SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

The clone was gone.

It had offered a final insincere apology, then simply melted back into the crowd.

Julian was left alone in the center of his VIP booth, a king with a broken toy, surrounded by the quiet, cutting sound of his own status crumbling to dust.

He stared at the dead watch on his wrist, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists.

He didn't know how.

He didn't know why.

But he knew, with a certainty that burned like acid in his gut, that this was somehow, some way, the ghost's fault.

And he was going to make him pay.

Meanwhile, the clone was already moving, its primary mission complete.

It moved through the crowd without being seen.

But it wasn't heading for the exit.

Not yet.

The mission parameters had been updated.

Psychological warfare was complete.

Now, it was time for the main event.

*Information.*

Back in the diner, Miles felt a fresh wave of focus, a cold clarity that cut through the lingering exhaustion.

The clone was getting ready.

He could feel its intent purpose that resonated deep in his own mind.

Clara was looking at him, a small, curious smile on her face.

"You're a million miles away tonight," she said, her voice a soft counterpoint to the chaos he was experiencing in his other self.

"Sorry," he said, forcing a weak smile.

"Just thinking about all the… post-war reconstruction we have to write about."

"It's a lot of reconstruction."

She laughed, a quiet, pleasant sound.

"You're a terrible liar, Miles Vane."

"But you're a pretty good study partner when you're actually on the same planet as me."

He felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the system.

It was a dangerous feeling.

The clone saw its opportunity.

Julian was still fuming, his face a blotchy, furious red.

He was yelling at one of the club's managers, his voice a high-pitched, entitled whine.

"I don't care about your warranty policy!" he was shrieking.

"This is a custom piece of spirit-tech!"

"You can't just replace it with a gift card!"

The bounty hunters were starting to drift away, their interest gone now that the free drinks and entertainment had dried up.

They were bored.

They were sharks, and the blood was no longer in the water.

This was the moment.

The clone turned and began to walk back toward the VIP booth.

Its steps were calm.

Confident.

It was no longer pretending to be a clumsy waiter.

It was a ghost on a mission.

It walked right up to the edge of the booth, stopping directly in front of a still-ranting Julian.

Julian finally noticed him, his eyes narrowing with rage.

"You!" he spat.

"I told them to fire you!"

"What are you still doing here?"

The clone just looked at him, its masked face a perfect, unreadable blank.

It held up its hands in a gesture of placation.

"I just wanted to help, sir," it said, its voice still the perfect imitation of a nervous, servile employee.

"With your watch."

"Sometimes, you just have to… jiggle the connection."

Julian stared at him, his arrogance warring with his desperation.

He was humiliated.

His priceless toy was broken.

Maybe this idiot knew something.

"Fine," Julian snarled, shoving his wrist toward the clone.

"Fix it."

"But if you break it any more, I'll have you cleaning toilets with your tongue for the rest of your miserable life."

The clone gave a small, respectful nod.

It reached out and took Julian's wrist in its hand.

The contact was brief.

Gentle.

Almost professional.

Julian was so focused on the watch, so lost in his own rage and embarrassment, that he didn't notice the faint, almost invisible shimmer of energy that pulsed from the clone's fingertips.

He didn't feel the ghost in the machine reaching out.

[NEW SKILL ACTIVATED: DATA LEECH LVL 1.]

Miles felt it, though.

Back in the diner, it was like a sudden, sharp intake of breath.

He felt a connection form, not just of sight and sound, but of pure information.

A river of data began to flow from Julian's phone, which was in his pocket, wirelessly, silently, into the clone's internal storage.

It was a violation on the most fundamental level.

A digital soul-sucking.

[DATA TRANSFER INITIATED.]

[TARGET: JULIAN CROSS'S PERSONAL PHONE.]

[FILE TYPES: CONTACTS, MESSAGES, PHOTOS, ENCRYPTED FILES.]

[ESTIMATED TIME TO COMPLETION: 4.7 SECONDS.]

The system was a digital predator, swift and merciless.

The clone just stood there, pretending to fiddle with the dead watch on Julian's wrist.

"Hmm," it said, its voice full of fake concentration.

"Yes, I see the problem."

"It appears to be… very broken."

"You might need a new one."

Four seconds.

It felt like an eternity.

Miles could see it all.

Julian's entire digital life, pouring into his mind.

He saw hundreds of contacts.

He saw thousands of photos, most of them selfies.

He saw a school schedule he could have just asked for.

He saw a folder labeled "Homework" that was suspiciously empty.

[TRANSFER AT 75%.]

Julian's patience finally snapped.

He yanked his arm back.

"You're useless," he spat.

"Get out of my sight."

"You're fired."

"And you're banned from this club for life."

The clone just bowed its head slightly.

"Yes, sir," it said.

"Thank you, sir."

[TRANSFER COMPLETE.]

The connection severed.

The river of data stopped flowing.

The clone had it all.

It gave Julian one last, polite, and deeply insincere nod.

Then, it turned and walked away.

It didn't melt into the crowd this time.

It walked with a purpose.

It headed straight for the restrooms in the back of the club.

A bouncer near the door gave it a suspicious look, but the clone just kept walking, a ghost in a borrowed shirt.

It entered the lavish, ridiculously opulent restroom.

Black marble sinks.

Gold-plated faucets.

It was probably nicer than Miles's entire apartment.

The clone walked into the nearest stall and locked the door.

It stood there for a moment, in the quiet, sterile silence.

Then, Miles gave the final command.

*Recall.*

The clone looked down at its own hands.

And then it dissolved.

It didn't make a sound.

It just collapsed into a shimmering, swirling cloud of dark energy and faint light.

The cloud hovered in the air for a second.

And then it vanished.

Leaving nothing behind.

Not a single trace.

The ghost was gone.

Back in the diner, Miles let out a breath he didn't even realize he had been holding.

The dual consciousness snapped back into one.

He was whole again.

The sensory overload was gone, leaving only the quiet hum of the diner and the sound of Clara's voice.

She was looking at him, a concerned frown on her face.

"Okay, you're officially starting to scare me," she said.

"You just zoned out for a full minute."

"Your eyes were completely unfocused."

"What is going on with you tonight?"

He looked at her, at her intelligent, worried face.

He had just committed an act of high-tech espionage in the middle of a crowded nightclub, using a semi-sentient photocopy of himself.

He gave her the most reassuring smile he could manage.

"Sorry," he said.

"I think I'm just really, really tired."

"This history project is killing me."

The lie tasted like ash in his mouth.

But it was a necessary one.

He had the data.

He had the ammunition.

But as he looked at Clara, a new, cold dread began to creep into his heart.

He had Julian's private messages.

He had seen into the twisted, obsessive mind of a boy who refused to take no for an answer.

And he had a terrible feeling that he wasn't going to like what he found.

The hunt was over.

But the real war was just beginning.