, smooth and polished and designed to make him feel special.

He was the smart newbie. The one who understood 'value'.

[>MESSAGE (cont.): The price is firm. $30,000. But for a user with your clear potential, I'm willing to make the transaction a priority. Meet me tonight. Midnight. The old Red hook Industrial Park, by the loading docks.]

The system's voice cut through the sales pitch like a scalpel.

[WARNING: ANALYZING LOCATION 'REDHOOK INDUSTRIAL PARK'.]

[CROSS-REFERENCING FORUM DATA AND POLICE REPORTS.]

[LOCATION IS A NOTORIOUS 'NEUTRAL GROUND' USED FOR HIGH-RISK TRANSACTIONS AND AMBUSHES.]

[PROBABILITY OF HOSTILE ENCOUNTER: 97.8%.]

So, it was a trap.

It was a blatant, obvious, almost insulting trap.

Broker had seen his mistake.

He'd seen a new user, inexperienced, asking about a high-value item.

He thought Miles was a fool.

A lamb walking to the slaughter, carrying a wallet full of cash.

The smart move was to say no.

To log off and find another seller.

To live to fight another day.

But Miles wasn't the same person who had been beaten in an alley just a few weeks ago.

He wasn't the prey anymore.

He had walked into a den of vipers and killed their king.

He had faced a man with a strength-system and shattered his bones.

He had a blade made of shadows and a ghost in his head telling him the odds.

An ambush wasn't just a danger.

It was a test.

It was an opportunity.

An opportunity to get the shield he so desperately needed.

And an opportunity to send a message back to the jackals in the Echo Chamber.

The fresh meat bites back.

He felt a cold, dangerous smile touch his lips.

He was done reacting.

He was done being the victim.

It was time to be the monster.

He typed his reply, keeping it short.

Keeping it simple.

Let Broker think he was a fool right up until the last second.

[>TO: Broker]

[>FROM: Revenant]

[>MESSAGE: Okay. I'll be there. I'll bring the money.]

He hit send.

The message shot off into the darkness of the web.

The trap was set.

The bait was taken.

And Miles began to prepare for his hunt.

He had a very busy night ahead of him.