For two days, the slip of paper with Maya's contact number burned a hole in my pocket. It was a physical representation of a crossroads. One path led to continued solitude, a path of absolute control and zero risk.
The other led into uncharted territory, an alliance built not on fear, but on a shared, cynical worldview.
Fear was a tool I understood. Trust was a language I had never learned.
But Maya was right. A villain without a legend is just a criminal. A masterpiece in a locked room is just canvas and paint. On the third day, I made my decision.
I used a public terminal in a crowded transit station, bouncing the signal through three anonymous proxies before sending the message.
It was five words, cold and direct.
Atlas Tower. Rooftop Garden. Sundown.
There was no signature. She would know who it was from.
The Atlas Tower was a relic, a pre-Guild skyscraper that had somehow avoided demolition. It was shorter than the modern chrome spires, but it had a quiet dignity.
Its rooftop garden was a public space, rarely visited, offering a stunning view of the city's glittering façade. It was the perfect place for a clandestine meeting: public enough to prevent a direct attack, private enough for a conversation.
I arrived an hour early, taking the time to survey the area. I found a spot in the shadows of a large, sculpted bonsai tree, a position that gave me a clear view of the entrance and multiple escape routes.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and bruised purple, she appeared.
Maya walked into the garden with the same unhurried confidence she carried in the school hallways. She wasn't looking around nervously; she was taking in the view, her sketchbook already in hand.
She knew I was already there, watching her. She stopped in the centre of the garden, turning her back to me as she looked out over the city.
"It's a beautiful lie, isn't it?" she said to the skyline, her voice carrying easily in the quiet air. "All that light, all that power. It does a good job of hiding the rot underneath."
I stepped out of the shadows. My new 'Silent Threat' skill was a palpable aura, a drop in temperature that made the air around me feel heavy. Maya didn't flinch, but I saw the muscles in her shoulders tense slightly.
She turned to face me, her expression neutral.
I held up my datapad, the screen glowing in the twilight.
You wanted a front-row seat. This is the audition.
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Fair enough. What's the test?"
You called me a storyteller. Prove you're a historian. Give me a story I don't know. Give me a target.
This was the core of it. I could cause chaos, but I was an amateur, lashing out at the most obvious symbols. Maya, with her obsessive documentation of the heroes, might see things I didn't.
She might see the patterns in the noise.
Her smile widened. She had come prepared. She flipped open her sketchbook to a new section. The drawings were of a B-list hero named Kinetic. He was young, handsome, with the power to absorb and redirect kinetic energy.
His public persona was that of a reckless but charming protector of the common man. His primary sponsor was Aurelius Capital, one of the city's most powerful investment firms.
"Kinetic," she began, her voice low and academic.
"Official record: has foiled seventeen armed robberies in the last two years, mostly targeting Aurelius-owned banks or their rivals. Never asks for compensation, claiming it's his 'civic duty.' He's the media darling of the financial sector."
She flipped the page. It was a complex chart, a timeline. On the top were the dates of the robberies Kinetic had stopped. On the bottom were stock market graphs for the affected banks.
"Unofficial record," she continued, tapping a point on the chart.
"Forty-eight hours before every single one of those robberies, someone initiates a massive short-sell on the target bank's stock. The robbery happens, public confidence wavers, the stock plummets, and the short-seller makes a fortune.
Then, Kinetic shows up, 'saves the day,' the stock recovers, and Aurelius Capital, his sponsor, often buys up the devalued stock for a bargain. It's happened seventeen times. It's not a coincidence. It's a business model."
I stared at the chart, the sheer, elegant corruption of it taking my breath away. This wasn't just a hero being vain or clumsy.
This was systemic rot. This was a hero actively participating in a scheme to manipulate the market, robbing the city in broad daylight while wearing a cape.
The robberies? I typed. Are they real?
"Some are," she said.
"Low-level thugs who get an 'anonymous' tip about a security flaw. Others… I think they're staged. Actors. Aurelius has its own private security force. They're good."
She flipped to a final page. It was a drawing of a sleek, new building under construction, a masterpiece of glass and steel that dwarfed the old Atlas Tower.
"Aurelius Capital is dedicating its new headquarters next week. The 'Aurelius Beacon.' Kinetic will be the guest of honour. They're unveiling a statue of him in the lobby. The mayor will be there. The media will be there. It's the perfect stage."
My mind was racing, the gears of the system clicking into place. This was it. This was a target worthy of a true villain.
As if on cue, the system responded.
[New High-Stakes Mission Generated.]
[Mission: Expose the Rot]
[Description: A hero and his corporate masters have turned public safety into a stock market strategy. They have monetised fear. It is a villain's duty to reveal such exquisite hypocrisy. Unmask the hero's greed and shame his sponsors on their grandest stage.]
[Objective: During the dedication ceremony of the Aurelius Beacon, publicly expose the connection between Kinetic, Aurelius Capital, and the market manipulation scheme.]
[Reward: 1000 VP, 150 EXP, 1x [Skill Ticket (Grade E)].]
[Failure Penalty: System lock for five years. Permanent loss of all subjugated pawns.]