SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

Silas Cross was still standing before the windows in the study room.

The city glittered below him, a sprawling circuit board of lights and lives he owned.

He brought out the lighter for the cigarettes in his pockets.

The report from Julian, the broken, terrified confession, had changed the entire equation.

Miles Vane.

The son of Alaric and Mira Vane.

The ghost haunting his empire was not a rival.

It was a loose end.

And it was a priceless, one-of-a-kind asset walking around in the body of a teenage boy.

His fury had cooled, leaving behind the chillingly calm logic of a corporate takeover.

The objective was no longer termination.

It was acquisition.

A quiet sound announced the arrival of his senior aide.

The man entered the room with the silent, practiced invisibility of a shadow.

"Sir," the aide said, his voice a low murmur.

Silas turned slowly, a thin, predatory smile on his lips that did not reach his cold, gray eyes.

"We have a new priority," Silas said, his voice the smooth, polished steel of a boardroom executioner.

"Our ghost has a name."

"Miles Vane."

The aide's face remained impassive, but a flicker of surprise registered in his eyes.

"The boy from the decathlon, sir?"

"The very same," Silas confirmed, walking over to his massive, obsidian desk.

"It seems the sons of my former employees have a penchant for causing my son a great deal of public embarrassment."

"A charming coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

The aide knew better than to answer.

"He is the Vane's son," Silas stated, the words hanging in the air with the weight of a death sentence.

"And he is in possession of their greatest work."

"He is in possession of my property."

The aide finally understood the shift in the air.

This was no longer a pest control problem.

This was a recovery operation.

"What are your orders, sir?" the aide asked.

Silas looked back out at the city, a grand, terrible idea taking shape in his mind.

A frontal assault was clumsy.

A quiet abduction was risky.

The boy was powerful, unstable.

He needed to be lured out.

He needed to be drawn into a trap so vast, so public, and so irresistible that he would have no choice but to walk into it.

"We are going to throw a party," Silas said, a chilling glee in his voice.

"A very, very big party."

"We will call it the Northwood Unity Tournament."

"A celebration of our city's brightest young talents."

"A demonstration of Cross Corp's commitment to the future."

He was spinning the web, his words a mixture of corporate PR and monstrous intent.

"We will invite every system user in the city under the age of twenty-five."

"We will offer fame."

"We will offer glory."

"And we will offer a grand prize so magnificent that none of them, not even our little ghost, will be able to resist."

He paused, savoring the cruel brilliance of his own plan.

"We will offer them an Ancient Soul Crystal."

The aide gasped, a small, sharp sound in the quiet room.

An Ancient Soul Crystal was a legend.

A myth.

An artifact of immense power, said to be able to evolve any system, to unlock its hidden potential.

It was a prize worth dying for.

"You intend to simply give away an asset of that value, sir?" the aide asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

Silas chuckled, a dry, humorless sound.

"Of course not," he said.

"I intend to give the *promise* of it."

"The tournament will be a stage."

"A very public, very well-lit stage where we can observe all the players."

"We will see who is strong."

"We will see who is weak."

"And we will watch our primary target, Miles Vane, as he tries to claim a prize he has no hope of winning."

"The entire event will be a controlled environment."

"My guards, my masters, my assets, all hidden in plain sight."

"When the time is right, when he is exhausted, when he is cornered…"

"We will simply close the trap."

"And our lost property will be returned to us."

It was perfect.

A trap disguised as a gift.

A slaughterhouse dressed up as a stadium.

Miles sat in the dark of his apartment, the stolen shipping manifests open on his laptop screen.

He had the proof.

He had the ammunition.

But he was a soldier with a single bullet, facing an army.

He needed more.

He needed a way to get to Silas Cross himself.

He was scrolling through the local news, looking for any mention of Cross Corp, when the broadcast was interrupted.

A special announcement from the mayor's office.

The screen filled with the image of Silas Cross, standing at a podium, a dozen cameras flashing in his face.

He was smiling, a warm, benevolent, and utterly false expression.

Miles felt a cold knot of dread form in his stomach.

"My friends," Silas began, his voice booming with practiced sincerity. "For too long, our city has been divided."

"But I believe in our future."

"I believe in our youth."

Miles snorted.

"Oh, I bet you do," he muttered to the screen.

"You believe they make excellent, low-cost, deniable assets."

"That is why," Silas continued, his arms spread wide in a gesture of magnanimous generosity, "Cross Corp is proud to sponsor the first-ever Northwood Unity Tournament!"

The screen behind Silas exploded with a flashy graphic of a golden trophy and a ridiculously dramatic logo.

"A competition to find the best, the brightest, the strongest young system users in our great city!"

Miles stared, his sarcastic amusement fading, replaced by a cold, sharp suspicion.

"And the grand prize," Silas said, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, "will be a treasure beyond imagining."

"A key to unlocking one's true potential."

"An artifact of immense power."

"The winner of the Northwood Unity Tournament will receive a genuine, authenticated… Ancient Soul Crystal."

The words hit Miles like a physical blow.

He had read about them in the dark corners of the Echo Chamber.

They were a myth.

A ghost story.

The ultimate power-up.

The system in his head, which had been quietly analyzing the broadcast, suddenly flared to life.

Its text was no longer calm and clinical.

It was a stark, urgent, and almost hungry alert.

[HIGH-TIER ENERGY SOURCE DETECTED.]

[ARTIFACT 'ANCIENT SOUL CRYSTAL' CONFIRMED AS GENUINE.]

[ANALYSIS: THE CRYSTAL CONTAINS CONDENSED SOUL-FORCE PROPERTIES CAPABLE OF TRIGGERING A FORCED EVOLUTION OF THE ECHO PROTOCOL.]

[UNLOCKING THE NEXT STAGE OF THE SYSTEM IS POSSIBLE WITH THIS ASSET.]

The system was practically screaming at him.

This wasn't just a prize.

This was the key.

The key to getting stronger.

The key to controlling his powers.

The key to winning his war.

But then, the system's hungry alert was joined by a second, much more chilling analysis.

[CROSS-REFERENCING EVENT PARAMETERS WITH KNOWN TACTICS OF 'SILAS CROSS'.]

[VENUE: CROSS CORP ARENA.]

[SPONSORSHIP: EXCLUSIVELY CROSS CORP.]

[PROBABILITY ASSESSMENT: EVENT IS A HIGH-PROBABILITY AMBUSH.]

[OBJECTIVE OF AMBUSH: HOST CAPTURE.]

[PRIMARY HOSTILE 'SILAS CROSS' WILL BE IN ATTENDANCE.]

Miles stared at the screen, his mind a battlefield of desire and logic.

It was a trap.

It was a blatant, obvious, and ridiculously tempting trap.

Silas Cross was dangling the one thing in the world that could give him the power he needed to win.

And he was daring him to come and take it.

He was a mouse, and Silas Cross had just built the world's most beautiful, most elaborate, and most deadly mousetrap.

He knew he should say no.

He knew he should run.

He knew he should hide.

But as he looked at the flashing, urgent text from the system, at the promise of a power he had only ever dreamed of, he felt a slow, cold, and deeply dangerous smile spread across his face.

He was tired of being the mouse.

It was time to be the ghost that haunted the trap.

"Okay, Silas," he whispered to the smiling face on the screen.

"You want to throw a party?"

"I'll be your guest of honor."

"Let's see who's still standing when the music stops."