Chapter 2
The approval email still blinked on my screen. I tossed the loan-shark contract into the shredder. Watching it get chewed into strips, the chill in my eyes deepened.
If I was going to watch this show, I needed to know the actor’s cards.
I switched to my inbox and logged into a hidden darknet forum with practiced ease.
As expected, the homepage’s top pin was a fresh high-bounty post—by Luke.
Like a man possessed, he’d rented an enormous industrial warehouse in the far suburbs at a ridiculous price, was recruiting ex-cons and thugs, and had posted a procurement list dozens of pages long for extreme survival supplies.
With debt-money at usury interest, he was drunk on the fantasy of building an apocalypse empire.
I locked my phone with a cold smile, grabbed my keys, and stepped out to complete my “reverse preparation.”
But the moment I exited the building and aimed for Fifth Avenue, pain stabbed the nerves at the back of my neck.
In the reflection of a boutique’s one-way glass, I caught a Ford Raptor with dark tint—sticking to me at a steady distance since I left.
Luke’s paranoid by nature. While he built power, he still sent a dog to tail me.
He was terrified.
Terrified I was faking. Terrified I would become the variable in his path to dominance.
That gaze on my back didn’t panic me—it lit up a suppressed excitement in my blood.
You want to confirm whether I’m a threat?
Then I’ll stage a full-on “sell-everything” tragedy for you.
I spun around and, amid the Raptor’s screeching brake, shoved through the revolving doors of a Citibank branch on the corner.
“Withdraw all liquid funds. Now.” I slapped my gold card down on the VIP counter.
Ten minutes later, I walked back out with a black briefcase full of cash. In my peripheral vision, the Raptor crept forward another ten meters. The person inside was excitedly reporting into a phone.
The tail thought I was going to buy survival supplies.
Instead, I turned directly into a Patek Philippe top-tier VIP salon.
The sales rep’s smile turned fervent at the sight of bundled bills. I tapped the black walnut counter coldly and made an outrageous demand.
“Don’t bring me common pieces. I want limited stock—one-of-one serial, full authentication certificates, in hand today. The more expensive, the better.”
Two rare watches worth over $300,000 total, along with legally binding anti-counterfeit certificates, went into my bag.
Still not enough. The “gift” for Luke needed weight—enough to break his spine.
I crossed the street again and bought two ultra-rare luxury Leica custom lenses without blinking.
As I looked at the thick stack of official invoices in my hand, my smile finally surfaced.
Back in my apartment, I didn’t even take my shoes off. I walked straight to the most visible place in the living room—the French amberwood display cabinet.
I placed the watches and luxury lenses in the center with deliberate arrogance. The authentication certificates were intentionally tucked at the edge so that if anyone smashed things up, the paper proof would mix with the debris.
Then I pulled three micro pinhole cameras from the bottom of my backpack.
Standing on the leather sofa:
One camera embedded under the chandelier base.
One hidden in the AC vent louvers.
One stuck directly into the smoke detector facing the front door.
“Link to independent UPS backup power. Start real-time cloud backup.” I typed rapidly into my phone.
The screen blinked. Three full-HD, no-dead-angle feeds lit up at once. Even if the deep freeze shattered the city grid, this military-grade UPS would keep running for a full forty days.
Anyone who entered that room—down to a single hair—would be captured in high resolution and uploaded to a secure cloud.
The trap was set. Now I had to feed the rat waiting outside.
I grabbed my keys and headed to the underground garage.
The Ford Raptor followed like a shadow, tailing me all the way to a broken-down discount supermarket in the worst part of Queens.
I deliberately didn’t park in the garage. I parked right out front in open air so the tail had the perfect view.
Inside, I ignored the high-calorie ration bars and bottled water and went straight to the clearance aisle.
“This near-expiry spam only has three months left? Knock off another two bucks!” I raised my voice on purpose, arguing with the cashier.
The cashier rolled her eyes and shoved the dusty cheap cans at me like she was swatting a fly.
I acted like I’d struck gold, hunched over, and carried out the box of near-expiry cans worth only a few dozen dollars.
As I passed the Raptor, I flicked my wrist—one can clanged down right by their front wheel.
The shadow behind the tinted window flinched.
I lunged forward in fake panic, wiped mud off the can with my sleeve, and carefully put it into my trunk.
The moment the trunk slammed shut, my phone rang—sharp and loud in the empty lot.
Luke’s name flashed.
He couldn’t wait even one second. He wanted to inspect his “results.”
“Hey, bro—how’s prep going?” The moment I answered, Luke’s voice oozed a barely restrained, arrogant laugh.
Behind him: truck engines, unloading booms, men yelling—he was obviously at the suburban warehouse, burning death-money.
“Don’t even start,” I sighed and lowered my voice like I was resentful. “I listened to you and went shopping, but prices are insane. I could only grab one box of the cheapest near-expiry cans to get by.”
Two seconds of silence on the other end.
Then a shrieking laugh slammed through the speaker like it would tear the ceiling off.
“Near-expiry cans? Hahahaha! You’re gonna use a box of trash to survive the apocalypse?” Luke laughed until he couldn’t breathe.
“What? If I ration it, it should last a while…” I kept playing stupid prey.
“In three days you’ll be gnawing bark like a stray dog!” Luke spat, voice dripping with control and contempt. “I’ve got endless supplies and the hardest men. You—hug your trash cans and wait to die!”
Beep—beep—beep.
He hung up brutally.
I held the cooling phone and watched the black Raptor finally make a U-turn and leave. In the rearview mirror, my mouth curled into a dangerously sharp smile.
