My finger was a breath away from the switch. On the main monitor, the scene in the lobby played out in silent, high-definition drama.
The velvet cloth slid from the statue, revealing a heroic, chiseled effigy of Kinetic, cast in gleaming bronze, one hand outstretched as if to receive the city's adoration.
The CEO of Aurelius beamed, his arms spread wide. Kinetic himself puffed out his chest, a perfect, heroic smile plastered on his face for the flashing cameras. It was a perfect moment. A perfect lie.
The upload progress bar on my datapad vanished, replaced by a single, glowing word: COMPLETE.
I pressed the switch.
It didn't click. It was a modern, touch-sensitive panel, and my touch was as soft as a ghost's. But the effect was as subtle as a detonating bomb.
Every screen in the Aurelius Beacon lobby—the colossal eighty-foot display behind the stage, the dozens of smaller monitors lining the walls, even the personal datapads of the reporters in the front row that Mark had brilliantly managed to hack—simultaneously flickered and went black.
A collective gasp swept through the opulent lobby. The CEO's smile faltered. Kinetic's heroic pose stiffened. For one beautiful, agonising second, there was only darkness and confused silence.
Then, they all lit up again, not with the Aurelius logo, but with the stark, brutal black-and-white of Maya's art.
The first image was a simple, animated line graph. A stock price, plummeting. The date appeared underneath, corresponding to the first bank robbery Kinetic had 'foiled.'
Then, a second graph appeared beside it: a short-sell investment, soaring. The sound that accompanied it wasn't music, but a low, rhythmic heartbeat, steady and predatory.
The screens shifted.
A stylised animation showed a bag of money being handed from a shadowy corporate figure to a masked thug. The next frame showed the thug breaking into a bank, only to be theatrically punched by a golden-gloved fist belonging to a figure that was unmistakably Kinetic.
Then, the final, damning frame: the hero, Kinetic, turning his back on the 'captured' thug to shake hands with the same shadowy corporate figure, who now wore the face of the Aurelius CEO.
The heartbeat sound was joined by a cold, female voice-over, digitally altered to be unrecognisable but clear and precise.
It was Maya's script, read by a text-to-speech program.
"Seventeen robberies. Seventeen stock market dips. Seventeen opportunities. Coincidence? Or business model?"
The lobby, which had been buzzing with polite chatter, fell utterly silent. You could have heard a champagne flute drop.
The faces in the crowd turned from the screens to the stage, their expressions shifting from confusion to dawning comprehension, and then to outrage.
On stage, the Aurelius CEO's face had gone from tan to ashen. He stared at the screens, his mouth agape, looking like a man who had just watched his entire empire burn down in thirty seconds.
Kinetic was worse. His heroic smile had vanished, replaced by a mask of pure, animal panic. His eyes darted around the room like a cornered rat, looking for an escape.
He wasn't a hero. He was just a boy in a costume who had been caught with his hand in the world's biggest cookie jar.
The final animation played. Maya's masterpiece.
The image of the Aurelius Beacon itself, cracking under the weight of golden coins, crumbling into dust. The voice-over delivered the final, killing blow:
"Aurelius Capital. Building their future on your loss."
The silence broke. It didn't just break; it shattered. A roar of anger erupted from the crowd. The media, smelling blood, surged forward, a pack of sharks.
Microphones were shoved into Kinetic's face.
"Kinetic, is this true?"
"Did you conspire to manipulate the market?"
"How much did Aurelius pay you?"
He stumbled backward, away from the lights, away from the questions he couldn't answer.
He looked to his sponsor for help, but the CEO was already being swarmed by his own board members, their faces twisted in fury.
The mission was a success. It was more than a success. It was a public execution.
A glorious, beautiful notification filled my vision, washing the room in a triumphant red glow.
[Mission Complete: Expose the Rot]
[Performance Evaluation: Masterpiece of Villainy. All objectives met with flawless, adaptive execution.]
[Reward: 1000 VP, 150 EXP awarded.]
[Bonus Reward: 1x [Skill Ticket (Grade E)] has been added to your inventory.]
[Level Up! You are now Level 2!]
I felt a surge of power, a deep thrumming in my very core. I was stronger. The world felt sharper, clearer.
But there was no time to celebrate. The building was in chaos, and I was at its heart. It was time for the final act: the escape.
I didn't leave through the door. The guards would be returning, or new ones would be sent. I pried open the same ventilation grate I had entered through, my movements quick and precise.
Before I slipped inside, I sent two final messages.
To Mark: DISCONNECT. WIPE THE TERMINAL. GO HOME.
His reply was instant: HOLY... WE DID IT. WIPING NOW.
His fear was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated adrenaline.
To Jake: PHASE THREE. THE FIRE ALARM. NORTH CORRIDOR, FIFTH FLOOR. NOW.
His reply: YOU GOT IT, BOSS.
As I crawled through the dusty, dark ventilation shaft, a new alarm began to blare—the fire alarm.
Sprinklers kicked on in the lobby and hallways, adding water to the chaos. It was the final nail in the coffin of the event's dignity and my ultimate smokescreen.
I navigated the guts of the building, my mind a cool, calm map of my escape route.
I could hear the shouts of security, the panicked cries of the guests, the relentless blare of the alarms. It was the symphony of my victory.
I emerged into an empty stairwell five floors down, my clothes dusty but otherwise clean.
I walked down the remaining flights of stairs, a ghost slipping through the cracks of the chaos I had created.
I exited through a side door into a back alley, emerging into the cool evening air as if from another world.
I didn't run. I calmly walked to the end of the alley and blended into the crowd that was gathering across the street, drawn by the sight of dozens of emergency vehicles converging on the Aurelius Beacon.
I pulled out my personal datapad and saw that the story was already the number one trending topic in the city. But it wasn't a news report. It was a link to a freshly created, anonymous site.
The site hosted a single, high-quality video: a recording of the entire hijacked broadcast, captured from a perfect vantage point inside the lobby. It was clean, professionally edited, and devastating.
At the bottom of the page was a single line of text.
A history, documented by an observer.
It was Maya's work. She hadn't just provided the ammunition; she had fired the first shot of the information war.
Then, my datapad buzzed with a priority news alert from the official Neo-Olympus News Network. I opened it. The headline was stark, written in a tone of breathless shock and outrage.
AURELIUS DEDICATION SABOTAGED BY MYSTERY TERRORIST. PRESS DUBS ASSAILANT 'THE EVIL VILLAINESS'.
The article described the event, the chaos, the damning accusations. It spoke of a shadowy figure, a mastermind who had manipulated the school system and now the corporate world, an entity of immense technical skill and malevolent intent.
They had no name, no face, no motive beyond pure, villainous disruption. So they had given me one.
The Evil Villainess.
I looked up from my screen at the flashing lights painting the face of the Aurelius Beacon. They weren't looking for a mute orphan named Luna. They were looking for a supervillain.
A slow, genuine smile spread across my face.
Fine. If they wanted a villainess, I would give them one.