The sky above York City bled a bruised violet. Vale stood on the balcony of the penthouse, the skyline stretching out before him like a kingdom under reconstruction. The wind bit his cheeks, but he didn't flinch. Vale welcomed the cold as it helped him think.
Inside, the phone chirped—three tones.
Vale walked back in.
The interface pulsed with emerald green. It was a deep, imperial green. It seemed alive.
'Order Two: Complete'
'Asset Acquisition: Successful'
'New Node Added To Network: Vozbyte Technologies'
A map expanded across the screen like veins across a body. One pulse. Then two. Merrill's company now lit like a node in a digital nervous system. Vale's first empire link. Silent and hidden. Irrevocable.
He exhaled.
There was no rush of triumph. Just the awareness that something had shifted. Permanently.
The System spoke next with a low and precise tone. 'You have completed your first control trial.'
Vale didn't respond. The screen changed again.
'Achievement Unlocked: Catalyst'
'Definition: Influence acquired without confrontation'
'Next Order: Incoming. Prepare for escalation.
Then, as if remembering something, the System added:
'A courtesy notification has been delivered.'
***
Elsewhere, in Merrill's penthouse, he returned home in silence. The lights didn't greet him, and the fireplace didn't respond to his voice command. Everything in the room felt slightly off. Wrong.
On his desk sat a folder. No name. No label.
Merrill picked it up slowly, like it might detonate at any moment. Inside were photographs. Old photographs.
The photos showed him and one other person -- Malcom Rykard. A decade ago. Both of them were laughing in an estate garden. Champagne flutes were raised. No digital copies existed. Merrill had destroyed them. He'd burnt all the hard drives.
Yet, here they were. Reprinted and immaculate.
At the bottom of the folder, a card could be seen. White, heavy, and blank -- save for a single line in Malcom's unmistakable scrawl:
'He remembers.'
Merrill dropped the card. And for the first time in years, he locked every door in the house.
***
After a quick run in the dark dusk, Vale stood barefoot, unzipping his sweatshirt. The coolness of the marble floor beneath his feet soothed him, and he curled his toes. In front of him, the phone waited, glowing like an artifact.
Vale tapped the screen. He watched as the interface shimmered and opened to a new one he hadn't seen before.
'Architect Protocol Unlocked'
'Begin Identity Engineering? [Yes] [No]'
Vale's thumb hovered above the screen before he clicked. The System responded with no voice this time as a 3D render built itself in the air. It formed a figure of a man who was unnamed and faceless, at first. Gradually, features slid into place -- nose, cheekbones, eye shape. The hair was slightly brown, and he wore a warm smile that seemed weaponized at the same time.
A question followed: 'To create a legend, you must offer a truth. Upload one real memory. A private moment. Something you've never told another living soul.'
Vale's breath hitched in his throat. "What is this?"
The System pulsed. 'Every mask needs blood. Feed it.'
Holmes hesitated. Then, like a memory that had been waiting, he saw her. Vanessa.
Not the polished version or the one all made up and in heels. The one who'd held his face for the first time. She'd been encouraging him about something while he sat in the dark. Vanessa had whispered in his ears that day: "Even if the world turns on you... I won't."
That version of her was long gone. Dead and viral.
Vale blinked. "Upload it."
The System scanned his neural pattern. There was a brief warmth in Vale's temples, like something was being burned away.
The identity snapped into place, and a dossier loaded:
'Alias created: Elias Axe'
'Occupation: Private Strategic Consultant'
'Origin: Disavowed European Elite'
'Persona: Reclusive. Intellectual. Dangerously persuasive'
Vale watched as the mask floated before him. He felt as if they had assembled his ghost.
***
Whispers had begun to swim around in the lower echelons of York's TechNet. Most of them laughed it off, seeing it as chasing clout for traffic. It sounded like a conspiracy feed, honestly. No one could come back from such disgrace -- some agreed amongst themselves.
But then, someone traced a corporate shift in Vozbyte's Technologies. It was a sudden and quiet change in controlling interest with no public name attached. Then there was another acquisition which was silent, surgical, and unsigned. What unnerved some was that in the middle of all these, there was only a digital echo.
A file. A file that was only tagged with three characters: '.EXE'
The signature didn't appear in public records. It wasn't a hacker's calling card. It wasn't even viral.
It was highly selective. Something only visible to those who knew where to look -- and only once.
Vanessa Whit had found it by accident. She was sifting through her security network logs -- routine acts of paranoia -- when she'd found it. It was an intrusion attempt. Quite sleek and precise. There was no breach, just a fingerprint.
Vanessa froze in place and opened the trace. Quickly, she sent the file she found to a burner drive, packed up, and left.